Bride by Command (36 page)

“She was talking nonsense before she collapsed. I fear something may have gone wrong with her mind.” It wouldn’t hurt to plant doubts, in case Danya recovered before the day was done. “Poor girl, her mother was never quite right in the head, but I had hoped this pretty child would not inherit the family weakness.”

The physician turned his head and glared at Kristo. “Did anyone inform the emperor that Lady Danya has a family history of mental weakness?”

“No,” Kristo said simply, “but I believe he knows. She’s been behaving quite erratically since arriving here.”

The physician nodded and returned his attention to the girl on the bed. Not only was she pale and cold, but her breath came so faintly it was as if she were almost dead. With any luck she would quickly die from a broken heart, devastated by the loss of a child who had never truly existed, mourning a baby she had buried years ago. Women were so weak.

His daughter would not be weak. He would not allow it.

“Perhaps you can give my niece something to help her rest more comfortably,” Kristo suggested, feeling the need to be cautious as this important day unfolded.

“I could,” the physician agreed.

“Lovely,” Kristo said with a touch of relief. “A few days of rest and Danya may be her old self again.”

The physician reached into his tapestry bag to fetch some remedy which would render Lady Danya insensible, and Kristo made his way from the room. This was the day—his time had arrived at last—and there was much to be done. But just to be safe, he turned in the doorway and watched as the physician spooned a dark concoction into Danya’s lifeless mouth.

He felt a wave of relief that he had found his fine, strong daughter and did not need to rely on this damaged female in order to see his plan succeed.

 

 

TRINITY
rode toward the palace at a leisurely pace, still uncertain of what he would do when he got there.

His time with Lady Rikka had been unsatisfying and much too short, but thankfully he had recovered from his affliction before she’d passed into the next life. Terrified of what he might do to her, she’d frantically told him how it had been Kristo’s idea to rid the world of the competing bridal candidates before the emperor made his choice. Trinity wasn’t sure that he believed her—there was no innocence in the woman, after all—but there had been some truth in what she said to him before she’d died.

“Besides, the man turned me to stone,” Trinity said to the ghost that walked beside him. He did not know if the specters that haunted him were real or a figment of his imagination, but he did remember killing this particular man—a very long time ago. The ghost was tall and thin and still wore the ragged clothes he’d been wearing when Trinity had taken his life for some crime—real or imagined.

There were others, the haunting ghosts of those Trinity had killed in his innumerable years as an assassin, and if he looked closely, he could and did remember killing them all. That was the purpose of the curse, was it not? In days past, this particular ghost had always been close at hand, walking or running beside Trinity, standing over him as he became human again and took his first agonizing breath as his lungs turned from stone to flesh. Taunting him.

Instead of screaming and crying, as he had in early days, Trinity had come to consider the ghost or illusion or whatever it might be a friend. Not a close friend, but an escort, of sorts. Thinking of the visions around him as companions made him feel more in control than he had in the early days.

“It hurt terribly to be stone. I felt as if shards of glass were cutting through me.”

“Yes, yes, so you have told me many times,” the ghost said harshly. “It rather hurt when you killed me, so you’ll get no sympathy here.”

Trinity glanced to the rear, and as usual there was a long trail of bloody bodies walking behind him, some looking solid, others misty and insubstantial.

“You won’t get sympathy from them, either,” his personal ghost said.

“No, I suspect I won’t.”

Since Lady Leyla had laid her hands upon his body and cursed Trinity, ghosts of his victims had haunted him constantly. He wasn’t quite as mad as he had been in the early days, but his mind was less than steady, that was for certain. The witch had made it impossible for him to harm the innocent, but she had done nothing to keep him from dispatching the less-than-innocent, as he had dispatched Lady Rikka.

The man who had turned Trinity to stone, in a futile attempt to take the life of a man who was cursed to immortality, was certainly not innocent, either.

Trinity worked the fingers of his right hand. “It’s been many days since I recovered, but I swear, I feel as if there is still a bit of stone in my bones.”

With Arthes and the palace rising before him, Trinity reined in his horse and stopped. What awaited him there? Another act of vengeance, another battle. At his heart he was tired of battles, tired of killing. Lady Leyla had ruined him with her curse, and he was in need of a long rest. Perhaps it was time to retreat once again to the Mountains of the North, where he could be alone for a hundred years or so—just him and his many, many haunting companions.

“It truly did hurt,” he said again, and then, his decision made, he turned his horse to the north and rode away from Arthes.

The ghost at his side, determined to offer no sympathy, began to sing a dreary song. Soon they were all singing the tune of sacrifice and love lost and, finally, hell. As the capital city grew smaller behind him and the mountains which were weeks of travel away beckoned, Trinity—who knew he could not make the ghosts of his violent past shut up—sang along.

 

 

AFTER
days of being determined to take nothing from Jahn—he called it stubborn to a fault, but she much preferred the word
determined
to describe her state of mind—Morgana chose and donned a dress suitable for an empress, one of the many Jahn had had delivered to her in way of an inadequate apology.

The gown she decided to wear on this important day was made of a fine, pale green silk and was minimally embellished. It was modestly cut in the bodice, compared to the frocks she had seen on Melusina and Anrid, but was certainly not prudish. She brushed out her hair and left it down and unadorned, in a style Jahn seemed to prefer.

She steeled her heart for what had to be done.

Her morning lesson with Deputy Rainer had been a short one, and had been conducted within the confines of her room with a watchful Blane present as chaperone. She had not forgiven the sentinel, who’d been present when Jahn had spun his lie, and he knew it. Smart man that he was, Blane was a little bit afraid of her.

Soon everyone would be afraid of her. One way or another they would all know what she was, they would all know that a witch once again resided on Level Seven.

