Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (18 page)

He knew his mind was failing. He reached for the ebony stone. It soothed him. A man cowled in a black cloak hurried to him and bowed. The man raised a black book and began to read. The woman smiled and clasped his hands. He shuddered, but the pleasure surged higher, overcoming his revulsion.

She mouthed a vow of love. He remembered to agree with her and did so. The man with the gold-trimmed uniform chuckled and told him to repeat what the priest had said. When he did the pleasure rose higher, but he didn’t want it. He tried to tell her with his eyes it was too much, but she merely reached up to take his face. He watched with mild interest as their lips met.

The man with the gold braids lifted him and took him to the bed as the pleasure dissipated. The bed felt wonderful. He sank into it and sighed. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was rest. He waited, expecting the lifesaving pulse to come. It did not.

There were no feelings at all.

There was nothing, only darkness with a thread of light dangling at its center. He tried to reach the thread but he was too tired to move. He lay directly under it, watching as it swayed in the darkness.

The man in the gold-trimmed uniform ran out the door, yelling for a healer.

The woman smiled at him and patted her stomach. “Thank you, my sweet. You’ve done your duty. Now that you have an heir on the way I can rule in your stead.”

Her words evaded him. He reached for the stone when he felt himself shake with need.

A wave of men ran into the room. Some had green uniforms. Others were dressed in gray robes, their only adornment being a silver chain with a silver leaf pendant. The lady began to cry. She held his hand. He didn’t want her to hold his hand. Her touch was repugnant. All he wanted was an emotion, any emotion.

The gray men swarmed around him. She backed away. He didn’t like the look on her face.

A painting caught his eye. It was a portrait of a young girl with red hair. She smiled in amusement at the artist.

He stopped moving. His breath seemed to come from a vacuum.

The black stone burned in his palm. He closed his fingers around it. With the force of the ten winds the images pelted him: Manda being raped and beaten, Evann falling to the ground in death, Alezza laughing, Manda screaming, Bort grunting, soldiers snickering, his father sneering, his father betraying, his pain, Manda’s pain, the rage of humiliation, the rage of his helplessness, the rage at being unable to reach Manda, and his loathing of those causing the pain.

When he released the scream inside no one heard. As spasms shook his body he focused all his remaining energy and jumped, barely grasping the thread that swung in the darkness. He felt his mind begin to tear and quickly forced his memories back inside the stone. He held his mind together by clutching the thread. It sent power inside him, purifying his soul.

When all his memories had left him he just swayed in the darkness, holding on to life.

“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do,” a soft voice said. “I can’t find anything physically wrong with him.”

“He’s heartsick, captain. He and Manda were close,” another said.

“I’m surprised he’s lasted this long,” the first voice said. “It appears he wanted to come home.”

As he swayed in the darkness he wondered why he held on. Why would he cling to something when he was nothing, saw nothing, was in nothing? He was about to let go when rage coursed through him. It was something. It was an emotion. He felt rage.

He better hold on.

Sooner or later someone would come. Someone would find him.

The stone burned in his palm.

- - -

Renee watched Bostic’s approaching army with open admiration. It appeared as if Bostic had recruited every male citizen in Ketes. His army was the sea hurling toward them.

Last night, when she had spotted the approaching hoard, she and Marva had stopped and made camp. There was no sense riding toward Bostic just to ride back again. Bostic was marching toward Zier. Somehow he had discovered Valor’s treachery.

Bostic’s massive form dominated the front lines. He lifted his hand, motioning his soldiers to halt. The animosity in his gaze saddened Renee. Her cousin had always been quick to smile. Ista had taken that smile from him. Renee didn’t know if he would ever find it again.

Bostic perused Renee’s tattered clothing and bruised face. Dust and grime lingered around his eyes, but instead of making him appear disheveled, it only emphasized his rage. His lips curled into a frown.

“I’m fine, Bostic,” Renee said before the king could speak. “I know about Sass.”

Bostic closed his eyes and nodded. When he looked back at Renee, the rage had intensified. “I’m incapable of losing.”

Renee smiled. “So am I.”

