A Man Betrayed (54 page)

"I don't
doubt it." Baralis judged it was time to remind Catherine of her debt.
"For you would be dead by now if he had."

Catherine
attempted to challenge his words with a disdainful gaze, but she couldn't quite
keep the fear from her eyes.

Baralis continued,
his voice low and alluring. "My lady, sorcery is a dangerous weapon. One
should never wield it lightly."

"Lightly,
Lord Baralis!" said Catherine, as quick as a whip. "I never wielded
it lightly. Blayze's life was in danger, I had no choice."

"You were a
fool! If I hadn't intervened there would be no skin on that pretty chest of
yours. I took the impact for you."

"You look
fine to me."

Baralis grasped
the fabric of his robe and ripped it apart. The silk tore like parchment,
parting to reveal his chest beneath.

A tiny noise
escaped Catherine's lips and her hand fluttered to her chest. Slowly, she shook
her head. "No, no."

"Yes, my
sweet Catherine," said Baralis, purposely dropping her title. "This
is what your drawing did to me." His words had the desired effect.
Catherine turned as pale as a sheet. She drained her cup and went to sit down
on the bed. "I had no idea. No idea at all."

Baralis drew the
silk over his skin, covering the seams where old flesh met new. "Little
girls shouldn't play with fire."

Catherine was
clearly nervous now. Her thumb was in her mouth as she chewed upon the nail.
"Will you tell my father?"

This was what he
had been waiting for. "No. It will be our little secret."

"And what do
you expect in return?"

"Friendship,
my sweet Catherine. Nothing more." Baralis spoke like a suitor, using his
voice to coax and caress. "You and I could do much for each other. We have
the same plans and we want the same things. There is nothing we couldn't do
together." He leaned forward and ran his hand down the perfect smoothness
of her cheek. Catherine's first instinct was to shy away, but after a moment's
hesitation she seemed to accept the touch, even tilting her head forward as he
withdrew.

"What do you
mean when you say we have the same plans?"

Baralis knew he
had her. All he had to do was say what she wanted to hear. "We both want
to see the knight dead." Even as he said it, he realized it had to be so.
The drawing that had smashed into him on the night of the fight had told him
much about the man who had repelled it. The knight was dangerous; powerful
people stood behind him. He was meant to become the duke's champion. It wasn't
just a lucky win: fate had led the dance. Where she might lead was hard to
tell, but she never picked partners lightly. Tomorrow he would know more.

For today, though,
his priority was Catherine. She had to leave this chamber firmly on his side.
"We should help each other," he said.

"And what's
in it for you, Lord Baralis?"

How much to say?
It wouldn't be wise to give his ultimate plan away. Catherine probably hated
her father at the moment, but would she want him dead? Baralis found the strength
of family ties hard to judge, and so tended toward caution in such affairs.
"I want the marriage to go smoothly."

"Is that
all?" There was a shrewd look on Catherine's beautiful face.

"All, my
sweet Catherine. The greatest union in the history of the Known Lands should
not be dismissed so casually." Baralis made his voice ring like a fanfare.
"You will be ruler of the vast territories of the north. Men and armies
will wait upon your bidding. Jewels and riches will be yours beyond compare. More
than a queen, you will be an empress."

Two bright bursts
of red shone high on Catherine's cheeks. Her soft lips trembled and then
hardened to bone. "An empress?"

She was his. He
had judged right: she craved glory as much as her father. The ruling house of
Bren was as ravenous as its emblem, the hawk. Ambition ran in the blood: that
and lechery. The maiden's belt that Catherine wore was not for show. Too many
of Bren's daughters had shamed themselves with lust. They were like cats in
heat. Even now she sat there, legs a fist too far apart for decency, bodice cut
a finger too low for good taste. Baralis turned his back on her; he could not
afford to let her beauty distract him.

"You will
surpass your father in the breadth of your vision. He sees a kingdom, you will
survey an empire. Your name will move the lips of generations. Catherine,
Empress of the North, will be remembered throughout history. Your deeds will be
spoken of long after your father's name has been forgotten." Baralis
wheeled around to face her once more. "By helping me, you help
yourself."