Rainer had been absentminded and distracted, and so had she, so after a short lesson on gathering calmness as if it were a palpable thing, she’d dismissed him. Usually he liked to drag out their lessons as long as possible, but on this day he’d obviously been anxious to leave her. When Rainer and Blane had gone, Morgana practiced gathering serenity to and into herself. It was difficult when she could not find much calm in her life, much less gather it to her, but she needed control today more than ever.

She was not surprised when Kristo arrived, bearing tea as he had on other occasions, in order to explain his presence in her chamber. As she had learned to do when in his presence, she brought childhood memories to the forefront of her mind. She worked diligently to gather that calmness she so desperately needed, and set all other thoughts and emotions to the side. Kristo could not see what was truly in her mind; he could not know how she felt about him and his plans. She worked very hard to hide her thoughts from this horrible man who was, heaven help her, her real father.

She had never appreciated Almund Ramsden more than she did at this moment, as she looked into cold, evil eyes and remembered how she had so often—and so foolishly—longed to know and embrace the man who had given her life.

She took the opportunity to ask many questions about the power they shared, trying to learn as much as she could about the curse that had so taken her by surprise, the curse that had changed her life in an instant. Her interest was real, and Kristo mistook her questions for those of a woman who wished only to hone her own skills. In truth, she would gladly give her curse away—but she could not let this man see that. Not now.

Talk of the deadly weapon they shared could last only so long, and all too soon Kristo turned his cold eyes on Morgana and asked, “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

She could tell that he was trying to tap into her mind, trying to read her thoughts. She could also tell that he failed and was frustrated by the effort. “If you do not do exactly as I say, then everyone will know what you have done. Everyone will know that you killed that poor man with your magic. They will not be as forgiving as I have been, I trust.”

There was much she could hide from Kristo, but he saw Tomas’s death too well, too clearly. Perhaps she could not hide the murder from him because they shared the curse which he did not consider to be a curse, or perhaps it was because the guilt of a violent death weighed too heavily upon her heart to be entirely hidden.

“I understand,” Morgana responded.

“Together you and I will make the emperor pay for all that he has done to you.”

“Good,” she whispered, thinking intently of a lengthy and dreary poem a long-ago tutor had made her memorize.

Kristo’s brow wrinkled. “Do you understand what is required of you?”

She understood all too well. “What you have asked of me is very easy to understand,” Morgana responded. “I make Jahn think that I have forgiven him, we marry, I give birth to his son, and then I kill my husband and make my baby an emperor who will rule with you, his doting grandfather, at his side. It’s a simple enough plan, Kristo, and I am not a simpleton.”

“Father,” he said. “You should call me Father, my child.”

The calm Morgana had tried so hard to gather seemed to fly away, breaking from her body in horror. The icy hint that she was on the edge of destruction, a destruction she was learning to control, grew. But she stopped the growth; she controlled the curse and filled her mind with senseless, simple thoughts. “Father,” she whispered.

 

 

RAINER
had been thinking of Danya since he’d left her very early this morning. She was more fragile than she’d allow anyone to know, and she’d do anything in order to save her son. He knew she would not be chosen as empress, and therefore would not be called upon to murder the emperor once a child had been conceived, but what else might Kristo ask her to do? Who else did he have on his side as he planned for a revolution which would begin in the emperor’s bed?

He could not imagine that Lady Morgana would do what Kristo had asked of Danya, but he couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that Kristo, a man who had gone to great lengths to get what he wanted, would likely not walk away from his scheme if all did not go as planned. Tonight, when the emperor named the woman who would be his bride, something might very well happen, something which would harm the emperor and all of Columbyana.

Rainer requested—then demanded—an audience with a tense, fidgeting emperor whose mind was elsewhere. Emperor Jahn paced as the deputy minister warned that he suspected there was a treacherous plan in play, without revealing Danya’s part in the scheme. He tried to make it appear that his magical abilities to read energy led him to believe that something was very wrong, rather than telling all that Danya had revealed to him in confidence. The emperor only half listened, even though Rainer’s words were alarming.

“My Lord,” Rainer finally said hotly, “I believe your life is in danger!”

Emperor Jahn looked at Rainer then, ceasing his pacing and giving all his solemn attention to the bearer of bad news. “Yes, I know.”

“Perhaps you should postpone making your choice.”

The emperor shook his head. “I can’t do that. I set a deadline and I will stick with it, no matter what might occur on this night.”

“But, My Lord Emperor, we cannot know who is involved in the scheme. You can trust no one.
No one,
” he repeated for emphasis.

“That will be all,” Emperor Jahn said crisply. “Your warning will be taken into consideration.”

Rainer left the emperor, confused but certain that he had done all he could without breaking Danya’s confidence and her trust. Was it enough?

He could not help but remember how nervous Morgana had been this morning. She’d been nervous for as long as he had known her, which in truth was not all that long, but today she had seemed different, somehow. Rainer wondered if that condition was normal for her or if somehow Kristo had drawn Morgana into his scheme, just as he had Danya. Blackmail, promises of power, a twisting of the heart and soul for his own purposes. The man was truly evil and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

But to tell all would put Danya’s son in danger, and he could not do that. Somehow he had to find the child and make sure Ethyn was safe before a move was made on Kristo. There was not much time! It would all begin tonight.

Rainer all but ran to the level where Danya’s room was located. At first he was heartened to see that she was still in bed. She needed her rest. But then the man in the corner of the room stood, and Rainer was startled.

Tol Whystler, palace physician, looked grim indeed. “She’s resting well,” he said. It seemed that thanks to their evening walks in the garden, everyone knew he and Danya were friends, and Whystler was not surprised to see him in her quarters.

“What happened?”

Whystler picked up his physician’s bag and walked toward the door. “I believe she’s had some sort of mental breakdown. Her uncle said there’s a family history . . .”