Warrior (41 page)

was dragged harshly against a solid

chest. She heard them conversing

frantically before her neck burned as

her chain was ripped off.

Isolde lifted her hand to her neck,

feeling the scratches where the chain

had cut her. She looked around the

room. She’d never seen this room in

St. Ives Castle. Her eyes drifted down

to her clothing and she covered her

mouth to stifle a scream. Where was

her dress? And why was she wearing

the coarse garments of a servant?

What had happened after those vile

men took her chain? She searched her

memory but nothing came.

Feeling fear sink to the pit of her

stomach, Isolde searched the room for

a looking glass. One was near the high

window

and

she

immediately

approached it. When she stood before

it, nothing could stifle the scream that

escaped her lips. She was certain she

was looking into the mirror, but the

image that looked back was as foreign

to her as this place.

***

Dax stared at the queen as she

doubled over and retched into grass.

The potion he’d mixed should have

worn off by now. His eyebrows

crinkled and he wondered if he’d put

too much tree root in. Deciding that

he hadn’t, more would have certainly

killed her, he shook his head and

asked in his most gentle voice, the

voice he used when enlisting the trust

of a person, “Are you ill?”

***

Jaisyn glared up at him. After the

drug had worn off, she had awoken to

find that the maid was no maid but

man. A very beautiful man, but a man

nonetheless. When he did not wish

her to understand him, he spoke in a

foreign language to the four other men

who accompanied him. The other

men, who resembled him, with red

hair and pale skin, were in the coach,

awaiting them by the roadside.

“Well, are you ill?” Dax repeated,

ignoring the glare she was throwing

his way. He needed her alive for what

was to come.

“Have you poisoned me?” Jaisyn

retorted quickly, knowing that the

illness was due to her pregnancy but

seeing no need to disclose that fact to

this brute.

Dax shook his head slowly, his red

ponytail moving ever so slightly. “I

would not poison you, my lady. You

are yet needed alive.”

Jaisyn straightened and drew in a

deep breath, feeling her stomach

settle. The sickness had passed. She

moved in the direction of the stream

and rinsed her mouth before taking

the cool water into her body.

“Should I not have the liberty of

knowing my captor’s name?” Jaisyn

asked in a calm voice, cupping her

hands and using the water to wash the

sweat from her face and neck.

Dax looked down at her and a smirk

touched his lips. “Dax… I am called

Dax.”

“Do you not have a title or a last

name,

Dax?”

Jaisyn

continued,

splashing more of the cool water

against her face. She wanted more

information. Perhaps a last name

would tie him to an enemy.

“Those born on the wrong side of

the marriage bed seldom do, my

lady,” was his amused response.

Her shock at his response must have

showed clearly on her face, for his

smile brightened and he gave her a

mocking bow.

“Who has employed you for this

task, Dax?”

He chuckled. Leaning down, he

tugged her up. Jaisyn stood with a

slight grunt. As she was made to face

him, he spoke.

“No one.” His ice-like eyes seemed

to both pity and mock her even as a

cool smile touched his lips. “Come.

We have many days of travel ahead of

us.”

***

The Northern Wolf was on the

prowl. He’d assembled his armies,

warriors and soldiers alike, from

throughout the Northern kingdoms,

and was on the move. Leaving

General Tarkon enough men to hold

Morden Castle in the event of a siege,

he headed East. His first destination:

Lytheria. The missive he had received

from Varian had been short and to the

point. Isolde was missing. A message

had been left stating that she would be

released only when the rightful heir to

the Lytherian throne, as yet unnamed,

ascended.

Vulcan

grimaced.

The

higher-

ranking nobles had sworn fealty to

him, all but a few. That lot included

Kegan Reinhardt, the Duke of Neren,

who happened to be the oldest of the

males in the extended St. Ives lineage.

Had

the

succession

agreement

between Vulcan and Wilhelm not

been reached, Reinhardt would have

more than likely made a claim for the

throne.

With those thoughts in mind, the

Wolf and his armies rode far into the

night, sleeping mere hours, before

they began riding again at dawn. The

entourage reached Lytheria in seven

days. His generals followed Vulcan

into the castle. The warriors and

soldiers made camp in the open plains

before

St.

Ives

Castle,

some

remembering that only months ago,

they’d laid siege to the castle in this

very way.

***

The Westlands,

Mitherie

Seated upon one of the high-backed

chairs that graced the Great Hall of

Mitherie Castle, the main seat of the

Katarals, Malcolm Sudbury surveyed

Kegan Reinhardt in disgust. He hoped

the smile he wore revealed nothing of

his true feelings for the duke. Kegan,

as usual, was smiling like the

contented nobleman he was.

