Sword of Darkness (8 page)

Seren wasn’t sure what to answer to that question. “I know not,” she answered honestly. “I’ve never been around any man save Master Rufus, and he is so old and angry that I never let my fantasies loose.”

She felt him smile against her cheek.

“And at night?” he whispered raggedly. “When you dream all alone in your bed, what man do you see in your arms?”

“I’ve never seen his face,” she said in a low tone. “I only see an image of him. A quiet man with a good heart. One who is respectable and charitable to all around him.”

Kerrigan flinched inwardly at her words as she described the very things he could never be. A woman like her could never love a thief. A liar.

A beastly animal.

The sudden surge of anger made him want to lash out and hurt her. Punish her for her honesty.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn’t. He’d asked her for the truth and she had given it to him.

His dead heart shriveled as he pulled away from her. “Come, Seren, and I’ll show you to your chambers.”

“You’re not going to just think me into my—” Her words broke off as he did just that.

He watched as her eyes grew round at the lush and beautiful room. The bed was large and gilded. It was the room for a queen, surely, and not one of her status.

“Where am I?”

“You are in Lancelot’s chambers.” Kerrigan had to force himself not to smile at her gaping expression.

“What of you?” she asked. “Where will you sleep?”

“I don’t.” At least not more than a few winks at
a time. He’d learned long ago that sleeping men were vulnerable to attack. As a youth, he’d been forced to sleep without a bed and be ready to fend off any who wanted to prey on him for either coin or other things best left unspoken. There had been no shelter for him. No safety. And so he’d learned to sacrifice sleep for peace of mind.

Without another word, he started to withdraw from the room, only to have her stop him by laying her hand to his arm. Kerrigan stared at the graceful, delicate touch.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“For?”

“Saving me from Morgen and giving me such a beautiful room.”

He inclined his head to her even though what he really wanted was to crush her to him, and make use of the bed behind her until the heat in his loins was completely sated. “You should rest, Seren. You will need your strength.”

She nodded before she withdrew from him. But as she crossed the floor, he saw her tense unexpectedly as if something suddenly pained her.

“Is something amiss?”

She looked back at him with an expression so sad that he actually felt her pain. “My scarlet cloth. I left it in my chambers…I can’t believe it, it’s lost now. Gone forever.”

He snorted at that. “It is cloth. What good is it?”

She stiffened at his words as tears gathered in her eyes. “It was mine, my lord. I spent much of my life this past year preparing it, and it was all I
had in the world. It might seem trivial to you, but to me it meant everything.” Then under her breath she repeated the word. “Everything.”

Kerrigan scoffed at her sentimentality. Cloth. Leave it to a woman to care so for something so minuscule.

But as he watched her wipe away a tear, he felt something inside him shatter. He wanted to comfort her.

What is the matter with you?

She’s nothing.

Disgusted by his untoward thoughts, he slammed from her room. However he didn’t make it any farther than the hallway as the thought of her broken heart crushed him.

Forget it, Kerrigan
.

Aye, he fully intended to put it out of his mind.

Morgen smiled to herself as she returned to her chambers alone. She paused as she caught sight of a naked Brevalaer waiting unabashedly for her by her carved wooden bed. The tall, dark Adoni was beautiful as always, but then, being a trained courtesan, he knew exactly how much of his value depended on those looks.

His black hair fell just above his broad, muscled shoulders that tapered to a most succulent six-pack of abs…she so loved that term from the late twentieth, early twenty-first century. Dark eyebrows slashed above a set of feral eyes that were hazel green and always inviting.

He was her favorite lover above all others…at least for the moment. And he would most likely be
the successor to Kerrigan when all of this was over. If Damé Fortune willed it that way.

“How did it go, my queen?” he asked in that deeply seductive voice of his.

She laughed as she moved to stand before him so that he could remove her heavy red velvet cloak. “The fool is playing right into my hands, just as I knew he would.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course.” She didn’t truly want the Round Table. At least not yet. The table at this point would be as worthless to her as the black one in the hall below. Without a Penmerlin here to charge the table, it would never work properly.

She’d tried right after her brother’s death to access those powers herself. But she was the negative that needed a positive to charge it.

That required a new, untainted Penmerlin, but unfortunately, no Merlin would come to Camelot so long as it was in her hands. And neither she nor any of her people could force a Merlin here. The last time they had tried, it had been disastrous.

