Van Laven Chronicles (21 page)

“You have only one chance to save Nethic,” Crausin said through gritted teeth. “Hand the girl over to Thalonius.”

Comron’s head throbbed as he saw his plans disintegrating before him. But as long as there was Vaush, there was still a glimmer of hope that they…

“Guards!” Crausin shouted.

Comron glanced at the double doors just as the castle guards poured in. “Crausin…”

“Take him to the south wing cellar and hang him from the rafters according to my earlier instructions.”

Comron backed away from the guards. “Crausin, don’t do this.”

“You will tell me where the girl is even if I have to beat it out of you!” He cut his eyes at the captain of his guard. “What are you waiting for? Seize him!”

As the men approached, Comron moved with a surprising burst of speed, tackling the captain and knocking him into the others. When he broke away, he raised the blast gun he’d lifted from the Captain. “Back the hell off!” Comron said, knowing the guards wouldn’t fire on the Duke’s son.

“Gods gates, Comron,” Crausin said, advancing toward him. “You won’t get past that bloody door.”

Fully anticipating this, Comron waved the piece at the guards blocking the door. If he could get back to his apartments he could don the castle guard uniform he had stashed in his room. The helmet with full face guard might give him a chance to blend in long enough to escape in the midst of the chaos.

“I won’t let Nethic fall, I swear it,” Comron said as he turned the handle and started out the door. The blast shot hit him in the back of the thigh, jolting pain arched through him, ripping up his spine. He spilled to the floor unable to feel his leg or think through the blinding pain.

He saw Crausin’s face move into his line of vision, saw the blast gun in his hand still flashing green from having been fired. Crausin spoke but Comron heard no words over the paralyzing pain. His body was going into shock, shutting down his system along with all his hopes of ever seeing her alive again…

Vaush!

CHAPTER 38

The northern gale howled across the moors as the rain persisted into the early evening. Down below the angry waves battered the beleaguered shore. Within Ketherton Manor, Vaush remained vigilant at the window, feeling the chill creeping along her skin despite the roaring fire tended by an old gnome of a man. Growing weary of darkening gray landscape, she sat back in her chair and stared up at the cracked, plastered ceiling and wondered how in the seven hells she’d gotten herself into this mess.

Most assuredly, by now, all of Ti-Laros must know of her betrayal, of her treasonous love for a Nethicaen. Laney…she sighed.
What must you think of me?
Again, she regretted having promised Comron that she wouldn’t leave or even attempt to contact anyone until he returned. But what else could she do? When she had tried to leave their bedroom, he’d flown into such a horrific manic state, followed by an alarming emotional breakdown. And before she could sort the matter out he’d initiated a frightfully intense lovemaking session that had left her reeling.

She touched her bruised lip, remembering his passionate bite and how her cry had ignited something fiery in him….

“A shawl, m’Lady?”

Startled, Vaush turned to find a rather plain-faced young woman with straw-colored hair and bland gray eyes staring back at her. “Yes, thank you,” she replied as she let the girl place the shawl around her shoulders. “Frieda, isn’t it?”

“Yes, m’Lady.” She smiled as if pleased Vaush should trouble herself to remember her name. “Would you care to take your tea by the fire?” Her hair was pulled back, a few strands escaped the band framing a face that hadn’t seen the sun in ages. Her grey eyes appeared eager now, as if she truly hoped to be of service to her rather exotic-looking mistress.

Vaush rose from her chair. “Yes, I do believe I would.” She nodded toward the window. “Is this weather typical for this time of year?”

“Oh no, m’Lady,” Frieda answered readily. “It’s not nearly as pleasant as it is at present. The fates must be smilin’ on your arrival.”

Vaush stifled her amusement when she realized there was no sarcasm in Frieda’s answer. “How fortunate for me,” she replied as she moved near the hearth and warmed her hands.

“Is the weather so different from where you come from, m’Lady?”

