Warrior (48 page)

him. Although she had wanted to

protest, Jaisyn did not do so. Months

ago, she would have insisted on being

in the thick of things, but months ago

she did not carry anything as precious

as she did now. Her hand involuntarily

rubbed her belly through the thin

material of the dress.

Oh Vulcan
, she prayed silently.

Please be alive. Come for me…for us.

She had stopped pacing on that

prayer and sought to do so once more

but there was a commotion outside.

Suddenly, she was facing a man she

neither expected nor wished to see.

Her eyes darted frantically around the

solar for a sword or dagger. She’d left

the one she’d taken from the soldier in

the study.

Kegan Reinhardt was bloody from

head to foot and a similarly bloody

sword was pointed directly at her.

“Come, Morden whore,” he spat

angrily. Jaisyn flinched and took quick

steps back, her eyes never leaving the

bloodied sword. “Do as I say and that

bastard in your belly may yet live to

draw its first breath.”

Her hand flew to her belly

immediately and a bitter smile touched

his lips as he advanced on her. “I

should kill you for what he has taken

from me, but you will prove useful

yet.” With that, he grabbed her arm

roughly, ignored her cries of pain, and

pushed her forward.

***

As they had done countless times

before, Vulcan, Varian, and one of his

generals, rode their horses slowly to

the castle, stopping just short of the

reach of the arrows, yet close enough

so they could be heard.

“Greetings, Azarius of Sulan,”

Varian called out loudly, his gentle

voice belying the blood and gore that

marred his armor and helmet. “The

High King of the North and Lytheria

had come but for one thing: Jaisyn of

Lytheria, his true wife in every known

sense of the word. Not only was their

marriage blessed by the High Priestess

of Lytheria, it was blessed by the Seer

of Morden, and consummated in a

Lytherian bed, the sheets burned as an

offering to their Goddess.”

There was a bit of rumbling from

the men-at-arms of the battlements

but Varian continued. “My lord King

was prepared to show leniency, and

good faith, had she been returned to

him before this ridiculous and ill-

served battle. You have enraged our

generous king and he now seeks not

only his true wife, but also your fealty

to his rule. Accept those terms and

you and your men will live to breathe

another day. Deny them, and we will

take pleasure in bringing you to heel.”

***

The words were said pleasantly but

Azarius felt color touch his cheeks in

outrage. Vulcan of Morden was mad.

He was already King of the

Northlands but now he wanted the

allegiance—no, the subjugation—of

the most powerful kingdom in the

South? He was mad. Sulan was no

small kingdom. He had called forth

but half of his army for this battle and

had not sought help from any of his

allies. If Vulcan of Morden thought

this was over, he was sorely mistaken.

Azarius

prepared

to

tell

his

messenger, standing beside him for

word, to inform the King of Morden

that his greed would be his downfall

and Sulan and her allies would stand

against the Northlands. He turned to

the man and would have spoken, but

for what happened next.

***

Vulcan sat atop Shadowfax, who

pawed the ground impatiently, and

took in the defenses of the castle. It

was a strong castle, built to withstand

a siege. It would take weeks, months

even, depending on the size of the

larders and buttery. Varian had

stopped speaking and they were

waiting for the response, when a

feeling of unease settled deep in the

pit of Vulcan’s belly. He saw the king

turn to his messenger before turning to

look behind him. What Azarius Shadid

saw made him freeze, for he gave

Vulcan and his men his back and

turned full on to confront whatever it

was. Vulcan did not have to wonder

long, for the wind whipped a scarlet

material into view moments before his

wife, who looked pale and drawn,

stepped forward. Azarius lifted a

hand, and he was sure that it was a

command to his men rather than a

message to them.

His eyes narrowed when Kegan

stepped up behind her, impossibly

close to his wife. Vulcan’s keen eyes

narrowed

and

widened

at

the

wickedly curved, bloodied dagger that

rested at her throat. Sensing his

unease, Shadowfax pawed the ground

before snorting and relaxing once

more.

“There is a dagger at her neck,

Vulcan,” Varian said softly. Vulcan

swallowed and nodded. He could not

speak.

His

vocal

chords

were

paralyzed. Was the blood on the knife

hers? Her face looked drawn. She

was in obvious pain. Why was her

cousin holding her hostage if she was

his ally? He thought back to the way

Malcolm had spoken to him in camp.

Was it possible that Jaisyn had been

forced to leave him? That she was

innocent in this? He remembered

Anhur’s cryptic responses to his

questions, that she’d gone both

willingly and unwillingly. And if

Malcolm had been telling the truth of

that, was he also telling the truth of

the extent of their relationship?

“Vulcan of Morden!” Kegan roared.

His voice was filled to the brim with

his rage. “Remove your helmet and

ride forward so that I may face you,

man-to-man!”

“No, Vulcan. It is a trap,” Varian

whispered. Hector chimed in the

same.