Nay, a Merlin must enter this hall of his or her own will…

And that was what had led her to the current plan. If she couldn’t bring a Merlin here, then she would birth one. Gods and goddesses, how she loved a good loophole.

She’d planned on the father of the child being Brevalaer, but as she considered it further, Kerrigan would be a much better donor. He, like the little hag he’d captured, also had the blood of their magical line within him.

If two such creatures joined…

The birth of the child would render Kerrigan obsolete. At long last, she would be able to kill him. But more than that, she could bring back Mordred and restore him to perfect health. Happiness poured through her at the thought of her son returning to her side. It was all she’d ever wanted.

And she knew that if she’d tried to force Kerrigan to bed the mouse, he’d have refused just to spite her. So she’d sent Magda to Seren with the directive for the chit to seduce the beast.

She should have known that Seren wouldn’t be able to accomplish such a feat, and so her latest ploy had been born—put the two of them together long enough, and Kerrigan was bound to take the chit at some point. It wasn’t in his nature to deny himself carnal pleasures.

Now that it was only the two of them and he no longer had any of her fey to choose from…

Aye, it would only be a matter of time before he slept with the wench.

Only a matter of time before she could kill the Kerrigan and the mouse, and claim their ill-begotten child for her very own. She laughed lowly in anticipation. Soon the world would be hers and there would be no one to stop her…

Kerrigan sat idly in the window, balanced precariously
on the whitewashed stones as he gazed out to the fulminant sea below. The sounds of the waves echoed in his ears, but not even they were enough to drown out the sound of Seren’s heartbroken voice.

The sight of the hurt that had been in those catlike eyes. It haunted him still.

How could worthless, uncut cloth mean so much to anyone?

And yet it did.

Worse, he remembered a time when something as simple as rotting cabbage had meant everything to him. Had been worth braving the severest of beatings just so that he could have a taste of it.

Unbidden, his memories surged. Even now he could see himself as a boy in his home village…

He’d been starving, but then starvation had been nothing new in his world—he’d been born hungry and had stayed that way every day until Morgen had found him.

Only seven in age at that time, he’d bartered with the local baker for work. He’d spent the entire morning sweeping the floor of the baker’s shop and moving flour bins while the scent of fresh baking bread had made his stomach cramp in hunger. As the morning wore on, he’d become obsessed with the thought of tasting one tiny morsel of that bread.

“Might I have a bite now, sir?”

“Finish your work, boy, and then you’ll be paid. And don’t get lazy or you’ll get nothing from me.”

Kerrigan had tried to return to work, but as the baker peeled off the bad leaves of the cabbage he was cooking for his midmorning meal, he’d been so hungry that he feared he’d be ill where he stood. He could barely stand the pain of it.

It’d been two days since he’d last eaten…

The baker had tossed the discarded leaves into the refuse bin. Kerrigan had stared at them while he tried to sweep. Those wilted leaves hadn’t been worth eating and yet he could already taste them. Imagine them as he chewed and swallowed until it eased the ache inside him.

When it became obvious that the baker was through with the cabbage—that he had no intention of doing anything but tossing it out, Kerrigan had reached to take a leaf.

The man had instantly backhanded him. His lips had burned like fire as he tasted his own blood from the blow.

“You thief!” the baker had growled in anger. “Worthless son of a whore. Get out!”

Kerrigan had gone, but not before he’d shoved
the man back and stolen an entire loaf of bread. He’d downed most of it before he’d been arrested, beaten, and thrown into the stocks.

His three days of humiliation had been worth the taste of the warm, sweet bread that had melted so deliciously in his mouth. The momentary satisfaction of a full stomach.

Was Seren’s cloth so precious to her that she would risk her life for it?

Aye, most likely. Even unconscious, she had clasped it to her bosom with the grip of a lioness as if daring anyone to try and take it from her.

For the first time in a lifetime of cruelty, betrayal, and brutality, Kerrigan felt an odd stirring of compassion. Like him before he’d joined Morgen’s army, Seren had nothing in this world to call her own. Nothing but a bit of worthless cloth.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and mentally summoned Blaise to him.

“You have need of me, my king?”

Kerrigan stepped down from his perch in the window so that the mandrake wasn’t at his back. “Aye. Watch the wench for a bit. I have something I need to do.”

Blaise frowned. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll return.”

The mandrake arched a brow at that. “Why do I have a feeling that you are about to do something stupid?”

