Prince of Swords (9 page)

Rayne recalled the moment in the basement when she'd been so certain she was about to die. Jiri's sword had been flying toward her throat…and then it had not. Had Lyr used his magic on her, on all of them? Had he saved her life with his gift for stopping time?

Knowing what he could do shouldn't make him less attractive, but it did. Heaven above, she was tired of the machinations that came with power and the actions men would take to achieve it. She was sick of manipulations and secrets and enchantment. From here on out, she wanted to know what was real and what was not. A simple life, that's what she wanted…if she was lucky or smart enough to escape the plans Ciro had for her. A simple life, where she would never need to question what was real and what was not. A simple husband who would like her. Who would even perhaps one day love her. Simple children who would not wield magic or be sought and used for their gifts.

Lyr, with his nicely crafted body and eagle eyes and ability to halt time, was not at all simple.

 

S
HE WAS TOO OLD FOR CONSTANT TRAVEL, FOR SLEEPING
on the ground, for wearing the same frock day after day, for eating only what they could carry or catch.

“I have been horribly spoiled in the past few years,” Isadora said as she knelt beside the stream to catch a handful of water and bring it to her face. The splash was refreshing and rejuvenating.

It had been a long time since the Fyne sisters had spent this much time together, and as the days passed Isadora realized how very much she'd missed Sophie and Juliet. They were all older, but they had not changed so very much. The youngest sister, Sophie, was still unendingly optimistic and sunny, and Juliet was down to earth and intuitive. Isadora herself was the eldest sister, the caretaker of them all, the practical one. No, they had not changed very much at all.

Sophie laughed as she copied Isadora's actions bringing a handful of water to her face. “I know what you mean. My ass aches from riding in the saddle, and my feet ache from walking. But what choice do we have?”

“None.”

Refreshed, the sisters sat by the stream, enjoying the beauty of this secluded place and the rest for their bodies. Isadora looked at Sophie and shook her head. Her sister had aged remarkably well, particularly when one considered that she'd given birth to and raised nine children. Three were a handful for Isadora and she could not imagine managing more, but then she'd never had Sophie's patience.

They were no more than three days from the coastal town where Juliet was quite sure Liane had settled. Their seer sister was also certain that Liane had changed her name and the names of her sons, but those names were not a part of that which she could discern. It was a large port town, so finding Liane could take days, or even weeks, more.

Sophie leaned back on her hands. “I never would've imagined that we'd search out Liane for the purpose of putting one of Sebestyen's sons in the palace. What if they're both like their father? What if they both claim the throne and we exchange one war for another?”

“From what we have heard of Ciro, Sebestyen himself would be a better emperor.” She snorted in disgust. Perhaps Sebestyen had tried to redeem himself in the end, but he had been a horrid, horrid man and a terrible ruler. “I think you should all move to Tryfyn,” Isadora said. “The King is a good man, and when Lyr marries one of his daughters, we'll be family and he'll be glad to welcome you all.”

“I did not know Lyr was betrothed,” Sophie said with excitement. “What is her name? Is she mild tempered or fiery? How old is she? When will the marriage take place?”

Isadora sighed. “He has not chosen which princess he will marry, so I can answer none of those questions.”

Sophie was so silent, Isadora was compelled to turn her head to meet her sister's stare. The accusation was evident.

“You are speaking of an arranged marriage,” Sophie said in a lowered voice, as if anyone else were close enough to hear.

“Lyr is Prince of Swords,” Isadora said calmly. That should be explanation enough.

“So was Lucan when you met him.”

“That was different!”

“How so?”

Isadora waved a dismissive hand. “Can't we discuss something more pleasant, like…like war or demons or Sebestyen's sons?”

“I knew it!” Sophie grinned widely. “You don't like the idea of an arranged marriage for your children any more than I do.” She nodded her head. “It is best to marry for love and love alone. That's what I want for my children, and I'm sure that's what you want for yours. We were lucky enough to marry for love, so we know how important that is.”

“He might come to love one of the princesses.” Isadora turned her gaze to the rushing water. Yes, of course she wanted her children to marry for love, but there were also obligations to consider. “When did I get so staid and unbending?”

“You were born staid and unbending,” Sophie said with a sister's love. “It suits you.” With that said, she asked brightly, “I wonder which of us will be a grandmother first?”

“Bite your tongue,” Isadora said sharply.

Sophie laughed. “I wouldn't mind at all being a grandmother, and when the time comes, I'm sure you'll love it just as you loved being a mother. More so, from all I have heard from women who have grandchildren.”

Fortunately Juliet arrived, and Sophie said no more. Grandmother! Isadora wasn't certain she was ready for that. Was she so old? Yes, she had a few strands of gray in her hair and the lines at the corners of her eyes had grown more noticeable of late, but…
grandmother
?

Juliet, who was more hot natured than her sisters thanks to her father's Anwyn blood, did not splash water onto her face. She walked into the stream. Since her skirt was much shorter than was fashionable or proper, she didn't have to worry about soaking her clothing. With cool water rushing against her legs to just above her knees, she turned to face her sisters.

“A race, eh? Don't forget about Keelia.” Her smile was wide, as if she, like Sophie, thought being old was grand and wonderful.

Isadora sighed. So much for letting go of the subject of her age. “The years go by so fast,” she said. “I blink, and my children are grown, or almost grown. And no matter how old they get, I still worry about them.” She caught Juliet's eyes. On occasion her sister had assured her that Lyr was alive and well, though his mission was a difficult one and the outcome was still to be decided. “What of my son?” she asked simply.

