Prince of Magic (11 page)

Finally, after many long minutes, Ariana assured herself that the emperor was well enough for this conversation, and she stepped away from Arik.

The old man looked to Sian, his eyes full of questions.

"It started here," Sian said simply. "Beneath the palace, in Level Thirteen. A demon, an Isen Demon, grew potent there and escaped, taking with it the souls of those who died in that horrible place."

"How?" Arik asked.

"I don't know. I've studied a bit of demonology over the years, but I am not an expert by any means. I'll research the matter."

"Do we have time enough for research?"

Sian could only be honest with the emperor. "Probably not. Not enough, anyway. If I can locate a wizard who is acquainted with the Isen Demon, it will save valuable time. Otherwise I'll be searching through documents for months, and I suspect we don't have months."

Ariana spoke up. "There are many fine wizards in the Circle of Bacwyr. Perhaps we should collect Lyr before we go to Keelia, and while we're there, we can interview the Circle wizards and find one who's familiar with demonology and the Isen Demon."

"Perhaps," Sian said. "I have not yet decided."

"There are many journals on Level Seven, where witches and wizards of the palace have always practiced. Perhaps you will find what you need there."

"I'll study these journals." Sian liked the idea of exposing Ariana to battle less and less. Maiden or not, she was a woman. A healer. An empath. How could an empath do battle? How could an empath kill, as Ariana would surely need to do? He might as well walk her to the edge of a cliff and toss her over the side. She'd have as much a chance of survival, and suffer much less pain. "As for the other suggestion, it is too soon. We will not be making our journey to Queen Keelia or to Lyr in the very near future."

"But—" Ariana began, ready to argue with him.

"You are not ready." With that, he turned his back on her and walked away, opening the doors with a flick of his wrist and making haste for his quarters. He had lessons to plan, and he could not offer all of them himself. Ariana would need the tutoring of a swordsman, an herbalist, a foot soldier, and a shaman if she were to survive long enough to do her part in this dreadful war that was coming.

Ciro stood at the window and watched Rayne work in the garden. A part of him wanted to join her, but he no longer cared for the sun. It burned his skin and all but blinded him. No, these days he was much fonder of the night.

But he was also fond of watching Rayne. She was beautiful, but what appealed to him went deeper than that. She was so fine, so good, a light shone from her soul. He could see it now, as if the light of her soul radiated from her body and became as tangible as the breasts, the hair, the long, fair limbs. The light of her soul kept Rayne from him for now, but soon he would be strong enough to take it from her.

He wanted more from her than her soul, as any needful man would, but her body would only be an appetizer, something to whet his hunger for her soul.

When he was strong enough, he would take both at his leisure.

He heard footsteps in the hallway outside his room. Strange how his senses had heightened in the past few months. He knew the footsteps were coming to his room. Fynnian's step he recognized. The other… the other was a woman. A frightened woman who took quick, light steps toward a destiny of which she was blissfully unaware.

Watching Rayne below was nice, but he needed more. He was so hungry.

Fynnian did not knock, but walked into the room with confidence. He'd have to speak to Fynnian about that action. It was rude. It was not befitting the power Ciro now possessed.

The girl was half-hidden, standing behind Fynnian with her eyes downcast. Her hair was an ordinary brown, as was the dim light of her soul that made Ciro hurt to be fed. Until now, he had only been able to take a soul—gray or dark—with permission, but he felt stronger today, and this woman's soul was so tainted it was possible… very possible… that he could simply take what he wanted without asking.

"Prince Ciro, this young lady is Elen. I purchased her for you."

"My own slave," Ciro said as he walked away from the window, taking care not to step into the sunlight that streamed through the window. "Let me have a look at her."

Fynnian grabbed the girl by the back of her ill-fitted frock and pulled her forward. Ciro could not see her face, as she kept her head down. Her hair was lank and in need of washing. Her clothes were worn, dirty and torn at the hem.

"I said, let me have a
look
at her!" Ciro said sharply.