"What would
you have me do?"

As Catherine said
that one, delicious sentence, Baralis felt the tension drain from his body. He
walked over to the cabinet and poured himself a half cup of wine. Only when he
had drunk its measure did he speak. "To start with, I need to know exactly
what your father is up to at all times. Who he meets with, where he goes, what
intelligence he receives, even what he's thinking. At a later date I may need
to know about the passageway to his chambers; the knight will be spending much
time there and it will make for a convenient assassination. Lastly, I need you
to reinforce to your father how strongly you feel about the marriage. Tell him
you have been out in the city and have met with nothing but encouragement from
your people. Perhaps you might throw a tantrum and threaten to throw yourself
off the battlements if your father looks set to forbid the marriage. Use your
own judgment."

Catherine nodded
obediently at everything he said. Baralis noted the familiar light of intrigue
upon her face and continued. "Now, before you go, tell me what you know
about Kylock's invasion of Halcus."

She spoke
breathlessly, like a little girl eager to please. Baralis listened to what she
had to say. He was worried about the content, but more than happy with the
delivery.

Cold water was
thrown against Jack's face. The bucket followed after. "Wake up, you
kingdoms' bastard."

Jack opened his
left eye-the right one refused to do his bidding-and looked at his
surroundings. At first he thought he'd gone to hell, for everything was tinged
as red as the devil. A second later he realized he was seeing everything
through a crimson haze. His good eye was filled with blood. Which was a little
unfortunate as it was the only one he had working at the moment. Still, one red
eye was better than none.

The man who'd
thrown the bucket looked about as mean as Frallit on a feast day. He was the same
color, too. However, the master baker managed to look red about the jowls
regardless of bloody eyes.

"What you
smirking at, boy?" A quick kick to the kidneys added force to the
question.

Jack tried hard to
change his facial expression. It wasn't easy. His jaw refused to do whatever it
normally did and his lips proved too thick to move.

"Don't you be
playing me for a fool, boy. 'Cos I'll wipe that smirk right off your
face." The man slapped Jack hard against the cheek and sent him reeling
backward.

Jack felt a single
knifepoint of pain in his chest and then the floodgates opened. Every muscle,
every bone, every cell of his body cried out in protest. Four limbs throbbed
with separate hurts. Back and belly were afire, and he felt as if there was a
huge crack running down the middle of his skull. There was so much pain, in
fact, that after the initial shock of discovery, it all blended into one,
canceled itself out, and then settled upon the original piercing spot in his
chest as its sole representative.

"Not smirking
now, eh?" prompted the guard.

Jack's thoughts
were clouded by pain. He wasn't sure how to react. By turns he tried nodding
and scowling. Luckily, nodding came easier and the guard appeared to back off a
little. Feeling relieved but decidedly unheroic, Jack breathed a sigh of
relief. Another mistake, as his chest protested strongly at the exertion. A
sickening warning pain swelled up from his lungs. Blood came with it. Leaning
forward, he spat a froth of saliva and blood onto the ground.

"I wouldn't
be worried about that, boy," said the guard. "In my experience,
hanging is the greatest of healers. Better than any physician for curing the
ailments."

Jack was getting
heartily sick of the guard. He scanned his brain for a suitable insult, could
only come up with, "you Halcus sheep-lover," but decided to use it
anyway.

Crack! A
well-placed boot smashed into his chin. Another followed straight after. And
then another.

"Here,
Gleeless! Leave the boy alone," came a second voice. "The hanging's
not for a week yet, and there's no pleasure in putting a noose around a
corpse."

Gleeless grunted,
gave one final kick to Jack's side, and then followed his friend from the cell.
There was a clink of metal, a turn of key, and then a patter of hard feet on
even harder stone.

Jack now knew
better than to sigh in relief. Lying on the floor, looking up at the low,
barreled ceiling, he tried to relax all his smarting muscles. He could deal
with everything, even the new blows from the guard, except for the pain in his
chest. It was like a whirlpool in his center, drawing in his strength and his
awareness, and he had to fight it all the way. He had a distant memory of a
jutting arrow and dogs with blades for teeth. No, he didn't want to think about
that. He had to focus on something, though, to keep his mind from the gaping,
swirling trap that was sculpted from pain in his chest. He could lift up his
head and take a proper look at his body, but he had a feeling he wouldn't like
what he saw, so he dismissed that idea on the grounds of his own squeamishness.

