Prince of Fire (2 page)

Her mind raced, but her body remained very still. Without moving from the spot where she found herself, Keelia gathered her composure. No matter what had happened, she would show no fear. No weakness. The gentle shaking of her body ceased as she quieted her mind and took control, searching for the memory of how she had come to be here.

She remembered standing over Giulia's bed studying an array of several overly ornate gowns in the style her little sister preferred. Her mind had not been on the simple task at hand. Ariana was coming, and there would be a celebration of sorts, even though Keelia's psychic powers had warned her that there were not many celebratory times in the near future for the Anwyn or the humans in the lands below the Mountains of the North. An unspeakable evil was coming. No, that evil was already
here.

She and Giulia had been studying the gowns, and Keelia's mind had been drifting, and then ... and then, someone had grabbed her. Someone had actually dared to grab her, and then he'd done something to her throat and everything had gone black. Until now. She turned her head and studied the cave in which she had awakened. It was no ordinary cave but was a prison, a cell with bars built into a slender natural doorway. A narrow cot had been placed against one cave wall, but she had not awakened there. Whoever had brought her here had simply dumped her onto the floor. A chamber pot was discretely stored beneath the cot, and a crude wooden table sat near the rear wall. This was not a tempotary facility, but one in which a prisoner might expect to remain for a long while.

An unwanted lump formed in Keelia's throat. How much time had passed since she'd been taken? Hours or days? Who had taken her? Who would dare? She was rarely confronted with mysteries of any kind, but at the moment she grasped no answers to her questions.

"Ah, the Queen awakes," a deep voice rumbled from the shadows beyond her prison.

Flaming torches lit the segment of the cave beyond the bars, but not well enough. Not nearly well enough. Keelia narrowed her eyes and attempted to focus, and finally caught sight of the man who spoke. He lingered just beyond the circle of illumination cast by the nearest torch so that all she saw was a shape, a distant and unclear silhouette. The shape was male, like the arrogant voice, but she could sense little else.

Her powers of telepathy were usually quite sharp. Though they were far from all-encompassing, those abilities were strong and reliable. At least, they had been until recently. What had once been crystal clear was now muddy. Indistinct. Dreams continued to come even when the visions did not, but she occasionally misinterpreted even them, until she found herself questioning everything that came to her. Something was interfering with her gifts. Her mother believed mat if Keelia would search diligently for her mate and settle down, she would know a calm that had thus far eluded her and the visions would become clear once again. Keelia suspected there was something darker at work here, perhaps the very evil she sometimes dreamed of.

It was true that in the past few months she had not been able to interpret the meanings of her visions well, as she should, but even when her powers were not at their best she could still reach into a person—any person—and know something of their thoughts. Were they scared? Angry? Well-meaning? Frustrated? It was a finely honed instinct she had relied upon all her life, and she needed it now.

Keelia reached for this man who had dared to kidnap her, and received nothing in return. Not hatred, fear, or self-satisfaction at a job well done. Not arrogance or anger. It was as if he were a complete blank. She had sensed nothing of him as he'd snuck upon her either, which was alarming.

Accustomed to being able to understand the people around her, Keelia was more afraid of the emptiness than of her imprisonment in this cell. It was as if someone had taken away her very sight or her hearing or her sense of touch. Without her gifts, she was not herself, and she felt horribly lost.

"Who are you?" she asked sharply, refusing to show fear to her abductor. "What do you want? Are you a coward who always hides in the shadows?" Maybe if he moved closer, she'd be able to read something of his thoughts. Maybe if she could see his face, she could reach deeper and understand his intentions.

She did not fear death. If this man had wanted her dead, he could've killed her there in Giulia's room.

"One question at a time, My Red Queen," the man said, stepping forward so that the flickering flame of the torch illuminated his face.

Keelia's heart reacted fiercely to the sight of that face, skipping a beat and racing and thudding so hard she was afraid he would hear it. This was not possible. He was supposed to be nothing more man a dream, a figment of her imagination, a fantasy she called upon when her fertile time came and demanded that she find physical satisfaction. This man, this face she knew so well, he was of her own making, her own imagination. He was not real.

