Blood Legacy: Heir to the Throne (14 page)

“I told you they would return.”

Ambrosius leaped to his feet, sword in hand. He whirled toward the voice, his instinct causing him to react before his memory took hold.

Ravlen gazed at the menacing sword without fear, entertained as always. She pushed the point away, unconcerned by the deadly blade.

Ambrosius lowered the sword, stunned. He had not seen her in almost two decades, and yet she had not changed at all. She was still dazzling, a flawless goddess.

He, however, Ravlen noted with pleasure, had changed significantly. He was truly a man, now, broad through the shoulders and chest, with strong, muscular arms and legs. He wore his dark hair to his collar with a short, neatly trimmed beard on his chin. Time had turned the beautiful boy into a ruggedly handsome man. There was an intelligence and melancholy in his eyes that was irresistible.

“Oh, my handsome warrior, do not look at me that way.”

“You left me,” Ambrosius said, unable to hide his emotion. “All my life I have been a hollow shell.”

Ravlen stepped away from him, examining the leaves on a nearby tree. “You should have taken a wife,” she said, “it is unseemly that one such as yourself has no offspring.”

Ambrosius took two steps toward her and grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her around. He had the sense that what he was doing was very dangerous, and that he was able to do so only because she allowed it. Although Ambrosius was one of the tallest men in the land, they were easily eye-to-eye.

“You are my wife,” he said, his voice hoarse, “while you exist in any form, even in memory, I can have no other.”

She smiled at him, again that smile one would reserve for a child. Not condescending, but rather gently admonishing, as if he simply did not understand.

“Well then, my husband,” she said, “perform your marital duty.”

Ambrosius crushed her into an embrace and took her to the ground. His passion for her was all-consuming, a passion she easily matched. Although Ambrosius was incredibly strong, he felt this woman could have crushed his bones if she so chose.

It would have been a death he welcomed. And for the next several hours, he welcomed that death again and again.

Ambrosius stirred, reaching out to his side. The space was empty but the ground was still warm. He sat upright, and was relieved to see that Ravlen was still there standing at the edge of the trees. She had her back to him as she stared out into the meadow below. He took a moment to examine her lithe form, memorizing every line and curve of her body.

Ambrosius felt a great sadness settle over him. He stood and quickly dressed. Ravlen did not move, nor turn toward him.

He finally cleared his throat. “I am not going to see you again, am I.”

Ravlen turned toward him, an unfathomable look in her eye. It was difficult to say if she was sad, or relieved, or if in fact, she felt anything at all. The only sense Ambrosius had was that, as always, she seemed mildly amused.

“No,” she said, the slightest trace of regret in her voice, “you will not.”

Ambrosius looked down at the ground in front of him, struggling with his emotions. His throat ached with words he would not say, and his heart throbbed painfully in his chest. He felt hot tears gather beneath his eyelids, and blinked quickly to drive them away.

It did not matter, however, because when he looked back up, Ravlen was gone.

He clenched his jaw, turned on his heel, and began striding back to camp.

The men watched as their leader strode from the forest, trying to gauge his mood. He was solemn, his dark eyes filled with some deep emotion they could not assess. But he was not afraid, that much was evident. If anything there was a pronounced lack of fear, the fearlessness of one who had nothing to lose. His bearing was confident, as if the outcome of this day had already been determined, yet now meant very little to him.

As the barbarian horde began to stage, the men continued to glance toward their leader. Ambrosius watched the Saxons gather, their numbers staggering, the mass extending across the entire horizon. Yet still he showed no fear, and his demeanor gave his men comfort and assurance. He knew the well-armed barbarians would attack first, possessing ferocity but little discipline, and he was soon proved correct.

Ambrosius led the counter charge and although his men had seen him fight in many battles, they had never seen him fight like this. He appeared as one possessed, his strength, skill, and endurance unmatched by any on the field. Barbarians fell by his sword, first a dozen, then scores, and as the day wore on, hundreds. All would agree that the general fought as if neither life nor death had any hold on him.

Legends were born at Mount Badon on that day. Ambrosius went into battle as one already dead, and many say for that reason he could not be killed. A thousand Saxons fell before his blade and before the day was done, he had turned the barbarian invasion back into the sea.

Although the Saxon conquest of the British Isle would one day succeed, it was stopped entirely in the lifetime of Ambrosius Aurelianus.

Ryan awoke, a great heaviness upon her. The dream had seemed so real, and the sadness of the man so deep it physically pained her. She had no idea who the man or mysterious woman were, but somehow she had the feeling that she would not dream of them again.

CHAPTER 15

THE DOOR TO ABIGAIL’S SUITE WHISPERED OPEN upon her approach. The servant who held it bowed as Ryan strode into the room. Abigail was seated on the pale blue couch reading a book. She looked up as Ryan entered the room. The servant quickly excused himself and Ryan stopped a few feet from Abigail, her manner both formal and polite.

“You requested my presence?”

Abigail examined the girl, an inspection that went far beyond merely physical. Ryan was patient beneath the assessment, having undergone it many times over the centuries.

“And will you,” Abigail asked with steel gentility, “respond to my requests so willingly once you are King?”

