Raven's Hand (19 page)

Evelyn’s words gripped my heart. I forgot the
pain I had just experienced, as anger burned through my mind. Power
welled within me, like a storm raging out of control. Mistress
Evelyn had hurt me many times, but I could not allow the crone to
touch Killian. I would stop her—with my final breath if need
be.

The door behind Evelyn creaked slightly on
its hinge, drawing her attention. It slammed shut at my thought
command. She jumped as it banged hard against the frame, but turned
back to me with her wand; its runes glowing fiercely.

But I was no longer afraid. After all, what
power did she really have? If I choose to disobey, to rebel against
her, what could she do that she was not already willing to do
anyway? She could not risk killing me, but she had already
threatened Killian. Somewhere in this palace, she was holding him
prisoner.

A burst of energy, in the form of lightning,
erupted from the silver Malkind wand. It struck me like a
thunderclap hammering the ground. I was thrown backward into the
bannister, my head cracking against the wood hard enough to daze
me.

But I refused to be beaten any longer. My
eyes flashed with inner fire. The
actual
fire, burning
within the grate to my left, leaped out of the hearth toward
Evelyn. Startled, she screamed, waving her wand before her, warding
off the flames only at the last possible moment. The sleeve of her
garment briefly ignited before she frantically tamped it out. The
remaining flames had been redirected into the stone wall, scorching
it black before dissipating completely.

Instantly, Evelyn pointed the wand back to
me, her hair in disarray, her general appearance disheveled now.
There was something present in her eyes that I had never seen
before. Fear had taken up residence there.

Soldiers beat upon the heavy door behind her.
Frantically they called to their queen. Evelyn waved the wand
behind her quickly, keeping her gaze steadfastly upon me. I could
feel the pressure as she attempted to use that power to open the
door to the soldiers beyond, but I was stronger than this Malkind
instrument. It was a tool, powerful to an extent, but nothing
compared to the energies commanded by Bright Ones like myself.
Otherwise, the houses would never have bothered to cultivate the
Daughters of Eliam for their bonds.

We both heard the timbers of the door
groaning to obey her, but still the door did not open. I was
holding it with an iron will. Evelyn had now pushed me too far and
she would face my fury.

I began to realize what I was doing, as my
energies rose to the point of bursting, as my anger threatened to
overwhelm my reason. I was actually prepared to kill the mistress
of House Rainier, Queen of the Realm. If I did this, I would become
a criminal, hunted until the day I died. I would never have a home
or family, never be allowed to live at peace with Killian.

Evelyn noticed my hesitation. She could at
least sense my fury welling. I saw in her expression that she
expected me to kill her, but my slight reluctance was her one
remaining opportunity to save herself. She did not beg for her
life. Instead, being the woman that she was, she attacked.

Flinging herself sideways, in a move that I
did not anticipate from a woman of her age, she fired off another
more powerful bolt of lightning. She was desperate now; both
desiring to save her own life and preserve me as her son’s bond.
Yet, this was her weakness: she could not kill me.

If the king expired before Prince Nathan
could assume the throne, then the monarchy would become available
to the other great houses. Political resolutions were slow and
cumbersome by nature. A war for power would surely erupt. The
strongest house would take the crown for themselves, leaving House
Rainier subject. Historically, it had been the practice of every
newly reigning king to assassinate the members of his predecessor’s
family. It was so much easier to start with a clean slate.

Evelyn must have realized that I was the only
salvation for her and her family. Yet, I was also the very person
trying to kill her and escape my imprisonment. And I meant to do
exactly that. She would not harm Killian.

Instinctively, I shielded myself from the
lightning bolt that stabbed through the air toward me. I barely
managed the effort, instead desperately absorbing part of the
energy and redirecting it back at her. Evelyn cried out when the
bolt hit her. She flew back into the wall near the door, sliding
down in a daze. Her wand rolled from her hand across the floor.

I had her exactly where I wanted her. If I
attacked now, there would be nothing she could do to stop me.
Mistress Evelyn would die, and I would escape to find Killian. If I
left her alive, I would never be with him. Even if we were hunted,
at least we would be together. I felt certain Killian would feel
the same way.