“Ramie’s meeting me at the base of the Sierra’s. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a proper greeting, but I can’t be late.”

Instead of replying Renee mounted her horse. Marva did the same. Bostic clicked the reins and started forward. Renee flanked him and took his hand, trying to offer what little comfort she could.

- - -

They had ridden into Crape that morning, passing small villages and keeps along the way.

It had taken some time to find Alezza’s trail. Although Manda had found Alezza’s camp easily, when they arrived it was deserted and a recent rain had erased all tracks. After days of searching Fraul had spotted fresh hoof prints. They led directly to Crape.

Aaron insisted they stop at an inn to wash before they rode into town. Manda had agreed, but reluctantly. She knew she needed to ride to the Crest Castle looking like an heir and not a battered, worn girl, but it still flustered her. She wanted to take her brother from Alezza’s grip yesterday.

But Manda had to admit the warm bath was a much needed and a much welcomed luxury. It did wonders to her remaining bruises and boosted her energy. She tried to think of the last time she had taken a real bath but finally gave up. The rocky streams and chill pools of the countryside were forever ingrained in her memory.

When she finally conceded to leave the bath and pad naked to the dressing room she was surprised to find a new outfit laid out for her. It was a deep, forest green, so deep it was almost black. The pants fit tightly had a slight flair to the hips, creating a look of femininity despite the mannish style. The cream smock was well fitted but still movable and, praise the Fates, didn’t have any billowing lace around the collar or wrists. A cape completed the outfit. It had slits for her arms and was adorned with glittery cream beads that tapered into a stitched vine pattern across the chest. The outfit was simple enough to be tasteful but the cape was ornate enough to give her an aura of regality when she entered the gates of the castle.

Manda glanced in the mirror, giving the outfit her final approval. The tight cloth with the hip flair gave her more shape than she had in actuality. Unfortunately her new shape was concealed underneath the cape. She scowled, releasing the capes heavy folds, but quickly brightened when she saw the effect the cape had as it swayed around her. The cape clung to her shape more so than other coverings.

Manda suddenly realized she had a figure. She stepped closer to the mirror and blinked in surprise. She had dropped at least ten stones of weight, and what weight she did carry was taut muscle. When her eyes flickered to her face, she jumped.

She was never one to dawdle over appearances. She always thought it a fabrication to put on the pompous frills most women would never be seen without. Luckily she had big eyes, pouty lips and dark eyebrows that didn’t require much of the abominable paint. As she stared at her new image she was taken aback. Her face had thinned, her cheekbones were evident, her chin now came to a point, and her brow was wide and strong. Although her broken jaw had mended a little off center, it gave her an alluring charm. But that wasn’t what made her breath catch in her throat.

It was her eyes.

They had deepened in color to a green so rich they matched her cloak, and the brown flecks that had always dotted her irises were no longer brown, they were golden, like the Avenger’s eyes.

Manda smiled as she stared into the eyes of a stranger. Nothing of her father remained besides the color of her hair, and the sun had even bleached it to a lighter shade. If she hadn’t been peering at her own reflection she would have considered the image pretty.

Without further ado she made her way down the stairs to meet the others. When she entered the foyer the men stood and bowed. Fraul bent to kiss her hand, reciting poetry far surpassing anything she would ever become; Lazo gave a low whistle, murmuring his approval; and Aaron swept her length, golden hazel eyes shining with open admiration. Manda blushed and managed to escape through the door, insisting they hurry.

She couldn’t let herself feel anything more than friendship for Aaron. She had seen Kyra. Kyra was exquisite and regal. She would never be.

Ever since she was a child she had laughed when pedagogues tried to teach her the ways of court and she purposely ignored every foolish tradition. She didn’t know why she was the way she was. Her mother had been a model example in solemnity, her father the paragon of refinement, and Chris the image of a prince, but Manda wanted nothing of the masquerades.

That had been what first attracted her to Ren.

Ren laughed when he thought a joke was funny, he frowned when he was unhappy, and he didn’t play games. But it wasn’t Ren she was infatuated with. It was his principles, his ideals, and his visions.