Ryan settled into the chair across from her. “I am not certain my response is ‘willing’ even now. But,” she added, “I do not see my level of compliance changing.”

Abigail set the book aside, pleased with the answer. She enjoyed the girl’s cleverness as much as her more physical talents. She did not, however, delay making her point.

“Although it was little more than a formality, the Old Ones were unanimous in their acceptance of you as new leader of the hierarchy.”

Ryan absorbed the news. It was not really a surprise, but it did provide some relief as another step completed. “I wonder,” she said, no trace of regret in her voice, “how unanimous the vote would have been were Aeron still here.”

Abigail’s response was firm. “Aeron is not here.” When Ryan did not appear satisfied, she added, “And a four-to-one vote would still have been binding.”

“And would it have been four-to-one?”

The response would have blind-sided a lesser adversary. But Abigail was no ordinary opponent and she was unfazed by the question.

“Do you think I would vote against you, having gone to so much trouble to bring you to this point?”

Ryan contemplated her words. Although it was not the most reassuring response, the reasoning was sound and consistent with Abigail’s usual calculating manner. It did not provide her any ease. Abigail sensed the girl’s continued pensiveness. She leaned forward slightly. Her tone was quiet but her words were intense.

“Do you not trust me even now?”

The clenching of her jaw was visible as Ryan struggled to resist the magnetism of the woman across from her. When she responded, however, it was with complete honesty.

“I don’t know.”

The answer did not displease Abigail nearly as much as Ryan thought it would. It actually seemed to entertain her more than anything.

“And is that upon the advice of your father?”

The reference to her father surprised Ryan, not only because it was out-of-place, but because it was completely accurate.

“Victor told me,” Ryan said slowly, “to trust no one.”

Abigail stared at her with her unblinking gaze. “Yes that sounds like him.” She leaned back into the couch. “Then it might surprise you to know that your father did in fact trust me.”

With mild skepticism, Ryan asked, “In what way?”

Abigail appeared to be enjoying herself. “He entrusted me with that which was most dear to his heart.”

Knowing what she was referring to, but disbelieving what she was hearing, Ryan waited for Abigail to finish.

“You.”

“My father,” Ryan said doubtfully, “entrusted me to you?”

The girl’s uncertainty entertained Abigail even further. “Yes, he left me with two very simple instructions. I was to safeguard your welfare–”

Ryan wondered how Victor would assess the success of that edict.

“–And see that you assumed leadership of the hierarchy. And in two weeks time, I will have accomplished both.”

Her brow furrowing, Ryan struggled to grasp what she was hearing. Although she could not fathom his reasoning, it sounded exactly like something Victor would do. He had to have known Abigail was the most dangerous of the Others, both in a general sense and very specifically, to her. To task her with Ryan’s care was both a brilliant and exceedingly perilous tactic. One that apparently had been successful.

“What,” Ryan asked slowly, repeating a question she had asked years before, “did my father offer you in return for your assistance?”

She received the same answer.

“You,” Abigail said simply.

Ryan settled into a stunned silence. The machinations of the Old Ones, including her father, never ceased to amaze her. She had not the patience nor the guile to involve herself in such subterfuge, and certainly not the desire. She had no idea how she was going to be King over such an assembly.

“Actually my dear,” Abigail said softly, reading her thoughts, “that is exactly why you will make such an excellent King.”

She continued, deeply thoughtful. “Sometimes I envy your lack of ambition, it makes you extremely powerful.”

If Ryan was taken aback by the earlier revelations, Abigail’s words now utterly silenced her. Such a confession from the matriarch was unheard of. But if Ryan interpreted the admission as a sign of weakness, the predatory gleam in Abigail’s eye made her think otherwise.

“But it also leaves you open to manipulation by those who do possess ambition.”

“And is that what you do to me?” Ryan asked quietly, “manipulate me to further your own ambition?”

Abigail’s gaze rested on the girl’s lips, then moved to the vein that ran alongside her throat. “You forget, my dear,” she said leisurely but with emphasis, “I already have everything I want.”

This at last forced Ryan to complete silence. She sat in the chair for a long time, a look of distraction on her face. Abigail watched the range of emotions flit across the girl’s features, and as always, was enamored by the unconscious display.

She gently broke the silence. “I made an observation about you centuries ago, when you were but an infant.”

Ryan looked up at her.

“I said the most dangerous thing about seducing you was not knowing who was seducing whom.”

Ryan held her gaze. “And do you now have an answer for that conundrum?”

“No,” Abigail said simply with a smile. “I do not.”

The exchange seemed to release the tension in Ryan. She let the confused thoughts drift away. A few moments later, she changed the subject entirely.

“Were there any other matters from the Grand Council?”

“Just one,” Abigail replied as Ryan steeled herself, “you must designate a Second at your coronation.”

Ryan tried to assess Abigail’s tone, to see if there was anything underlying her words. But the matriarch was being purposely enigmatic. Unwilling to play any more games, Ryan asked her outright.

“And do you have a suggestion?”

Without hesitation, Abigail replied, “Kusunoki.”

Both surprised and pleased at the response, Ryan was wary.

“And your reasoning?”

“Kusunoki is extremely powerful,” Abigail said casually, “and utterly loyal to you. He would make an excellent Second.”