I reached for the power and then focused it
upon Evelyn lying upon the floor. My aim was to put fire into her
body and end her life. Finally, I had the will to stop this
woman.

Then the door burst open, and everything
changed in an instant. Kane stood in the threshold with his right
foot out where he had just kicked the door in. He did not speak. He
didn’t have to.

His presence was all that was required to
throw me off of my attack. My plan would come to nothing. I knew
that I could not defeat him.

Still, I refused to give up so easily. I had
to at least try. If Evelyn was rescued, then she would do all that
she had threatened toward Killian on my behalf.

I redirected my energies, throwing caution to
the wind. My fire hit him squarely, drawing a cry of pain from the
assassin and cries of alarm from the soldiers waiting behind him.
The Malkind spirit within the man awakened in time to
counterattack, hurling me backwards before I could even mount a
defense.

This attack was far more forceful than
anything Evelyn had produced during our brief altercation. Her
wand, which drew power from the Malkind, was nothing in comparison
with the very spirits themselves. This inner malevolence meant to
kill me, but Kane still possessed the self-control necessary to
rein in the spirit’s destructive potential.

As I regained some of my composure, pulling
myself off of the floor, a shadow loomed over me. Kane’s hand shot
out to grab my throat. He pulled me bodily from the floor, my legs
dangling beneath me, my breathing choked.

I desperately attempted to muster my energies
for another attack, but the Malkind spirit dampened my ability. I
felt dizzy, and not just because I couldn’t breathe. The spirit was
forcing me into a place of confusion and fear. I was trying to
fight it, but its power was overwhelming.

“Don’t kill her!” I heard Evelyn cry out
behind the assassin.

His gaze slipped sidelong in deference, then
back to me with a grin. His other hand rose. There was no weapon in
his hand. He brought it down, striking me such a blow that my
consciousness snuffed out like a candle flame.

Killian woke in the darkness. He remembered
the evening before when the soldiers from the royal palace had
placed him deep within the dungeon keep. Despite his heroics the
day before, and despite his pleas of innocence, he had become a
criminal in the eyes of the king and the royal house.

His cell was a dark yet dry place. It was
reasonably warm as well, making Killian wonder if the furnace
supplying hot water to the palace might not be nearby, possibly
somewhere in the structure above him. A spelled gemstone, of little
monetary value, sat within a wall-mounted sconce outside the bars
of his cage. Still, very little of the amber-colored light
emanating from it actually reached his cell.

Killian sighed heavily. As far as he could
tell, there were no other prisoners present in this part of the
dungeon. A lone palace guard slept at the end of the corridor.

He began to pray to Eliam. Laughter from the
back of his cell startled him. Looking from the illuminated hall
toward the sound, Killian found that his eyes could not find the
source of the noise.

A sulfur match ignited in the dark, lighting
the head of a pipe and briefly illuminating the face of the one
smoking it. Killian spotted the tell-tale eye patch of the man who
had killed both Yeager and his daughter. He rose from the stone
floor, ready to attack the man, but stopped when Eye Patch laughed
again.

“Don’t be so foolish, Killian Radden-son,” he
said, waving the match sharply to extinguish it, returning the cell
to near complete darkness. “You have no weapons, but I do.”

Killian heard the metallic scrape of what was
probably the man’s knife-hand. He remembered the deadly appendage
from the attack at the Mangy Cur. Obviously, Eye-patch wasn’t a
prisoner here, but that still didn’t explain why he was in the cell
with him, or how he knew Killian’s name.

“Who are you?”

Killian had originally supposed that this man
was a mere mercenary, a bottom feeder living paycheck to paycheck
and having neither honor nor allegiance to any particular great
house. However, a mercenary would not have the ability to place
himself inside this cell unless he knew the royal family
personally. Very uncharacteristic of House Rainier, even during
desperate times like these.

He heard the man’s leather gauntlets
stretching as he stood up in the dark. “My name is Rosta, General
Rosta.”