When he’d left Lytheria, his heart

broken, his pride wounded, Malcolm

had traveled directly to Mitherie, and

within months of showing his mettle

against both allies and enemies, had

been promoted to a lieutenant within

the army. It only helped that he and

Tarbin were already friends and he

was one of the few men the prince

trusted with his life. He hadn’t

forgotten Jaisyn, but months of

training in a foreign place and weeks

of enjoying the pleasures of the

Mitherie women had taken his mind

away from everything having to do

with Lytheria.

That was until Kegan, accompanied

by two dozen Lytherian and Sulanese

soldiers, rode into Mitherie. Malcolm

read the surprise in the duke’s eyes on

seeing him, but it was covered

quickly. As they sat around the table

in the Great Hall, Kegan told the king

that the Sulanese had pledged to

support his cause, that they agreed

Vulcan of Morden had usurped the

Lytherian throne and should be cast

down, and the rightful heir—Kegan—

should be returned. Malcolm, along

with Tarbin, who sat in the chair next

to him with a peculiar look on his

face, and a handful of Mitherie

generals, had listened in silence, as

Kegan attempted to persuade them.

“And what does the queen think of

your plan to overthrow her husband?

Will she agree that you are the rightful

heir to the Lytherian throne?”

Malcolm asked when Kegan paused

to take breath.

Pinning him with a glare, Kegan

forced a smile that did not quite reach

his eyes. “Jaisyn is a St. Ives. She

married the Morden king against her

will and has agreed that her marriage,

for all purposes, is null and void. She

has already pledged her loyalty to my

cause.” With that, he turned his

attention back to the king, a blatant

dismissal of Malcolm.

After listening to Kegan, the king

held up his hand, indicating that he

had heard enough.

“What say you, Tarbin?” he asked,

turning to his eldest. “For if I agree to

lend my armies to this cause, you will

lead them into this battle.”

Tarbin appeared relaxed, with a

hand cupping his chin and his swirling

silver eyes pinned on Kegan. The

duke shifted slightly, and looked a bit

uncomfortable. Even if he disliked

him, Malcolm understood. There had

always been something slightly off

with the Mitherians, but Tarbin

represented it completely. Perhaps it

was those eyes—silver that seemed

somehow inhuman—or the silver-grey

hair color that no one other race had

unless they were old.

Tarbin slowly released Kegan’s

gaze and turned to the man beside

him. Malcolm’s eyes were hard, his

jaw set. The smile he’d worn when

Kegan had begun his tale had faded

and a deep frown now replaced it.

Turning back to Kegan, Tarbin said

smoothly, “Let us think on it. My

father has called for a feast in your

honor. Tomorrow, we will give our

decision.”

***

Iliana was the maid assigned to the

woman in the locked tower. Rumors

had been circulating about the

woman, whom no servant but Iliana

had seen. She was the kitchen maid,

the one whose body bore marks of

different shades from the master of

the castle, the one who cowered at the

mere thought of his displeasure. It was

because of this that her master had

entrusted her with the care of the

woman.

She had not recognized the woman

the first time that she’d seen her, nor

had she the second. So changed was

she, without the long flowing red hair

that was key to her identity, that Iliana

had only come to know her name

when the woman disclosed it. Princess

Isolde.

Iliana was to bring food to her thrice

a day and see that she was bathed and

given fresh clothing once every couple

of days. She had been instructed not

to speak to the princess outside of her

duties and for the first few days, she

had done just that. But Isolde was

friendly and soon, she began to speak,

albeit cautiously, to the young woman.

It was during one of Iliana’s visits to

the princess’s chambers that Isolde

made her a proposition too good to

resist, but too scary to chance.

“You do not like it here,” Isolde had

said truthfully, her knowing green

gaze on the young woman as she

moved around the chambers. “If you

help me escape, I promise to take you

with me. You will be rewarded and

will want for naught in your lifetime.”

To a mere kitchen maid, without

husband and with siblings to support,

that proposition had been a dream.

But when she remembered her lord,

the duke, with his hard hands and

unmerciful ways, she paused and

shook her head.

“I am sorry, Yer Highness,” she’d

found herself telling the princess. “’is

Grace would be most displeased.”

“If you help me, Iliana, I can protect

you from Kegan.” Her voice had

hardened when she’d called the

duke’s name. “You do not have to

answer now. Think on it and when

next you come, let me have your

answer.”

Iliana had not been able to get

Isolde’s proposition from her mind.

She thought of her young sisters, who

were barely fed with the meager coin

she made in her current position, and

of the duke’s wrath if the plan failed.

If he found out she’d had a hand in

helping the princess escape, he would

kill her. He had promised to do so the

next time she displeased him and she

was certain that he would. He had

almost killed her once before, when

she’d first arrived at the castle, and

he’d nearly choked her to death.

She’d been the new girl and he’d

wanted to sample her. Quite innocent

in such affairs, she’d fought him, and

he’d tried to force her to his will by

choking her. Luckily, the pale man

whom all called Lord Dax had walked