“Most likely because I am about to do something stupid.”

“And is there a particular reason for this act of stupidity?”

“Not really.”

Blaise’s violet eyes danced with humor even though Kerrigan knew the mandrake could see nothing more than a shadowy outline of his body. “Well in that case, I shall guard her zealously rather than join you in said stupidity, as I try my best to always avoid such moments.”

“Good.” Kerrigan stepped back as he summoned his powers to dissolve his form from this realm and take him back to Camelot.

It was always a bit disconcerting to travel this way. There was a small electrical shock that went through him, then a moment or two of nausea before everything righted itself. But even so, he much preferred it to the normal mode of traveling. It was much quicker and easier.

He shimmered himself into the tower room he had given to Seren and was prepared for an ambush. It would be like Morgen to have such a thing planned. Yet there was nothing there. The room was just as she’d left it.

Eerily so.

Kerrigan glanced about, making sure he was undetected before he saw the red cloth on her black bed. Rolling his eyes at the worthlessness of it, he grabbed it.

Something moved from the corner.

Kerrigan jerked his head to catch sight of a quick, shadowy movement. He felt his eyes grow red as his temper surged. “Pax?”

The shadow vanished.

Kerrigan hissed as he fought himself not to pur
sue the cursed sharoc who was no doubt heading straight for Morgen. It wouldn’t do him any good to pursue Pax. He had to get back to Seren before Morgen used her magic to locate them.

He would need to put a barrier up over Joyous Gard to keep her away. If she were to find them…

There was only so much he could, or more to the point,
would
, do to keep Seren safe.

Seren lay on her side on the large gilded bed as she stared out the open window to the perfectly blue sky. If she were at home now, she would be working on material for a gown for the earl’s daughter’s wedding. No doubt poor Wendlyn was cursing her for the extra work. Without Seren there to weave, the other hapless apprentices would have to work even harder.

She felt terrible about that. She’d told them all that she would return quickly from the guildhall.

If only she’d known then what was to befall her…

Closing her eyes, she conjured an image of her loom that sat across from the shop’s windows. She loved to glance up from her work and watch the children who sometimes played out in the street. She could also catch glimpses of ladies and their maids who drifted into various shops as they looked for items.

The earl’s daughter had been particularly lovely as she visited Master Rufus and told him of the pale yellow samite she wanted for her wedding.

Seren smiled to herself as she imagined the
day when the lady would marry her lord. How lovely the woman would be in the shimmering cloth…

She felt something fall across her arm.

Opening her eyes, she saw her scarlet cloth, but no sign of anyone else.

She sat up with a gasp as she examined it. Aye, it was her cloth without a doubt. She knew every stitch, every fiber.

“Lord Kerrigan?”

There was no answer.

“Please, my lord, if you are here, show yourself to me.”

“Why?” the word whispered in the air around her like a dream.

“I should like to thank you for this, face to face.”

She heard him make a rude noise. “Keep your thanks, woman. It’s as worthless as your cloth.”

And then she sensed that she was alone in her room. Stung by his words, she looked down at her cloth. It was worthless indeed. But even so, Kerrigan must have gone to some effort to retrieve it. Indeed, to return to Camelot while Morgen was angry at him could even be construed as foolhardy.

Yet he’d done it for no other reason than to ease her mind. Mayhap, dare she think it, to make her happy. She knew firsthand that such an act wasn’t normal for a man like Kerrigan.

You should thank him again for it
.

But he didn’t want thanks with words. It wasn’t his way.

Suddenly, she was struck with an idea. She finally knew what she could do with this cloth.

Kerrigan frowned as a small strip of a plastic thermometer appeared on his forehead. “What the…?”

It immediately flew across the room into Blaise’s outstretched hand. The mandrake ran his fingers over it so that he could read it, then he arched both brows in surprise. “It’s forty-five degrees, which…well, for humans is fatal, but for you, my lord, is quite normal. Damn. I could have sworn you had a fever.”

Kerrigan leaned back in the chair where he sat and growled low in his throat. “What madness has possession of you now?”

“The same madness that possessed you to venture to Camelot a short time ago to make an insignificant peasant happy.”

Kerrigan looked away. “Who says I did so to make
her
happy? What I did, I did for myself so that I wouldn’t have to listen to her whine and pout over paltry fabric.”

Doubt shone from the mandrake’s face. “Since when does that bother you? I thought you lived to make others miserable.”