Realizing the girl was likely quite curious about her, and that she herself, was desirous of a break from morose thoughts, Vaush decided to humor the servant girl. “Well, typically around this time of year, the weather is warmer and sunnier.”

“Ah,” Frieda nodded with understanding as she poured the tea. “That would explain m’Lady’s complexion, like golden honey it is. So pretty.”

Vaush smiled at her frankness and didn’t bother explaining that she was born with this sun-kissed complexion. “Thank you, Frieda.”

“Lemon and two lumps of sugar?” Frieda asked with a solicitous look.

Had Comron seen to all the details of her comfort, she wondered as she sank into a soft chair. “Yes, thank you.”

“Monne Biechmore baked fresh biscuits,” she said, gesturing at the plate. “Would you care for one? There are cinnamon, chocolate morsel, and apple crumb.”

Though Vaush had no appetite, she noticed Frieda eying them as if they were a great delight. “No, not at the moment. But please, won’t you sit down and have some?”

Frieda’s large grey eyes searched the room. “Ach, Monne Biechmore would have my hide. She says I need to scrub all the pots. They’re not dirty, mind you. She just wants everything proper shinin’ now that the master and mistress have come.”

Vaush leaned in. “Tell her that I insisted and let me know if she gives you any grief about it.”

Frieda glanced up at the kitchen then back to Vaush. “If you insist, m’Lady,” she said as she sat in the chair across from Vaush and selected the cinnamon biscuit. “My favorite,” she said, hoisting the biscuit with a toothy grin that suggested she hadn’t made regular use of a toothbrush throughout her life.

“Are you from the local village?” Vaush asked, suddenly curious.

Frieda nodded, wiping crumbs from her mouth with her sleeve, before remembering to use the napkin. “Yes, born and educated here,” she said before taking another generous bite.

“Do you enjoy living here?”

She shrugged, “It’s all I know. Wouldn’t know where else to live, except Gergman about fifty kilometers south of here. But I never much cared for the big city.”

“Big city? What is the population?”

Frieda shook her head and blew air out between her lips. “Land sakes, it’s enormous, nearly three thousand people at last count.”

Vaush’s faint smile was the only hint of her amusement. “And Ketherton Sound?”

“With the birth of Monne Biechmore’s granddaughter, we’ve just passed the seven hundred mark,” she said proudly. “Seven hundred and three with you and his lordship joining us.”

“Imagine our joy,” Vaush said dryly and immediately regretted her insensitivity.
This isn’t like me
, she chastised herself.

The girl hesitated a moment before taking another bite of the biscuit. “Do you run off from him much?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your husband, m’Lady. Is that why he’s locked us all in?”

Vaush glanced over at the heavy wooden door. Comron made it clear that she was not to leave, but did he really go to such lengths?

“We’re locked in?”

Frieda gave her a pitiful look as if she suspected Vaush might be a bit daft. “Until his lordship returns, we are all locked in the manor. No one is to leave…including you, mum.”

Vaush tried to hide her bewilderment. “Perhaps, you misunderstood. My husband is quite concerned about our privacy. He simply wishes to maintain our seclusion.”

“By keeping us locked away here,” she said, taking another bite of her biscuit.

Suddenly Vaush felt that the girl before her wasn’t as innocent and naïve as she suspected.

“No one is locked away,” Vaush said curtly. “He simply doesn’t wish for anyone to learn of our presence here.”

Frieda hitched her thumb at the door. “Try opening it, m’Lady. Unless you have a magic key tucked away in that pretty dress of yours, yer locked in here with the rest of us.”

When Vaush remained motionless and silent, Frieda saw her error.

“You really didn’t know, mum,” Frieda said, slowly placing down the last bit of biscuit. “Beg your pardon. I was curious is all, but I wasn’t aware you didn’t know.”

Vaush rose abruptly from her chair as she began pacing the room. It was enough that Comron had forbidden her to contact her family, now he would make her a prisoner in this manor? And how humiliating to learn of it through the staff! She didn’t care if it was for her safety, she hated the feeling of being manipulated and controlled.