A general—this was nothing like what Killian
expected. To his knowledge, there was no General Rosta serving with
House Rainier. In fact, he had never heard the name before of any
great house.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” Killian
asked, raising his voice, wondering if the guard would hear and
intervene. After all, this man claimed to have at least one weapon,
possibly more.

Rosta laughed in the darkness, moving closer,
his features just coming into the light now. “Boy, if I wanted you
dead, you would already be rotting in the ground like your friends
at the inn.”

Killian’s emotions got the better of him. He
thought of Yeager and Wendy. He snapped, lunging for the older man.
Weapon or not, he meant to kill the man with the eye patch.

However, Rosta was cunning. He kicked out
with a heavy boot, catching Killian’s legs. He stumbled forward,
right into Rosta’s gauntleted elbow.

The blow caught him across his jaw, forcing
his head sideways and further confusing his progress towards his
adversary. Killian spun like a top, falling sideways. He landed
awkwardly against the general’s chest, disoriented and seeing stars
in his vision.

Rosta laughed in his ear, dropping two
forearms like hammers down across Killian’s back between his
shoulder blades. He crumpled to the floor heavily, the cold stones
adding further injury to insult. Rosta began to circle him where he
lay struggling to regain his composure.

“Your father was commissioned to create the
blessed sword for Prince Nathan,” Rosta said. “You happened to be
the errand boy transporting it.”

Killian spat blood from his mouth onto the
floor of the cell, attempting to raise himself up on his arms.
“You’re too late,” he said between ragged breaths. “The Prince
already has the sword by now.”

Rosta planted a boot in Killian’s ribs,
lifting the younger man off of the ground with the kick. “You
pathetic fool,” he said. “Do you really think it matters? House
Rainier is compromised to its core. How do you suppose I came to be
in here with you?”

“Help! Guard!” Killian cried out
desperately.

“Yell, all you want,” Rosta said, mockingly.
“Half of Stephen’s soldiers belong to me already. House Rainier
will soon fall.”

Killian tried to holler again for the guard,
but Rosta kicked out at his side. He managed to flip Killian over
onto his back and then planted himself astride the young man. A
meaty fist pummeled Killian’s face and head over and over again.
The other hand was replaced not with a blade, but with some sort of
prosthetic, resembling a hand.

“Don’t worry, boy, my master isn’t ready to
kill you yet.”

Rosta continued to pulverize his face,
raining down vicious blows while laughing the entire time. The
guard remained at his post down the hall, seemingly hearing nothing
at all. Rosta pounded away even after unconsciousness took Killian,
leaving him a bloody mess upon the dungeon floor.

Radden waited impatiently in the vestibular
seating area outside King Stephen’s private audience chamber. It
was here that the king, in days gone by, would see certain of his
subjects by special appointment. On one occasion, Radden had
enjoyed the privilege of meeting the king personally in this very
chamber. It had been on that day that Stephen had commissioned his
first weapon, a sword, from him.

However, he had been instructed to wait here
today by one of the queen’s stewards. No doubt, King Stephen was
indisposed, being too sick to see anyone personally now. If Radden
was lucky, perhaps the queen would at least see him regarding
Killian’s arrest. He did make it clear that he was the boy’s
father, when he arrived at the palace over an hour ago.

Now, however, his nerves were beginning to
wear thin. He had been treated politely enough, so far, but the
steward had given him a wary look when he had told him what his
business was regarding. Intuition told him that Killian’s arrest
was not a secret among those working in the palace.

Radden waited another twenty minutes before a
servant appeared from behind one of the gilded doors to the
chamber.

“Her Majesty, will see you briefly,” the
young female servants said to him, ushering him from his seat with
a beckoning hand.

Radden was quick to his feet, striding
through the door not a little indignantly. Still, he managed at the
last moment to remember decorum. He was about to meet with the most
powerful woman in the kingdom. Considering that her husband, the
king, was near death and her son was preparing to take possession
of the throne from his father, Evelyn was more accurately the most
powerful
person
in the entire kingdom.