Warrior (75 page)

the witch was talking, she wouldn’t be

thinking of cutting her with that blade.

From the corners of her eyes, she

looked to the door. She knew that

guards stood outside, but her voice

was too weak to scream for them.

And if she attempted it, Lydia would

press the blade deeper.

“A child?” Lydia repeated as if the

thought had never crossed her mind.

“Dear Jaisyn, Calista is barren—an

unfortunate illness took her before she

was old enough to remember it—and

will never conceive for any man, even

one as powerful as a king. Varian will

be his heir, and when Calista poisons

Vulcan, my son will be the new king

and shall marry a woman suitable to

be a Morden queen.” A frown

touched her lips as she said the last

sentence and almost to herself, Lydia

added, “I suppose I will have to deal

with your sister as well.”

Isolde
!

“How can you be certain Calista is

truly barren?” Jaisyn continued on,

her eyes on Lydia even as she thought

of ways to get away from the woman.

Eyes narrowing, Lydia answered, as

if in deep thought, “The witch assured

me the illness affected her ability to

conceive. It does not matter. If by

some fluke, she does conceive, it will

be quite easy to be rid of the baby as

well. Now, have you made your

decision, or am I to decide for you?”

“I will drink it,” Jaisyn said wearily

and Lydia lowered the blade slightly

as she used the hand holding it to pull

off the stopper. She lifted the vial to

Jaisyn’s lips and Jaisyn opened them,

her eyes dropping down to the dirk

held tightly in Lydia’s hand. Slowly,

her hand began to move, inching

closer to Lydia’s, even as the vial

touched her closed lips.

“Open,” Lydia commanded and

Jaisyn slowly opened her lips. She felt

the cool liquid slide over her tongue

and blanched at the thought of the

poison inside of her. Turning to Lydia,

she saw the smile that broke over her

lips, saw her relax. Jaisyn reached out

and tugged hard, pulling the dagger

from Lydia’s loose fingers and cutting

open her own hand against the tip of

the dirk in the process. The pain made

her groan but it was nothing compared

to what she would face if she had to

swallow the poison.

“That was not very smart,” Lydia

chided as she looked down at the

blood that was dripping across the

covers. She shook her head and

reached for the dirk, carefully

attempting to pry the weapon from

Jaisyn’s hand without having the tip

break her own skin.

Jaisyn anticipated her move, and as

she leaned toward Lydia, she thrust

her hand up.

Lydia gasped in pain as tears stung

her eyes. The dirk sliced open the skin

at the side of the Dowager Queen’s

neck and she jumped from the bed,

clutching at that area as her widening

eyes went back to the bloodied tip of

the dirk.

“No—” She shook her head

frantically, staring around the room,

as she clutched at her neck. “No!”

Jaisyn took that moment to roll to

the side of the bed and spit out the vile

contents of her mouth. She noticed

the silver tray that usually housed her

tea and biscuits was an arm’s length

away. Dropping the bloodied weapon

against the covers, she pushed herself

further out, reached for the tray and

succeeded in toppling it over. A

relieved sigh escaped her lips as it

crashed loudly to the ground.

***

The thudding of hundreds of horse

hooves was all that was heard as

Vulcan rode back to Morden. He

noticed Varian was unusually quiet,

but couldn’t think of that at the

moment. Thoughts of his wife were

invading his mind. Of Jaisyn looking

lost as she told him that she could not

remember anything. Of her coming to

his chambers and pleading with him.

He thought of Bael’s words, and the

solemnity the Montak king had used.

He did not like Bael, had never trusted

him, but he had sworn on his

kingdom, the one thing Vulcan

believed he valued above all else. If

they were innocent, then someone

had purposely staged it so the two of

them appeared guilty. Fear and anger

pulsed through him at the thought of

such a person in his castle.

His worry had only intensified when

three of his warriors met his party en

route with the message that his queen

was urgently demanding his return. A

sliver of uncharacteristic fear slid up

his spine but he’d tried to repress it.

Perhaps Jaisyn was worried about

Bael’s life. That thought made him

angry, but it kept the fear at bay so he

willingly held onto it.

When they arrived at Morden

Castle, nothing seemed amiss. The

drawbridge had yet to be lowered and

the soldiers keeping guard quickly did

so as the king and his warriors rode

hard into the courtyard. Sliding from

Shadowfax, Vulcan raced for the

Great Hall. Pushing the door inward,

he ignored the gasps and the wide-

eyed stares of the people having their

supper. His eyes searched out his

wife. Her seat was empty.

Within moments, he was heading for

the staircase that would take him to

her chambers.

***

Varian was more perceptive, as he

noticed that both Jaisyn and his

mother were absent from the meal.

His cold gaze touched Calista, who

looked down to her food immediately,

and began fidgeting with her hair. Ice

gripped his heart as he made off after

his brother.