The girl lifted her head slowly, and Ciro was pleasantly surprised. Her face, while dirty, was very pretty. The features were even and the skin was pale and smooth. Her eyes were bright, and a fetching shade of blue. If she'd been a slave for very long, her work had not been of the outdoor sort.

Fynnian smiled and stepped into a corner of the room, where he took a chair and settled down to watch. The man was smug. Confident. Yes, this was the wizard's house, but he had been taking too many liberties of late.

Ciro motioned for the woman to move into an opposite corner, and turned his attention to Fynnian. "You are dismissed," he said with confidence.

Fynnian's smile faded quickly. "You have never objected to my presence in the past."

"I object
now
," Ciro said. He didn't want Fynnian to know if he was now able to take souls without being granted permission. He also didn't want the old man watching if he attempted such and failed. "Leave us."

Moving too slowly and with great caution, Fynnian rose to his feet. He looked at the girl, then at Ciro, as he made his way toward the door. "If there's trouble, I must be here to—"

"There will be no trouble," Ciro assured his mentor. "Leave us. Now."

Unhappy about the situation, but unable to do anything more, Fynnian left the room, closing the door behind him. Ciro bolted that door, in case the old man had any ideas about returning uninvited.

Ciro turned and leaned against the door. The girl trembled, but just a little. "Close the curtains," he commanded.

Elen scurried to do as he said, yanking the heavy drapes closed so that no sunlight shone through. It took only a moment for Ciro's eyes to adjust completely to the new darkness. Outside the sun shone, but in this room there was not a hint of daylight.

"Remove your clothing," Ciro whispered.

Elen quickly did so, not even bothering to pretend to be demure, not even caring to cover her most private parts as she revealed a body fine enough to match the pretty face. How many men had she spread her legs for? How much tainted seed had she taken into her body? He did not know how or why, but something deep inside warned him to beware of tainting his body with that which was possibly diseased.

When the day came that he could feed himself with untainted souls, he would be unstoppable, and he could do no damage to this body. As the process was not yet complete, he still had to take care.

"Undress me." He stood in the middle of the room, arms lifted, so that Elen could do as he ordered. She thought he would bed her, and he allowed her to continue to believe that as she unfastened buttons and ties and very carefully laid his clothes aside. She couldn't see as well as he in the dark room, so her hands occasionally fumbled as she completed her task. He could not help but notice, as her trembling hands groped in the dark, that she was very small. Not only small, but insignificant. Of no more importance than a spider or a flea.

This encounter could be over quickly, but he did not want to rush. It might be days before Fynnian delivered another meal, and Ciro did not want this to be done too soon. He wanted to savor what was coming. As the last of his clothing was put aside, he anticipated the taking of the soul that would satisfy him, and the blood that would sustain him.

Pretty as this slave was, she was not Rayne. Rayne, who was beautiful and pure of body and soul. Rayne, who would be his empress when the time came. He closed his eyes and thought of the woman he wanted most of all, as the slave Elen knelt before him and took him into her mouth.

A part of Ciro was demon, and he realized that fact too well. But another part remained human, at least for now. He was still a man, and he pictured Rayne as she had been in the garden as the slave used her mouth and her tongue and her hands on him. She no longer trembled or fumbled.

No, Elen's previous duties had
not
been of the outdoor type. She was talented, this one was. If he cared more for the needs of the body than the needs of the demon who resided inside him, he would keep her alive for a while longer. But his demon hunger was more powerful than his hunger as a man, and he knew that would not happen.

Ciro fisted one hand in the slave's hair, and in his mind it was Rayne's dark hair he gripped, Rayne's wide mouth pleasing him, Rayne's gentle hand working with the mouth. One day it would be his beloved who knelt before him, naked and trembling. It would be Rayne, with her beautiful face and her slender pale hands, and her flawless soul, who became his slave. Rayne would be his wife, his empress, and mother of his son.

