Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (44 page)

“Welcome, King Torgon, to Jivita. It has been long since we last spoke.”

“Five years,” Torg said. Laylah sensed wariness in his voice.

“Five years
 . . .
yes,” the queen purred. She glanced at Laylah again, her eyes smoldering. Then she smiled at Torg.

“War is at hand,” she continued. “My army is prepared, but it is always
nice
to add one more soldier to the fold. I am sure you’re in a hurry to change out of your pauper’s attire and into something more presentable, but you and I—king and queen—have much to discuss first. Will you join me in the Throne Room for refreshments? After that, you can bathe—and then enjoy a proper meal. By the grace of the
One God
, the White City is well-provisioned.”

“I will join you,” Torg said. “As for ‘something more presentable,’ Tugarian raiment will do. One of my warriors will bring it to me, if asked politely.”

“Anyone within our walls is under command of the queen,” the eerie aide said to Torg. “She need not
ask
.”

Rajinii hushed her. Then she turned to Julich, her voice stern. “You heard him, Captain.”

“Yes, your highness.” He bowed again and marched away.

Rajinii glided over to Laylah and stared into her eyes. The jade on the head of her staff sprang to life, tossing out brilliant green beams laced with pale yellow. Laylah increased her grip on Obhasa, which glowed blue-white in response. For a moment the beams clashed, but blue-white proved stronger.

Rajinii winced and stepped back. “Take them to their chambers,” she snapped at the henchmen. “And bring refreshments to the Throne Room.”

Then she stomped into the foyer and up the stairs, with her strange assistant scampering behind. When Torg did not immediately follow, Rajinii turned and glared.

“Are you coming?”

“In a moment,” he said. Then in full view of the others, he kissed Laylah on the mouth. “Will you continue to take care of Obhasa for me, my love? I’ll join you shortly.”

“When you do, I’ll be sure to be more ‘presentable.’”

“You can look even better than you do now?”

“Oh
 . . .
yes.”

THE THRONE Room of Jivita was one of the most opulent chambers in the palace. Its walls were white, but its chandeliers were gold and its wood floors laden with lush green rugs. Five stairs led to the platform that contained the three-legged throne, which had been sculpted from a core of white crystal and studded with emeralds, diamonds, and rubies. The throne was wide enough for three to sit upon, but of course only Rajinii was allowed, her pride rivaling King Henepola X of Nissaya. Both had been born with magic, and it had made them precocious.

Rajinii ascended to the throne, placing the tail of her staff in a narrow basket. Manta, her dark-haired assistant, took her assigned place beside the queen. The Jivitan necromancer was no stranger to Torg. Like Indajaala, Manta pretended to be devious and mean-spirited but in reality was in his employ.

Servitors entered the room bearing goblets of wine and trays of white cakes. A single chair and small table were arranged at the foot of the stairs.

“Bring me wine,” Rajinii barked at a cupbearer.

Torg sat down. “No cakes for you?” he said to the queen. “Watching your figure?”

“How dare you!” Manta snapped, but the queen only snorted.

“I have already supped.”

“As you say.”

Torg had not enjoyed a true meal since Duccarita. The cakes were but a trifle to his massive frame, but they were moist and fluffy. He devoured several. The wine was delicious, rivaling the nectar of Tējo.

“You should have taken me up on my offer,” the queen said. “If you had, your recent travails would have been avoided. I hear that Invictus imprisoned you. How unpleasant. And why? Just to save the helpless Dibbu-Lokans?”

“
Unpleasant
is not the word I would choose. As for the noble ones, does not your One God believe in defending the helpless?”

“Your highness, enough is enough,” Manta said. “How dare he speak to you this way in your own chambers? We should have him chained and dragged from the room.”

The queen snorted again. “That would not be so easy.” Then she smiled sweetly at Torg. “If you and I had married, as I suggested the last time you were in this room, I would have counseled against your visit to Dibbu-Loka. It was a fool’s errand.”

“As my Vasi master liked to say, ‘fool to one is wise to another.’”

“You insult her highness in her own palace?” Manta said.

“I do as I please.”

Rajinii did not respond, turning her attention to her goblet, which she drained. “The girl is cute,” the queen said, changing the subject. “A diversion to ease the rigors of your travels?”

“If you had trodden in her shoes, you would say no such words. She is no girl, nor is she a diversion. Her name is Laylah, and she is Invictus’ sister.”

With a sharp inhalation, Rajinii stood and hurled the goblet across the room. “And you bring her here? To my city? How dare you! The wrath of Invictus will fall upon us.”

“And if she were elsewhere, it would not?”

Rajinii growled. “More wine!” she shouted to no one in particular.

“I grow weary of this,” Torg said. “A marriage between you and I would not have been wise. Some of the reasons are obvious. You prefer carpets of grass, not sand between your toes. And I could not have lived here. I enjoy my visits to Jivita, but it is not my home. My heart remains in Tējo.” Then Torg sighed, his voice barely a whisper. “And there are other reasons you and I were not meant to be.”

