Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (47 page)

His little Wrynne, cursing like a fishwife!

“What made us suspect she’d been infected was when I got wounded up at Silvermount,” Jonty said with a flicker of horror passing behind his green eyes at the memory. “Wrynne tried to heal me but couldn’t. Her ability was gone.”

“What?” he breathed.

“Novus had to do it. And then she lied about that, too,” Jonty added.

“And now this,” Novus said. “As you can see, it’s escalating quickly. Taking hold. Very soon, she’ll be out of control. You need to be careful around her. Because just as the fire thistle made Lord Eudo target you, it will likely cause your wife to do the same.”

“That’s impossible. She loves me.”

“But the evil that’s taking over in her
hates
good, Thaydor,” the bard warned, shaking his head in regret. “You’re known for being, well, rather ridiculously good. Ergo, it hates
you
. Weren’t you the first one the Silver Sage marked for death?”

“Because I spoke out against him and his influence over the king.”

“Of course you did. You make my point for me.”

Thaydor heaved a frustrated sigh, his mind spinning. “Well, it sure didn’t seem like she hated me in there.”

“Oh really?” the bard countered. “She wasn’t using you? Wasn’t manipulating you?”

“He’s obviously not used to being treated the way the rest of us are by females,” the sorcerer muttered.

The bard snorted in cynical agreement. “You need to be on your guard around her,” Jonty repeated.

“I don’t believe this.”

“Thaydor, right now, Wrynne is turning dark. You must be prepared to expect treachery from her until we figure out how to save her. Just remember, what you’re seeing isn’t really her. This isn’t her fault. You mustn’t hold this against her.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he was silent for a moment, staring at the floor. “So what do we do? How do we cure her?”

Novus and Jonty exchanged a grim glance.

“What?”

“There is no known cure,” Jonty forced out.

Thaydor turned white. “Then find one! Make one!”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Novus said. “This thing is very rare. It is said that even on the Infernal Plane, these plants only bloom every hundred years. The chance of one escaping Hell is miniscule. There haven’t been enough cases for study, and in the few that have been found, the patient ultimately—” He stopped abruptly.

“What?” Thaydor demanded.

“Dies.” Novus’s quicksilver eyes were difficult to read. “The poison of the fleur du mal kills the spirit first and, later on, the body.”

Ilios.
Thaydor turned away, feeling as though he’d been struck in the gut, and spent a moment trying to gather himself.

“Very well,” he said with difficulty at last. “You have the first case available now. Experiment on Eudo if you must. But you have to save my wife. I order it. As your king.”

His innards felt like cold porridge as he faced the reality of the task set before him. He had been hesitant about taking the reins of power, but this changed things. To save Wrynne…

Very well.

“Spare no expense. You have the resources of Veraidel at your disposal. Just name it. Heal her.” Thaydor looked from one to the other, sickened by the thought of how many people Wrynne had healed, including him, but now that she was the one dying, they dared say there was no cure?

“If you succeed, you shall have whatever you want as your reward. But if you fail,” he said to Novus, “I promise you, there will be hell to pay.”

“Thaydor, don’t threaten the man!”

“It’s all right,” Novus mumbled to the bard.

“And you!” Thaydor turned on Jonty. “How could you let this happen to her? Never mind the idiot knights, I told
you
specifically to protect her!”

The sorcerer came to Jonty’s defense. “It was a little difficult for him when the rocs ripped his guts out and nearly started eating them—sire.”

Taken off guard, Thaydor fell silent.

Jonty looked away.

Thaydor dropped his gaze and strove to get his rage under control. There was no need to take it out on them. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed in an awkward tone. “I’m sure you did your best. It’s been a very trying day.”

“No, you’re right. It
is
my fault,” Jonty mumbled, head down, and obviously distraught. “I should have found a way. It should’ve been me it happened to. You told me to protect her and I failed.”

“We all failed,” Thaydor said. “I should have never let her out of the Eldenhold. But it’s just, when she asks me for anything…I can’t say no.”