Now, after her feelings for him were but a fond memory, she still loved him, but it wasn’t in a romantic way. He would always hold a special place in her heart, as she would in his, but that was as far as it went.

She turned to Aaron. What did she feel for him? Was it just infatuation? Or something more? She wasn’t sure and she really didn’t care to find out. No one could come close to equaling Kyra’s beauty. She felt sorry for any woman who tried.

As they rode toward the castle Aaron kept teasing her that he had never seen a more handsome pair of woman’s legs, clothed that is, as her own. His booming laugh rolled off his tongue with ease, but Manda wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. She laughed with him, teasing back that he better get a long look at them clothed because that was the only way he would ever see them. Fraul leaned back in his saddle and enjoyed their banter, chortling casually and chewing on a few wisps of hay he had plucked from a large bale. Lazo wore a continuous grin, either because of their repartees or because he remembered her legs in other ways. That and that alone caused her embarrassment.

When they reached the inner city she knew something was wrong. She was easily recognizable, and although some people shouted in joy when they saw her, many averted their eyes as quickly as they could. Aaron, riding beside her, drew his black sword. After that the people gave them a wide girth.

Just before they were about to pass through the outer portcullis a woman stole up to her and handed her a rose. Manda looked down at it in mild confusion. It was a white rose, symbolizing hope life would continue. Valor was dead. The woman should have given her a red rose for sorrow and pain.

“I’m sorry, my lady. We all pray he won’t die, but they tell us it’s bleak.”

Terror gripped her. She looked at her three companions. Aaron’s eyes glowed with incomprehensible power. Manda spurred her horse into a gallop, only hesitating long enough to allow the iron gate of the inner ward to rise.

Her vision blurred. She let her horse have free rein, trusting it to steer her around impediments. When she reached the castle, a guard greeted her with tear-rimmed eyes.

“My lady, we feared the worst.”

“Where’s Chris?”

“Her majesty said she presumed you dead. ”

Her majesty? Manda felt sick. “Where’s my brother?”

“In the wedding suite, my lady.”

Manda drew a sharp breath. It had happened. She was once again under Alezza’s command.

The guard shifted his weight. “I’m sorry, my lady. You mustn’t know. Everything has happened so fast. Your brother married Alezza of Quar. She’s very stricken by his illness.”

Manda strained to keep her emotions under control. Aaron grabbed her arm and warned her with his eyes to stay calm. They couldn’t give away their entrance.

She nodded, allowing Aaron to guide her up the steps. The few men who passed her stopped to tearfully welcome her home. She didn’t hear them. All she heard was the blood in her temples, her own heavy breathing, and her rage churning underneath her fear.

When she reached the wedding suite she drew in a breath and rested her head on the doorframe. The last time she had seen Chris there had been madness in his eyes. What would he look like now? She braced herself and swung the door inward.

The room was dim. Aaron parted the curtains. When the fading sunlight fell on the figure in the bed she choked back a cry.

Chris was as pale as death. She dropped to her knees and rested her face on his chest. At first she sensed nothing, then a weak heartbeat. Her eyes swept his white tunic and pants. Color rose to her cheeks. All royalty was buried in white. It appeared Alezza expected him to die at any time.

“Chris, what has she done to you?” Manda squeezed his hand, silently ordering him to come back to her.

Chris’ eyes flew open. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to meet his face. She tried to move away, frightened by the madness in his pale green eyes.

“Chris, it’s me.”

His fingernails dug into her arm. Lazo tried to pry them loose, but Chris wouldn’t release her. His chest heaved. His eyes widened. He pulled her closer.

“I have the stone.”

“The stone? Chris, please,” she said. “You’re hurting me.”

“He’ll never come back to you.”

Alezza!

Chris released her wrist at the sound of Alezza’s voice. Alezza’s gaze could have smote iron. Manda cringed as the memories stole over her like a phantom.

Aaron put his ebony blade against Alezza’s neck. “Don’t move and you won’t die.”

Recognition passed over Alezza’s face as she risked a quick glance at the Avenger.