Juliet closed her eyes and her face became very peaceful. Beyond peaceful. She took a deep breath and lifted her face to catch the rays of the sun. She did not immediately answer, as she usually did. In an instant, Isadora began to worry. Juliet saw something terrible and did not want to tell. Lyr was hurt, or in danger, or…dead.

“Tell me now,” Isadora insisted.

Juliet's eyes opened, and she frowned. Not an encouraging sign. “I can't decipher what I see when I reach for knowledge of Lyr. All I see is a loaf of bread being thrust into a raging fire. Does that mean anything to you? Do you understand the symbolism?”

“No,” Isadora whispered. “But I don't like it. I don't like that image at all.”

 

E
VEN THOUGH THEY
'
D MET NO RESISTANCE SINCE LEAVING
the house where he'd retrieved the crystal dagger, Lyr did not allow himself to relax. If anything, he'd been feeling more anxious of late, more on alert. Maybe it was simply the tension of being in the company of a woman for such a long period of time. Though women came and went on a regular basis, only his mother and sisters were constants in his life.

As the moon was bright and almost full, they rode into the night. Their mission was an important one, and every step took them closer to the end—whether that end be for good or for darkness. Lyr could not help but think of what failure would mean. His friends, his family, his men—all could and would fall victim to the darkness. His sisters were young and silly and a continual annoyance, but they were his annoyance and he did not wish to see them live in a world where they weren't safe, or worse, where they might perish at a dark hand.

And Rayne…Ciro's plans for Rayne were not of her doing; she had no choice in the matter. If she lived and Ciro won, then her fate would be worst of all. If he had to take her life, he'd be doing her a favor, he supposed.

Not that she was likely to see things in that way if he was forced to hold a knife to her throat.

It helped him to think of the worst. Imagining failure steeled his resolve, and it took his mind off other things, like the manner in which the woman who rode behind him had worked her way under his skin.

Segyn was right. She could burn him, given half a chance.

Not long after darkness fell, Rayne guided her horse forward, bringing it and herself to Lyr's side. “I have been seeing more homes in the distance, all to the north. Did you come this way on your journey to my home? Is there a large town nearby?”

There was a decent-sized village perhaps a day's ride ahead, and if he had not known too much about Ciro's plans for Rayne, he would have happily left her there. How would he explain to her that he wouldn't be leaving her anywhere? He did not lie, but this was one truth he could not share.

“There is a town ahead, where we can buy supplies and perhaps rest for a short while, but I won't be leaving you there.”

“Why not?”

Lyr took a long deep breath and chose his words carefully. “It is not the best place for you. Trust me in this, Rayne. I promised to see you to a safe place. The town ahead is not such a place.”

She nodded her head agreeably. “All right. I will trust your judgment in this matter. It's just that I know I'm slowing you and your men down. You must be anxious to join the fight. I know Tiller and Swaine are.”

“We will arrive in the place we are supposed to be when the time is right.”

“That's very philosophical of you,” she said lightly.

“Man can only control so much of his destiny. That is not philosophy; it's fact.” Anxious to change the subject, he said, “I notice that you've given up swearing.”

“Yes, I have. It was not for me. I will find another way if I must.”

If she tarnished her soul so that it was no longer what Ciro needed in order to make that special child, maybe Rayne would be safe. Maybe he would not have to see her in Ciro's grasp or take her life, and she could have what she wanted—a quiet life in a simple place, where the monster who called her “beloved” would never find her.

He did not think it would be easy to tarnish such a soul. Though he did not see the purity of which she spoke, he knew Rayne was a good person through and through. She had a kind heart and an easy way about her, and she would never knowingly harm a living thing. She was good, in a world where true goodness was sadly rare.

“We will think of a way,” he said in a lowered voice. He nodded at the blue gem which lay against her chest, catching the moonlight. “I see you have taken to wearing the necklace which was stored with the crystal dagger.”

A small hand rose up and touched the stone against the swell of her breast. “Yes. It reminds me of my mother, and I wish to feel closer to her now. I've been thinking about her a lot lately.”

“She was…not like your father?”

Rayne shook her head. Many strands of fine dark hair had come loose from her once-staid fashion and fell around her face and down her back. She was mussed, she was wrinkled, there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. And still, she was more regal than any princess.

“She was not at all like my father. If she had been, I do not think the dagger you carry would do you any good at all against one such as Ciro. I think it was her goodness which makes the crystal dagger a weapon for light.”

“If that is the case, I owe your mother a great debt.”

Rayne's pretty brow furrowed. “I suppose.”

He could not stand to see her frown so fiercely. “Why does that supposition make you scowl? Your mother's goodness is a fine thing, is it not?”

Rayne brushed a wayward strand of hair away from her face, as if it had begun to annoy her. “As we ride for hours on end, my mind wanders. It flits from one place to another, and a thousand questions fill my head. The question that has been haunting me all day won't go away. How did my mother know, all those years ago, that the dagger would be needed now, eight years after her death?”

The answer seemed simple enough to Lyr. “Perhaps she possessed a magic she did not share.”

“Perhaps,” Rayne responded. Her hand gripped the blue stone as they rode forward in the night. “I did think she shared everything with me,” she added in a lowered voice.

They rode for a while longer without speaking, and then Rayne spoke once again. “Save me from him, please,” she said simply.

“If I can.” He would not promise her more than that, because he wasn't certain anything more was possible.