She turned to Frieda. “Where is the communications room?”

Frieda’s gray-eyed blank stare was her only reply.

Vaush spoke slowly – “What do you do when you wish to send a message to someone
outside
of the manor?”

Frieda frowned and seemed to carefully choose her words. “We…walk down the road…to their house and deliver the message.”

Vaush forced a smile to put the girl at ease. “And if you need to communicate with someone further away, like in Gergman?”

“Gergman?” Frieda’s mouth turned down in repugnance. “Why would anyone wish to send word there?”

Vaush closed her eyes. “Frieda…please answer the question.”

“We would go to the Higgins pantry and use his hand-com unit, I suppose,” she said, still dumbfounded by the question.

“This hand-com unit, are there wires connected to it that run to the wall?”

“Like a land unit? Oh, no. It’s some newfangled gadget. He thinks he’s quite something for it, what with him being the only one in town with one.”

“Do you think that he would let me use it?”

Frieda nodded with that unsettling toothy smile. “He’d be glad to, I imagine.”

“Will you contact him and ask him to bring it?”

Frieda’s eyes narrowed. “You’d be forgettin’ the whole part about us being locked in, mum,” she said, inclining her head at the door.

Frustrated Vaush exclaimed, “What kind of backward—” she caught herself before completing any culturally insensitive remark. “What would we do if this place caught on fire?”

“Ach! You needn’t fear such, but even so, Henrik would use his key and let us out.”

“Henrik the handyman?” Vaush said, remembering meeting the strapping lad.

“Yes, the handyman, woodcarver and gardener,” she said, blushing. “Keeps it in his front britches pocket, he does.”

Finally!
“Excellent. Where might Henrik be at this time?”

She pointed toward the kitchen. “Helping with dinner, m’Lady, but he’s been given strict orders not to hand it over and you’d have a devil of a time wrestlin’ it from him. He’s Ketherton’s champion two years runnin’,” she said proudly.

Unbelievable!
Vaush collapsed back into the chair. She loved Comron dearly but very soon they were going to have a serious discussion about his monumental control issues. She simply couldn’t live like this.

“M’lady, it’s only for a short time. I’ve seen the way his lordship looks at you. I’d be surprised if he managed to stay away from you for two days.” She shrugged. “Regardless, Henrik can give you the key after the two days.”

“Yes, yes, I know that, Frieda,” she snipped, but at seeing the girl’s downcast expression, Vaush added, “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and I’m very tired.”

Casting a sly look, she answered, “Who could blame you after his lordship kept you up all night, it’s a wonder you got any sleep at all.”

“Frieda!”

“Sorry, m’Lady, my quarters are just below yours, so I tend to hear…ah…well, sorry mum.”

Vaush’s cheeks burned and her lips pulled taut. First the humiliation of learning she was being held prisoner by Henrik the handyman and now this?

Comron had better have a damn good explanation for all of it!

CHAPTER 39

In the south wing cellar, Comron hung from the rafters, his arms stretched above him, his ankles manacled below. Stripped of dignity, only his under breeches were left to him as he shivered in the icy coldness of the dank, dimly lit cellar. He noted, with a degree of anxiety, that Crausin had made some recent modifications to the ancient cellar. A rugged wooden table to his left was covered with an assortment of vicious looking devices: razor sharp surgical knives, saws for cutting through bone, whips with shards of glass embedded in their straps and a large club. Most notably was one of his prized faust weapons, a heavy, spiked, metal mace designed to break the will if not the bones of his opponents.

He glanced around, counting four guards on watch, awaiting further instruction from their Duke. Not one would meet his eyes or risk listening to any bribes Comron offered in exchange for his freedom.

Vaush! Forgive me
.