***

Vulcan stepped from the staircase

and came into view of the guards who

stood before his wife’s chambers. He

did not release a sigh of relief yet. He

had done that once, only to find

another in his wife’s bed. As he

approached the men, they looked to

each other, grabbed their sword hilts,

and in the next instant, were rushing

into Jaisyn’s chambers. His heart leapt

into his throat as Vulcan began to

sprint, moving as fast as he could in

body armor.

Nothing could have prepared him

for what he saw.

Half of Jaisyn’s body was off the

bed, at what looked like an impossibly

uncomfortable angle. Her torso and

head were off of the bed, and she

seemed to be trying to say something.

He watched in horror as she lifted a

bloodied hand in his direction.

Everything else ceased to exist as he

approached her, noticing the gash

along her hand, and the red liquid on

the floor. Was she vomiting blood? He

knew that such a thing was an

indication of imminent death.

“Jaisyn,” he said urgently, tugging

the gloves from his hands and moving

her back against the bed. Blood was

on the bedcovers as well, and on a

small ladies’ dirk that lay next to her.

For the first time since he entered the

chambers, he heard a slight rustling

sound. Lifting his eyes, he stared into

the horrified gaze of his stepmother.

Her eyebrow lifted but he had no time

to think more of it. Jaisyn was saying

something.

“What?” He caressed her cheek,

and cupped it gently. His eyes were

concerned and confused. “What is it?”

“Anhur.”

***

Jaisyn’s mouth was dry, her throat

was dry, and she was fighting her

reflex to swallow quite badly. The

fear of ingesting some of the poison

was still within her. She sent up a

prayer, hoping that she had not

consumed even a drop of the liquid.

The exertion with Lydia had made her

even more tired. Vulcan shook her

and her eyes flew open in confusion

and fright.

“Fetch the surgeon! And find

Anhur!” Vulcan was shouting again

and she winced as his voice carried

into her ear at such a close range.

“And someone tend to Lady Lydia!”

***

Varian knew he would not like what

he would see when he entered the

queen’s chambers so he braced

himself. He had always been good at

putting things together and the

conclusion he’d come to when Bael

had mentioned Calista had terrified

him. He hoped it wasn’t true, that

someone else had drugged Jaisyn, but

he couldn’t shake the feeling he was

right. That his mother and his cousin

were somehow involved in Jaisyn’s

plight.

As he entered Jaisyn’s chambers,

his crystal gaze took in the entire

scene. Either blood or a red liquid

marred the floor. Vulcan sat on

Jaisyn’s bed shaking her, and his

mother stood with a hand cupped to

her neck, looking pale and drawn.

When she noticed him, she attempted

a smile, and her eyes rolled in her

head and she wobbled on her feet.

Vulcan was shouting orders but

Varian didn’t hear them. His eyes

were on his mother. Varian moved

quickly over to her, and caught her

against him before she fell to the floor.

He noticed her neck was bleeding, but

thankfully, the wound was shallow. It

wasn’t deep and should heal in a few

weeks. His brows crinkled and he

wondered how she’d received it.

“Varian.”

His

name

sounded

strained on her lips and he slowly

lowered her to the ground, wondering

what it was that rendered her so

weak. Her head remained against his

chain mail and he tried to lift her but

she protested with a loud and painful

groan.

“What have you done?” he asked

carefully, preparing to hear anything

at that moment.

She smiled and lifted a badly

trembling hand to his face. A dry

chuckle, which turned into a painful

groan, escaped her lips. “How fitting

that I die this way.”

His brows crinkled and he shook his

head in confusion.
Die
? His mother

could not be dying. Lydia was known

for her exaggerations, but this was a

grave one.

“You are not dying, Mother. It is but

a small scratch.” He turned her head

to the side once more, examining the

shallow gash and wondering once

more how she’d received it. Had

Jaisyn cut her? Had Lydia cut herself?

Was there a struggle between the two

women? Varian removed one of his

gloves and pressed lightly around the

wound, watching as lines of blood

escaped and ran down her neck.

“No, Varian. Do not— Poison. Will

infect you. Couldn’t bear it—if you—

poisoned.”

His eyes widened as he stared down

at this woman who had raised him,

cared for him, loved him. When he’d

been young, too young to understand

why his father hardly paid him any

attention, it had always been his

mother who succeeded in cheering

him up, in making him smile. Before

he developed a close relationship with

Vulcan, Lydia had been the only

person who seemed to truly care

about him. His father had not.

“Poison? How—what—?”

Lydia nodded and lifted a hand, the

one that was not covered with her

blood, to his face. Her fingers traced

his features slowly, as if branding

them to her memory for the last time.

What in the name of Rika was going

on? Who had poisoned his mother?

How? Why?

The hand at his face fell limply onto

her chest and she hacked loudly. Dark

and toxic blood pitched from her lips

and trailed down her chin. Varian was

a warrior, a seasoned warrior who’d

seen many comrades fall in battle. He

knew when a soldier was past the

point of no return and coughing up

blood was one of the signs. Varian felt