He did normally. But for some reason, he wasn’t feeling like his usual churlish self. “Is there a point to this conversation other than you are suddenly possessed with a desire to be disemboweled?”

Blaise held his hands up in surrender. “I only thought my king would like to know that you have made the woman extremely happy.”

He scoffed at that. “She is simpleminded. It takes naught to thrill such people.”

“Personally, I find her quite intelligent.”

“Because you, too, are simpleminded.”

Blaise took the insult in stride as he flashed himself across the room to stand just to the right of Kerrigan’s chair. The mandrake leaned down to speak softly. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“To do something decent for another. You’ve never done that before, have you?”

Kerrigan reached up and grabbed the mandrake by his throat. He pulled him down until he was sure the creature could see him. “You overstep your bounds, servant. Do so again and perish.”

He released Blaise, who stared at him unblinkingly. There was a perfect outline of his hand against Blaise’s skin, and still there was no fear in the mandrake’s expression. “As you wish, my king.” The words were spoken with a degree of sarcasm.

Kerrigan flung his hand out and used his powers to banish the beast from him before he did something more permanent to Blaise.

He should see the creature punished for his insubordination. It would serve him right.

But as he sat there alone, the mood passed and he considered what the mandrake had said. He’d made Seren happy. In all these centuries, Kerrigan had never made anyone happy before.

Not even himself.

Seren sang quietly to herself as she sat on the floor of her room working. How she wished she knew
Kerrigan’s measurements. But it was too late now. The cloth was already cut. Not that it really mattered, she had an uncanny ability to always make clothing to fit. It was something Master Rufus commented on constantly.

She didn’t know why. She just seemed to know when something was right and when it was wrong.

Blaise, who had been kind enough to get her the shears, needle, and thread, had warned her that Kerrigan would most likely spurn her gift.

He might at that. But it felt right to do this. He was the only one she knew who held a high enough position that he could wear the color of her cloth, and it would look good on him. The deep red would accentuate his dark coloring.

And it would match his eyes when they burned…

Seren!

Well, it was true. His eyes did burn almost the same exact red.

Dismissing those thoughts, she fell into what Wendlyn called her working trance. Every time she wove on her mother’s loom, something strange happened to her. It was as if time stood still. She could work endlessly without tiring.

If only the same could happen while she worked Master Rufus’s looms.

“Seren?”

She heard the sound of Blaise’s voice as if he were a great distance away. “Aye?”

“I’ve brought your supper to you.”

“Please set it aside. I’m not hungry yet.”

Blaise did as she bade while he watched her
work. He could tell that she was only vaguely aware of his presence. There was an odd aura around her…one he’d only seen a few times in the past.

It was something that only his magical sight could pick up on, not his true eyesight. He listened to the beauty of Seren’s voice as she sang an ancient lullaby under her breath. Her hands worked the stitches on the tunic in an effortless beauty. There was no snarled thread, no misstitching whatsoever.

He’d never known anyone to work faster, and at the rate she was going, she would have the tunic ready in only a few more hours. He was impressed.

But more than that, he was suspicious. He’d been around enough magical beings in his life to recognize the species, and as he watched Seren working, he was beginning to understand why she was so important to Morgen.

There was much more to this “simple” peasant than what met the eye.

“Seren?”

It took her several minutes before she realized he’d spoken. “Aye?”

“Who were your parents?”

He could tell by her face that the question surprised her. “My mother was a weaver and I know nothing of my father. He died shortly before I was born.”

“And your mother? Where is she now?”

Her green eyes turned dull as a deep, heartfelt
sadness filled them. “She died not long after I was apprenticed to Master Rufus.”

A chill of foreboding went through him. “How did your parents die?”

“I know not of my father. My mother refused to speak of it. As for her, she perished in a fire that broke out while she was sleeping.”

“Are you sure?” the question was out before he could stop it.

She frowned at him.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said quietly. “It was a thoughtless question.”

“Is there something you know that I do not?”

Blaise shook his head. There was no need to speak of his suspicions. Not until he had more proof, anyway. “You should eat before it grows cold.”

Slowly, she got up and crossed to the platter, where she picked up a piece of bread to taste it.

There was something beautiful about her even though her features were rather plain. She moved with a decided grace and assuredness that was unusual for a woman of such lowly birth. She wiped at her mouth daintily with the white linen cloth. “Am I doing something wrong?”