There was one
thing left for his mind to grasp at. One thing that would distract his thoughts
from the arrow wound to his chest: Tarissa. She would have been waiting for him
in the woods that night. Hours and hours alone in the dark and he hadn't come
through for her. Jack thumped the ground with his fist. He had let her down.
Thinking about it was torture. At what point had she given up on him? Midnight?
Dawn? He could see her now: chestnut curls escaping from her hood, face tight
with worry, hand upon her knife. She would have stayed till dawn, he was sure
of it.

What must she be
thinking? That he was captured, dead, or, worst of all, that he had just taken
off and left her once the job had been done.

This was Rovas'
doing. The tunnel was blocked and he'd walked straight into a trap. The
smuggler had no use for him now that Vanly was dead. It was so much easier to
let the soldiers have him. This way Tarissa and Magra would think that he had
been captured, not betrayed. Again and again, Jack brought his fist down on the
stone. How could he have been so stupid! Rovas had led him forward, laughing
all the way. It was the perfect plan: get someone else to do your dirty work
and then have them hanged for it.

Right now Rovas
was probably comforting Tarissa, his hands resting a little too low around her
waist, his mouth a little too close to her ear.

Jack felt pressure
building within his head; the picture of Rovas touching Tarissa was unbearable.
A sharp tang in his mouth and then the cell began to shake. A stone came
hurtling down from the barreled ceiling and crashed right by his feet. It acted
like a slap in the face, shocking and sobering in one. He worked quickly to
control himself, imagining the sorcery like bile that had to be swallowed. He
took it back into his gut and forced it to stay down. Blood coursed from his
nose as the pressure in his head sought release. He felt a warm trickle from
his ear a moment later.

"What in
Borc's name was that?" shouted someone. Jack was shaking from head to
foot. The sorcery, the falling stone, and the image of Rovas and Tarissa
together was too much for him. He wanted to cry, only heroes didn't do things
like that, so it was a point of honor that he wouldn't either. Besides, the way
his face was at the moment, crying would only bring him more pain.

He felt so weak,
so out of control. For the first time his mind had shown him what he had
unconsciously known since his first week at the smuggler's cottage: Rovas
wanted Tarissa. He was in love with her and would let no one else have her. It
explained so much. That was why Magra had pushed them together; not because she
wanted to see him and Tarissa become lovers, but because the alternative was so
much worse. She couldn't let Rovas take her daughter. The man had been like a
father to Tarissa for nearly twenty years, his desire for her was almost
incestuous. Magra, a noblewoman of the highest order, would rather see Tarissa
with a baker's boy than the man who had once been her lover and second parent to
her daughter.

Jack's head was
spinning. Tarissa had to be saved from Rovas. It wouldn't be long before the
smuggler came up with another heinous scheme to bind her more closely to him.
He would stop at nothing. Murder, blackmail, coercion-anything to keep control.

Jack pounded his
fist against the stone floor. Rovas wanted Tarissa. Why hadn't he admitted it
to himself sooner? If he had he wouldn't be here now, locked in a Halcus
dungeon whilst Rovas offered a wide shoulder for the woman to cry on. He'd been
so easily fooled. He should have checked the tunnel out before he went ahead
with the plan. Jack did not doubt for one moment that the tunnel had been
blocked off long ago-and that Rovas was well aware of it. The smuggler had
knowingly sent him to his death.

Jack cursed his
own stupidity. He'd been as pliable as newly kneaded dough. Not anymore,
though. A part of Jack hardened as he lay on the floor of the Halcus cell. For
too long now he, had allowed himself to be domineered and manipulated by
others. Frallit bullied him, Baralis beat him, and Rovas had betrayed him. It
was time he took his life into his own hands. No longer would he let himself be
led like cattle to pasture. From now on the future would be his.