The thought was unexpected, and Ciro realized that it was the Isen Demon who spoke to him as the slave continued at her task. The demon whispered promises, as it sometimes did. There would be a son, the offspring of the demon, and Ciro, and Rayne. All three would be necessary to create the remarkable child who would be both a monster and a man, who would grow to rule this ruined earth and feed upon those who dared to attempt to bring the light back to what had been destroyed.

His completion was strong and quick. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman kneel before him this way, and the needs of his body were not yet dead. He suspected they might be soon, but not before he made Rayne his bride in every way. Not before he created his son.

Our son.

Elen stood, breathing deeply and wiping her mouth. "All I ask is that if I please you when you desire it, you do not hit me."

She thought he would be agreeable now, and what man wouldn't be after such a display of skill?

Ciro's answer was to backhand her, so that she flew across the room and landed on her backside, naked and shaking.

"You do not dictate to me," he said. "Stand."

She scrambled to her feet, shaking and cowering.

"Lie on the bed."

Elen, his slave, took care not to come too near him as she passed by, but she again did as he commanded. She sat on the side of the bed for a moment, and then she reclined on top of the coverlet, legs spread and trembling. One hand caressed the cheek he'd slapped, and a single tear slipped from one fetching blue eye.

As he approached, it occurred to him that she was a bit too skinny to be truly beautiful. Her previous owner hadn't fed her properly. Her breasts had not suffered too badly. They were full and taut, the breasts of a young woman who had not yet given birth.

As he stood over the slave Elen, Ciro wondered if the demon inside him would completely wash away all that was left of his human desires. When Rayne became his bride, when he planted his son inside her, would the experience be a chore, or the pleasure he dreamed of now, when some of the man remained?

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

Elen didn't know how to respond. She searched her mind for a moment, wondering if he wished to be feared or not. Finally she answered, "Yes, my lord. I am much afraid of you."

"Good," he said, and the woman on the bed breathed again, assured that she had found the right answer.

Ciro lay atop Elen and pressed his body to hers. She did not know what to expect, since he was no longer hard and as a man had no more use for the body which was all she had to offer.

He kissed her throat, and tasted not only the blood beneath but the dimly lit soul. Usually it was here that he asked for permission. It was at this moment, with his mouth on the throat, that he asked, "Will you offer me body and soul?"

Today, he did not ask. Nor did he hurry. He felt the woman beneath him relax. Elen believed she was safe here. She had accepted him as master, and had agreed to do everything he required of her. She tried to reach between their bodies to caress him, to make him hard again, but he grabbed her wrist and moved her hand aside. "Not now," he said gruffly, his mouth still against her throat.

Could he do what needed to be done? Was she his for the taking, without the spoken permission?

Ciro bit into Elen's fine, slender throat, and she flinched.

"Easy, my lord," she whispered.

"Easy" he replied. "Yes."

He bit fully into her throat, finding the vein and opening it, taking her blood and her soul into his body. What he took filled and satisfied him in a way the simple orgasm could not. The dim light of her soul filled him, fed him, made him stronger. In the back of his mind he realized that Elen struggled, but she was no match for him. He had surpassed human strength long ago.

There was much warmth in the taking of blood, and he had come to crave it as much as the soul which would not stay within him long enough before the Isen Demon took it away. They danced together, the soul and the blood, as he took them. He savored the taste of the blood and the remarkable sensation of a soul leaving one body and entering his. It was as if he had been completely empty before, and now… now he was fulfilled. There was power, even in a damaged soul like this one, and now that power belonged to him in all ways.

When the soul was entirely his, Elen stopped struggling. He continued to drink her blood, as it, too, nourished him and he did not wish to waste even a drop. As her soul danced within him, he knew Elen as no one else ever had. She was scared all the time, and had been since the age of fourteen, when she'd caught the eye of a rich man who'd purchased her, the first man who'd owned her body and soul. She'd had more than one disease in her short lifetime, and had serviced more men than she could remember in more ways than Ciro had known possible. She'd done murder, not once, but twice. And she'd gotten away with it both times.