“But the girl
 . . .
Laylah. These reasons do not apply to her?”

“They do not. And as I said before, she is no girl. She is a woman, both in age and experience. Besides, she is the love of my life. All else pales.”

Then he drew the Silver Sword and punched the point of the blade into the wooden tabletop. “If you attempt to harm her, I will kill you,” Torg said.

“Guards!” Manta screamed.

Several raced forward, drawing their swords, but Rajinii waved them off. They backed away, eyeing Torg suspiciously.

“Torgon, Torgon, Torgon
 . . .
I have no plans to
harm
your precious Laylah. But as far as you and I are concerned, you know naught what you have refused. As husband and wife, we could have ruled the world. Imagine the might of Jivita and Anna combined. Even Nissaya would quail before it.”

“I thought our might was already combined,” Torg said. “And Nissaya? Are the black knights not also our friends? I have no desire to see them quail. Invictus is our enemy. And the druids. Or have things changed since I last sipped wine with you?”

“One thing has changed,” Manta said in a menacing tone. “This very morning, we were informed that Chieftain Kusala ordered the Tugars at Hadaya to march to the aid of the black fortress. It has become obvious who the desert warriors prefer as their allies.”

For that, Torg had no answer. He sheathed his sword and then bowed at the foot of the stairs. “I am weary, your highness. Forgive me, but I must retire.”

“Very well,” she said. “We’ll speak more at dinner.”

“I have little else to say. For what it’s worth, I will fight at Jivita’s side until the end of all things. Is that not the behavior of an ally?”

As he was leaving, Torg strode past a wall decorated with elaborate paintings of past kings, queens, and military heroes. He stopped in front of a portrait of a famous captain whom Torg had befriended almost nine centuries before. Torg was amazed by how clear his memories remained of the last full-scale war between Jivita and the druids.

Rajinii came up quietly beside him. Manta remained near the throne, her face strangely placid.

“You always pause before Ditthi-Sagga,” Rajinii said.

“I spoke at his funeral. He died peacefully of old age, and yet still there was grief among the Jivitans.”

“I forget sometimes just how long you have lived. I feel so old myself, and yet I am just a child compared to you.” She leaned against him and took his arm. “I am a spoiled and wicked brat,” the queen whispered. “But I love my God and my people. When the druids come, I will not shy from battle. Instead, I will ride in the front as their commander.”

“Your courage is beyond question, Rajinii. As is your strength. When the druids come, I will be at your side—if you will have me. But Laylah must be allowed to join us. For she also is strong.”

Then he broke from the queen and fled the room. Rajinii did not follow.

BEFORE GOING TO Laylah, Torg first checked on Elu. A henchman led Torg to a chamber on the third floor of the palace, where he found the Svakaran fast asleep on a large cushioned bed, bathed and freshly clothed. Torg laid his hand on Elu’s cheek. He loved him dearly. Would the Svakaran ever see Rathburt again? Torg wasn’t sure.

“I’m glad that you are sleeping, my friend,” Torg whispered. “It will speed up the healing.” Then he left the room.

“Your chambers have been prepared,” the henchman said.

“Take me to the lady,” Torg said.

“My lord? The queen arranged for three separate chambers.”

“Take me to the lady
 . . .
or I will break down every door in the palace to find her.”

“As you say, my lord.”

Before Torg went into Laylah’s room, a Tugarian warrior approached from the shadows, startling the servants. He bowed low to his king.

“May I take your sword?” the warrior said. “It would be my honor to polish and sharpen it, and you also appear to need a new scabbard.”

“Excellent,” Torg said, handing him the sword. “But don’t waste your time trying to sharpen it. This blade is beyond improvement of any kind. And be careful, for it will cut even a Tugar.”

Then Torg turned and entered the room, finding Laylah dozing in a copper tub filled with steaming water. Next to it was a tall wooden table with towels and several cakes of perfumed soap. No servants were in the room, not even a chambermaid. Whoever had prepared the bath must have only recently departed.

Torg leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her eyes opened slowly, and she smiled at him, her perfect teeth as white as the spring blooms of a dogwood.

As if reading his thoughts, she said, “The servants were doting over me, so I asked them to leave. It reminded me too much of Avici. I prefer to take my own baths and wash my own hair.”

Torg chuckled. “As do I.”

“Will you join me? There’s room in the tub, even for you.”

“There’s nothing in the world I would rather do at this moment. But I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of me?”

“No. Afraid that if I get in that tub, we’ll end up destroying half the palace.”

Laylah laughed. “I’ll behave, I promise.”

Torg undid his breeches and lowered them to his knees. Laylah gasped.

“As deeply as I love you and lust for you right now, I dare not share your bath,” Torg said, quickly pulling up his breeches. “It would be better if I went to my own chambers, for now. The queen has arranged a dinner in our honor. I’ll join you there. Afterward, I will take you to a place where you and I can be alone. Once there, we shall see what we shall see.”

“If I have anything to say about it, there’ll be plenty to see,” Laylah purred.