She closed her eyes tightly, wondering if she was caught in some kind of nightmare. No, the stone beneath her was real, the pounding of her heart, real, her inability to see into her captor... real. She opened her eyes, wondering if perhaps she had made a mistake. Maybe her abductor favored the man of her dreams only in some small way, and in her panic she had imagined that he was her dream lover come to life.

Her eyes flickered over him, from head to toe. No, it was not her imagination, not at all. The man who had kidnapped her had long dark blond hair oddly streaked with auburn. That distinctive ginger streak she had caressed in her dreams originated at his temple and shot back to eventually blend with the thick waves of the more ordinary blond.. He was much taller than she, but a bit shorter than most Anwyn males, which had always suited her in her fantasies since, like her mother and sister, she was petite in size, and did not care for being completely dwarfed by the men in her life.

Her kidnapper wore plain brown trousers which fit loosely over long legs and were tucked into soft boots, and a worn leather belt which held a scabbard and dagger. He wore nothing else but a wide silver bracelet which graced his right wrist.

Keelia had been waiting for a long time for her mate to come to her. All Anwyn mated for life, and while the males had to move beyond The City to find their destined mates among human females, as Queen, she should have known for the past ten years or so who her mate would be. She was the powerful Red Queen who had been promised to her people, a Queen who—according to prophesy—would be like no other. She'd been trained from birth to rule, and her mother had gladly abdicated when she and the priestesses judged it was time. Juliet, now the revered Queen Mother, had had the duties of Queen thrust upon her. Keelia had been well prepared. At the age of fifteen she'd taken the throne with no doubts about her ability to lead, without even a hint of uncertainty. She'd not expected her King to immediately appear before her, but neither had she expected to be made to wait so long. She was twenty-five years of age, and still, her mate's identity remained a mystery to her. There were few mysteries in her life, and she had often wondered if this loneliness was the price she had to pay for her other abilities. Perhaps she would never have a true mate and know the love that came with such a union.

Her mother had always told her how she had been unable to read her mate's mind when they'd first met. The love that Juliet and Ryn shared had always seemed ideal to Keelia, and it was what she wanted most of all. More than being Queen, more than possessing remarkable powers like no other... she wanted what her parents had found. Was the fact that she was unable to read this man's mind a sign that he was her mate? Were the dreams and fantasies of him unrecognized visions of what was to be ? She held her breath. Had she been dreaming about her mate all along? It was tradition for Anwyn males to abduct their mates, and while this scenario was extreme ... perhaps he was the one. Perhaps her mate was a rogue who lived beyond The City walls, arid he had finally come for her.

He wrapped his fingers around the bars that imprisoned her, and the bracelet he wore made a clinking sound as he settled his hands there. By the light of the torch, Keelia finally got a clear look at his face. The mouth was full and wide and wicked. In her dreams that mouth smiled often, but it did not smile now. The nose was perfect in shape, and the cheekbones were high and prominent. The eyes were slightly slanted and mysterious.

It was as she studied those eyes that Keelia put aside her wish that he might be the one she had waited for and she suffered her first real rush of fear. In her dreams, those eyes were as golden as her own. All Anwyn were graced with golden eyes, some deep amber and others brightly gold, with most colored somewhere in between.

Her captor's eyes were green. Not just any shade of green, but a deep and lively shade reminiscent of emeralds.

Her dream lover was a Caradon, and he was not a happy creature.

Keelia had always refused to accept that the ancient prophesy that the Red Queen would take a Caradon lover and thereby bring peace to her people might be true. It had been told so many times, for so many years, it had obviously been twisted and misinterpreted. Her mate would be Anwyn, not a contemptible Caradon!

The Caradon kidnapper gripped the bars tightly with large hands. Hands that had grabbed her, hands that had found a pressure point on her throat that had disabled her.

In her dreams, her lover whispered only sweet things in her ear as he used those hands for happier purposes, but in reality he scowled and asked hoarsely, "What have you done to my people?"