He’d given Sneschem, the elderly manservant at Ketherton Sound, instructions regarding Vaush should he fail to return in two days. Sneschem was to give her a letter, the one Comron had written while she lay asleep in his bed. There, he’d confessed the whole truth about her parentage and apologized profusely for not being there to reveal these difficult things in person and for any perceived deception. He implored her to make use of the transport ship he had hidden away to travel to Novoxos and to utilize the small fortune in unregistered credits to secure her voyage. He gave her the names of the officials she should seek out when she arrived there. He admonished her to trust no one, especially Larrs. And if she were enthroned, to do what she could to protect Nethic. He ended by expressing how deeply and profoundly she had affected him, touching him in places he never knew existed. How eternally grateful he was that she had come into his life and that he would never be the same for having loved her. He was forever hers…

Damn it! He had hoped she’d never have to read that letter but Crausin would likely leave him down here for days just as he had ten years ago when Comron was only seventeen.

He yanked madly at the restraints, desperate to take Vaush faraway where no one could do them harm. But Crausin would hunt them relentlessly, as would Thalonius. Nothing short of Vaush’s death would satisfy either one of them. Despair consumed Comron and his head hung heavy with grief.

So deep in his gloom, Comron did not hear Crausin descend the cellar stairs, nor did he notice him move among the shadows to take up a whip.

It wasn’t until the snap of the whip cracked the air and the cruel lash set his skin on fire that he was alerted to Crausin’s presence.

“Do I have your attention now?” Crausin asked wryly.

“Yes!” Comron cried out. The tip of the whip had been laced with Kao acid which ate at the flesh long after the whip had gone.

Crausin’s gaze remained fixed upon Comron as he spoke to the guards. “Leave us.”

The guards obeyed, sparing glances at Comron before ascending the cellar stairs. The second after the door shut, Comron felt the fiery sting of the lash and acid against his back.

“How could you defile yourself by laying with Bastionli filth? Did it matter not the bitch was Ti-Larosian?”

When Comron failed to answer, Crausin struck him again, letting the shards firmly embed themselves into his skin before he yanked them out eliciting a sharp cry from his son.

“Answer me!”

“She didn’t care that I was Nethicaen when she saved my life!” he yelled in agony. “Should I have cared when I loved her?”

Crausin’s cynical laugh echoed in the cellar. “Love? When did you become so pathetic? You sound like the mewling lamb over there.”

Knowing there was no one but the two of them in the cellar, Comron stared at Crausin. His father’s eyes were completely glazed over with madness; Edred was in full sway and Crausin had withdrawn deep within, becoming the cowering lamb.

“But I know you too well, Comron,” he said, stalking around him. “The only thing that you love is power and fresh warm quinny to fuck.”

He walked around to face him. “All that Bastionli slut had to do was spread her legs and you betrayed everything you were to lay between them. Then you plotted to deceive us so you could continue your treasonous affair!” He drew his arm back to strike.

“What wouldn’t you have done to have Cristalla back, Edred?” Comron asked, angling to keep him talking. “What lengths would Crausin have gone to hold onto Meglyn?” He glared at Crausin. “I’m no different from either of you!”

The lash cracked across his legs, lacerating them.

“You were to be better than us! Not turn bloody traitor.” Crausin’s eyes danced with delirium as he drew close. “Thalonius is waiting to hear our plan as to how we intend to eliminate his problem. Where is the girl?”

Comron’s skin was already on fire, the acid burning and eating away at him. He glanced at the hideous devices on the table, knowing Crausin would use every one of them to pry the information from him.

He gasped at the fresh lash of the whip.

“The girl, Comron!” Crausin said and cocked his arm back to strike again. “Where is she?”

“Let me be the one to do it,” Comron said, trembling in his pain. “I will take care of it.”

Crausin stood before him peering deep within his eyes. Comron knew what he was searching for, any shred of evidence that Comron was speaking truth.

“Liar…” he hissed and unleashed another volley of savage lashes.