“Even if you had, do you really think she would’ve stayed put?” Jonty asked, and they both knew the answer to that.

Not that the realization helped.

“She is to be my queen.” Thaydor swallowed hard and tried to check his rising wrath, to little effect. “I need her by my side. If I lose Wrynne, I don’t give one damn what happens to this kingdom or anyone else in it. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly,” Novus replied, looking quite tranquil. “That’s probably what the evil in her had in mind all along.”

Thaydor looked at him in angry surprise.

“Destroying her destroys you. Two birds, one stone.”

“No, a whole flock, actually,” the bard said.

“What do you mean?” Thaydor countered.

Jonty shrugged. “Say you refuse to take the kingship because of what’s happened to her. Chaos ensues. Rival warlords take to the battlefield to vie for power. Of course, they’d probably have to hunt you down and kill you, just to be sure you didn’t change your mind and try to come back.”

“So?” Thaydor replied darkly. “Without her, I don’t care if I live or die.”

“Well, Reynulf would probably come out the winner in a struggle of this magnitude. Sorry,” Jonty said, “but he’d make a terrifying king.”

“Of course, if you were dead,” Novus said, “the Lady Wrynne herself could claim the crown, as your wife. What then? Are we to be ruled by a madwoman?”

“Perhaps Wrynne and Reynulf would reign together,” Jonty persisted. “Bloodletter and the Mad Queen, now there’s a match—”

“Enough!” Thaydor wrenched out, even though he saw what the two were doing, trying to goad him into doing what the world asked of him.

The bard shrugged. “That, my friend, is what happens if you choose now, of all times, to walk away from your duty.”

“You’ve made your bloody point,” Thaydor grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself.

He could hear her scratching at the door and wheedling him to unlock it. It sounded like she was crying. “Why are you doing this to me, Thaydor? Why are you being so cruel? Don’t you love me anymore?”

He flinched at the question and finally nodded at the men. “Very well. Do whatever it takes. Anything you need to help you find this cure, you have only to name it.”

Novus inclined his head in a token bow. “I’ll go get started.”

“Bring me any word of your progress.”

“Wait, what about Wrynne?” Jonty interrupted. “What are we going to do with her in the meantime? When we make her better—and we will—she’ll be horrified at how she acted. She needs to be protected. From herself. And from others who might take advantage of her, er, peculiar state.”

Thaydor blazed with sudden rage at the thought of any man daring to accept one of the little maniac’s lustful invitations. But again, he checked his urge to smash cities at the thought.

“You’re right,” he said with grim, forced calm. “I will not let my queen become an object of mockery. If it’s evil at the root of her…disease, then we should transfer her to holy ground, where the Light can help protect her.”

He nodded to himself as the answer came clear. “I want her taken to the Bastion and watched around the clock by the nuns and clerics there. Tell them I want prayers and orisons said for her continuously until she’s healed. Can you go with her?” he asked Jonty. “I’m needed here. Perhaps your music will help the sisters keep her calm.”

“Certainly. Whatever you want me to do.”

“If she tries to tempt you, Jonty—”

“Please. I do have one stray moral here and there.” He glanced at Novus, who was still waiting to see if there was anything else.

“I’ll be on my way, then,” the sorcerer said.

“Novus,” Thaydor called after him.

He glanced back in question.

“Thank you,” Thaydor said.

The longhaired sorcerer gave a curt nod and then strode off, his black cloak flowing out behind him.

* * *

A while later, having quickly bathed and dressed, and having made the arrangements for Wrynne’s safety, Thaydor approached her chamber again and braced himself. Behind the door, he could hear her raging at the servants who had been given the task of dressing her and packing her traveling trunks.

The poison was taking hold of her quickly.

“Take your hands off me, you swine! Who do you think you are? Don’t you know I am your queen? I demand to see my husband! Where is that pompous lout?”

“Right here, darling,” Thaydor said in an agreeable tone, stepping into the room before she started pulling clumps of the servants’ hair out.

Or her own.

“Don’t you look pretty,” he said softly, which was true, except for the wild, harsh glitter in her eyes.