Kegan did something that made

Jaisyn whimper and cry out. The

helmet was in his hand before he

could think more of it and he’d

already nudged Shadowfax forward.

He vaguely recognized that he was

now in the line of the archers.

Kegan focused his eyes on the man

who called himself the Northern Wolf.

“You will give me safe passage from

Sulan else I will cut your heir from

your wife while she still draws

breath!” To show that he was not

being idle with threats, he lifted the

hand that Vulcan had not been able to

see, due to the parapet before them,

and waved another deadly blade in the

air. The dagger disappeared once

more and Jaisyn’s face wrinkled in

pain. She bit her lip and whimpered.

Vulcan was reeling at two things:

Jaisyn was carrying his heir? Why had

she not told him—? Kegan was

threatening to remove it from her

body? That bastard! That sniveling

coward who would use something as

helpless as an unborn baby to

negotiate his passage out of Sulan!

“Did you hear me, Northern Wolf?”

Kegan demanded.

Vulcan nodded and called out

loudly. “Yes, I hear you. Safe passage

from Sulan. Go! But leave my wife.”

An hysteric laugh erupted from

Kegan’s throat. “Think you I am

stupid, Wolf of the North? You are

ruthless and would kill me before I

passed the outer gates! I will take your

wife with me and release her when I

have arrived safely at my destination.”

Vulcan longed to scream his denial

but Kegan was to be dealt with

carefully. So long as he held the life—

no lives—of two of the most important

people to him in his hands, Vulcan

would go slowly.

“You have my word, Kegan. You

may leave Sulan unharmed by any

warrior of mine. To get that, you must

leave Jaisyn where she is.”

“NO!” Kegan’s denial was hot,

fierce. “You lie! I will not be lied to!

You have taken a most precious

person from me and it galls me not to

slit the pretty throat of your whore.”

Kegan began to whisper frantically to

the archer standing by his side.

“Vulcan, he is manic. There will be

no arguing—” Varian began from

behind him only to snap his teeth

together as Vulcan hissed, “That is

my wife, my unborn child, in his

arms!”

***

“Take the shot or I swear on that

black-hearted goddess Lyria and all of

her descendants that I will slit her

throat before you can so much as

blink,” Kegan was telling the archer

on her left. Jaisyn was in pain, and

she was very much afraid, not only for

herself, for them all. Something had

snapped within Kegan and he reacted

brashly to everything, and was

unnecessarily brutal. As he’d dragged

her to the battlements, he’d pushed

her against the stone walls and choked

her until she almost lost consciousness

before releasing her and dragging her

the rest of the way. The evil in his

eyes that had lain dormant had come

forth, and he seemed bent on bringing

pain to all.

She did not doubt that he would slit

her throat. Whether today or a few

days from now, Kegan had no

intention of ever letting her live. And it

seemed as though he intended to see

Vulcan dead as well.

The archer looked over to Azarius

for confirmation and Jaisyn tried to

shake her head but could not do so

without presenting her own throat.

Azarius glared at Kegan, and knowing

that his soldiers were too many steps

away to get to Kegan before he sliced

open the young queen, he nodded

once.

From the side of her eye, Jaisyn saw

the affirmation and as she looked to

the other side, she saw the man take

an arrow and load it to his crossbow.

She went limp in Kegan’s arms.

Kegan released his hold on her slightly

to lean close to the archer. “Aim for

his head or neck. I want him dead.”

Jaisyn sent a prayer up to the same

Goddess that Kegan had just called

black-hearted, just seconds before she

allowed herself to collapse backward,

leaning all of her weight on Kegan.

Though slight of weight, she forced

him backward as well. He’d done as

she’d anticipated. The knife at her

belly dropped, the knife at her neck

was removed; both of his hands

moved to her arms to steady her.

“Fainted,” he muttered in disgust,

moments before she spun out of his

arms. His mouth barely emitted the

‘What are you—?’ before Kegan saw

the glint of light from something to his

left and lifted his eyes to meet

impending death. It was a clean cut,

severing any and everything in its path

—thin skin, thick arties, flexible

tendons—before exiting smoothly. A

look of shock and confusion flickered

across his face moments before his

head slid from his body and landed

with a dull thud to the battlement

floor. Jaisyn whirled on the archer,

who’d all but forgotten the command

to shoot when he noticed the woman

had taken his king’s sword.

“Put that weapon down! Stand

back!” she hissed angrily, grasping the

golden hilt in her small, steady hands.

He nodded and put his bow down

immediately. He was going to do

everything she said. He liked his head

exactly where it was.

***

Vulcan had found himself praying

for a miracle. When the archer had

taken aim at him, he’d known that

man had been given a command to kill

him. Although he’d resigned himself

to die, he’d prayed. He’d not had

enough time with his wife. He wanted

to see his heir, wanted to be a father

both loved and respected. His eyes

had remained open, pinned on his

wife, as he awaited death. A battle cry

had left his throat as his wife’s body