Comron twisted violently and groaned in his agonizing hell, feeling as if he were surrounded by broiling flames searing his body. And this was only the beginning of what Crausin planned to do…

“I thought there was a chance that…” he cried out but his voice broke. He squeezed his eyes shut against the excruciating pain and tried desperately to shield his emotions from Crausin. “I-I was wrong. But I beg you, let me be the one to do it.”

An ugly laugh escaped Crausin. “What and give you the chance to betray me again?”

“I’ll take you to her and—”

“Where are you holding her?”

“I have to be the one!” he said, trembling under the strain of the torment. “I will take you there, but you have to let me be the one to kill her.” He couldn’t hide the onslaught of emotion but he let it work to his advantage. “Let her die in my arms…”

Crausin stood before him with whip ready to strike, but he let his arm drop to his side as he contemplated Comron’s request. Crausin’s green eyes were more focused now, the madness seemed to have abated along with Edred. Taking courage from this, Comron held his silence and let Crausin feel his profound grief at the prospect of losing Vaush. He wouldn’t let an ounce of hope surface.

“You will take us to the girl and I’ll grant you your request,” Crausin said evenly as he walked over to the wooden table and dropped the acid laden whip upon it. He picked up a wet towel and wiped the blood and sweat from his hands and brow. He glanced at Comron. “But first I must do something to extinguish any hope you had of being with her or ever betraying me this way again.”

The pain racking his body suddenly faded as Comron listened to Crausin and watched his hand move over the various torture devices. He had been wrong in thinking the worst was over…so very wrong.

“Your path is not yours to choose. I created you, Comron, for a purpose and you swore an oath to me and to Nethic in recognition of that fact. I’ve given you everything your heart desired: titles, estates, wealth and more women than any man could bed in a lifetime. But still, you violated your oath and tried to deceive me in the worst possible way.” His hand came to rest over a large, razor sharp blade with an exquisite emerald handle. “I will take you to your woman to kill her, but first I will have a guarantee of your loyalty,” he said and grabbed the knife. “After all how can you perform as her lover…if you have no cock?”

“Crausin!” Comron’s heart pounded wildly in his chest and he struggled madly against his restraints. “Don’t do this, please! I beg you!”

“You betrayed me and Nethic, and now you will pay the price for your treasonous insolence.”

“Forgive me, please. I’ll obey you in all things. I am yours to command!”

“LIAR!” he said as he came at him with the knife. “But I will have your loyalty by removing all temptation to defy me. You will serve the purpose for which I brought you into this world!” He raised the knife as he exposed Comron.

“No!!!” Comron hollered, turning away as Crausin started to bring the knife down. But the sound of hurried footsteps on the cellar stairs followed by a frantic voice, interrupted the violent act.

“Sire!” General Straland said as he rushed in. “There is a vast Ti-Larosian attack force closing in on Nethic. Duke Bastionli is hailing you.” He looked on in bewilderment at Comron’s horrific state and exposed condition. “I-I made several attempts to reach you, Sire. The fleet consists of four galaxy-class warships, seven heavy planetary destroyers and at least seventy Targon single-combat fighters.”

Fury brewed in Crausin’s eyes and Comron braced himself for the assault that Straland had interrupted.

“Frithe’s blood! Look what your treachery has brought to our door,” Crausin growled. His hand tightened around the blade’s emerald hilt intent on finishing what he’d started.

“Sire,” the general said with more urgency as he pulled alongside the Duke. “Bastionli will open fire unless you respond immediately.”

“Then open a damn channel!” Crausin said and glared at Comron. “Don’t go anywhere, eunuch.” He turned and raced up the cellar stairs while barking orders at General Straland.

If Comron hadn’t been securely strapped to the rafters, he would have collapsed from the trying ordeal. Even now everything was rapidly spinning out of control. Larrs was in Nethicaen space searching for Vaush and threatening full-scale war if they didn’t hand her over. She would be distraught at Ketherton Sound having no idea what kept him. After two days she would leave and walk right into Thalonius’ murderous arms.

And there’s not a damned thing I can do about it!