“I don’t want to go. Why are you forcing me to leave? Are you casting me aside so quickly? You think I don’t see what’s going on?” She pushed her way past the servants, striding toward him. “I helped you gain power and now you’re done with me. Is that it?”

“Well, your propositioning Reynulf right in front of me could have a little something to do with it,” he said with a taut smile, though he knew he probably shouldn’t bring it up.

She let out an unpleasant laugh. “So possessive! How dull. Don’t you know only insecure men bother getting jealous? Is that what you are in your armor, Thaydor? Just a big, empty shell?”

The servants gasped with horror at her words, but Thaydor merely dropped his gaze, stung.
Wonderful.
She was already moving from being lust crazed to plain nasty.
It’s not her fault,
he repeated to himself, but truly, it seemed his commitment to Ilian virtue would be tested.

He smiled gently and drew her into his arms. “Come here, my love.” He embraced her, ignoring her struggles. He caressed her hair and whispered “hush” as she tried to shove him away.

She quieted for a moment, leaning against him as though exhausted.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you today at Silvermount,” he whispered as he stroked her head and her back in fierce protectiveness. “I wish you would’ve waited for me. I never wanted you to put yourself at risk, but I know that you probably did it for my sake.”

For a fleeting moment, she was her old self again and clung to his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest. “Help me, Thaydor. My head’s all a tangle. I don’t know who to trust. I’m scared.”

“I know, sweeting. But it’s going to be all right. I’m going to save you. We’re going to find a cure for this, I promise. Whatever it takes,” he finished in a choked whisper.

Holding her tenderly, he closed his eyes, sent a desperate prayer up to heaven, then kissed her on the head. “Come back to me soon. You must go to the Bastion for a while. I want you to cooperate with your doctors.”

“You’re driving me away,” she wrenched out, pulling free of his hold. “You don’t love me anymore.”

“I love you. And because I do, I’m sending you somewhere you’ll be taken care of properly. You like the Bastion,” he reminded her. “It’s very beautiful there, remember? The gardens?”

“No, that’s not it.” She shook her head and backed away from him as the shadow reclaimed her. “You want me gone. You’re cheating on me, aren’t you? Of course you are. Everybody wants you. The great paladin! Well, I don’t care if you’re the king. You’re mine. Do you understand me? You touch another woman and I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

Damn
, thought Thaydor, but he kept his expression impervious. “There is no other woman, Wrynne,” he promised. “There is only you. Forever.”

The words were the last he could manage with the lump in his throat, seeing the unnatural hatred of him gathering in her eyes.

He nodded in farewell, then turned around and walked back to the door that opened onto the corridor.

To his astonishment, a vase smashed near his head against the lintel as he reached for the latch.

“What was that for?” he exclaimed, glancing back at her.

She flung a sneering laugh in his direction. “Oops.”

He clenched his jaw, refusing to be baited. “You’re charming when you’re possessed. Be as evil as you please. I still love you.”

She hissed at his answer like a feral cat with very sharp claws.

He stepped out while her servants scurried back into her chamber, but his taut smile faded as soon as he pulled the door shut. In the corridor outside her room, a world of work and duty awaited him. He shut his eyes, more shaken than he had let on.

Indeed, he was nearly queasy over what had befallen his precious bride. His best ally. His one indispensable friend. Pain and utter dread pulsed through him.
Please, I can’t lose her…

Somehow he steeled himself. When he flicked his eyes open, they gleamed with a hard light. For he knew then that if his prayers went unanswered, if he did
not
get her back, the world might yet discover that the Golden Knight had a dark side, after all. If evil wished to turn his wife into a Fonjan harlot, then why should he not likewise unleash the war god within himself?

He would make the entire world pay.

* * *

Bastard…

About a week had passed, but Wrynne lost count of the days. She had heard her caretakers saying her condition was worsening faster than expected.

Well, perhaps they would not have been surprised if they could have spent one second in her skin. Agonized confusion had become her normal state. She couldn’t stop thinking about Thaydor. Her love for him was becoming a cold, gnawing obsession.