* * * * *

Joryn gripped the bars so tightly, his knuckles went white. The woman who lay on the floor, draped in soft gold fabric and tumbling flame red hair, looked innocent and harmless and even tempting. He knew she was not innocent or harmless, and he could not afford to be tempted.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice even, her strange gold eyes unflinching. "Explain yourself."

For the past ten years, he had heard tales of the powers of the Anwyn Queen, and when the Grandmother—the wizened old witch who had lived longer than any other Caradon—had come to him and informed him that the Red Queen was the one behind the horrid transformation of some of those among them, he had sworn to do all he could to stop her.

If he'd thought killing the Queen would end the dark magic, he would've done so already. Druson, another student of the Grandmother who had been present when she'd shared her knowledge, had suggested that Joryn kill the Anwyn Queen immediately. The Grandmother had strongly advised against such a dire measure. In fact, she had forbidden such action. The Queen must be forced to undo the dark magic she had used to curse his people. If he killed her, those who had been turned into mutant creatures that had no name would be doomed to remain in such a state.

"You know very well what I mean, My Queen. Undo what you have done, and maybe I won't kill you."

She huffed prettily, showing no fear as she rose up into a more rigid sitting position. Even with the floor as her throne, she appeared regal. Unshakable. "I am not
your
Queen, Caradon scoundrel, and I have done nothing which needs to be undone. I command that you release me immediately."

Joryn said nothing for a long moment. It was almost funny that the Red Queen believed she could command anything of him. He owed her no allegiance, no explanation, and she was in no position to hold any authority over him—or anyone else. But she did look pretty, sitting there issuing orders as if she actually expected his obedience.

The Anwyn Queen was beautiful, but he could not afford distractions.

He wanted more than her cooperation; he wanted answers. How was such bad magic possible, and why would she go to such lengths when most of the Caradon left the Anwyn in peace? Only a few outcasts felt compelled to annoy and on occasion attack the Anwyn beasts. Most were content to leave the wolf-people who shared these Mountains of the North alone.

In the beginning, only a few of his people had been infected. They had been cursed by this woman and wore talismans—stones hanging from thin leather cords—to mark them as bewitched. Not that anyone who saw them wouldn't know that they were no longer as they should be, but the talismans made it clear that whatever had happened was no mistake—no freak of nature. No, they had been purposely ruined.

Terrible as it was, that curse had been only the beginning. Those Caradon who had been turned into evil, monstrous things were now spreading their disease. Joryn had recently learned that a number of innocent Caradon who were bitten by the monsters had become like those who had lost their spirits to this witch, and on the rise of the next full moon after the attack they, too, were affected. Those who had been bitten began to change, as they always did beneath the full moon, but the transformation did not complete.

The infected ones were horribly caught between mountain cat and man. No longer human, but neither animal, they were twisted in mind and body. Some of them lost their minds entirely and ran into the mountains alone or threw themselves from cliff sides to their deaths. Others joined the rampage of the monsters who cared for nothing but violence and murder.

"As you do not care for being called Queen, perhaps 'witch' will suit you better." He clanked his bracelet against one metal bar that imprisoned her. "Do you wonder why you can't read my mind, witch?" He could tell by the flicker in her eyes mat she did wonder, very much. "Your evil magic doesn't work on me because I am protected by the power of the ancient Caradon." The bracelet he wore had been fashioned by the Grandmother, and he had been warned not to take it off for any reason. Even when he shifted into a mountain cat, the bracelet would remain in place, and he would be protected from the Queen's probing magic.

"I am a witch" she confessed, "but I am not evil." Moving with a gentle grace, she unwound her body and stood.

Anwyn men were quite large, but apparently the females were small. The Queen was not much more man five feet tall, he would guess, and the other female who had been with her when he'd taken her was no bigger. Even her bones were small, as evidenced by the tiny structure of her wrists and the delicacy of her hands. Sne did not look at all powerful, but then he had been warned that she was well practiced in deceit and dark magic.