WindSeeker (19 page)

"He knew I’d be here. Where the hell did the bastard go?" he snapped, ignoring the acolyte’s surprised

gasp at having Kaileel Tohre spoken of with anything less than supreme respect.

"I…don’t…I…" the boy stammered to a stop as he looked past Conar. He dropped his forehead to the

floor, his hands crossed in front of him in complete submission. Conar didn’t need to glance behind him

to know who had entered.

"He’s at the Monastery, Conar."

A cold, scarring finger of fear and hate ran down the prince’s spine. He turned, his breath catching in his

throat, and he mouthed a single, hated word—
Tolkan
.

An old man stood gazing intently at his visitor. Hair as white as snow fell in long, silken waves down his

thin back and slightly-stooped shoulders. Midnight blue eyes, so dark they appeared black, peered out

of a too-thin, too-sallow face. A beak of a nose lifted haughtily, and the slitted eyes became glazed with

an emotion bordering on rancor. They looked at the world with an evil so vile and so steeped in

depravity, it made the hair on Conar’s arms stir. The jet-black robe covering the man from just under his

chin to knobby ankles labeled his rank as Arch-Prelate of the Order. The ancient man glided forward on

bare feet and his thin lips stretched into a grin of pure malice.

"Does Tohre know you are seeking him, Conar?" The voice was oily smooth, the deep-set eyes

lascivious as they swept Conar from head to toe and back again.

Conar wanted to run, as fast and as far as he could get from this place. But most of all, he wanted to get

as far away from this particular man as time and space would allow. It was all he could do to find his

unsteady voice. "You know gods-be-damned well why I’m here."

Conar took an involuntary step back as the man advanced. He had to force himself not to turn tail and

run.

"That I do, sweet prince," Tolkan said. "Your trip home has been a long time in coming."

Conar furiously shook his head. "I’m not here to stay. I came for—"

"For your lady-wife." The old man chuckled. "I know."

Tolkan glided still closer and stretched out a hand with nails as long and grotesque as the ones Kaileel

Tohre sported. Sharp and curling points of gold lacquered and vermilion-tipped obscenity. The scarlet

tips grazed the young prince’s cheek in a lingering caress.

Conar had seen the hand coming, and he had known the priest was going to touch him, but trying as

hard as he could, he could not make himself pull away from that vile touch. He shivered in panic. A low

groan of disgust bubbled from his mouth as Tolkan ran the wicked nails down the smooth surface of his

flesh and along the tense column of his throat, settling against the strong tattoo of pulse throbbing in the

thick column of his neck.

A momentary flare of deep-seated hunger shone in the old man’s narrowed eyes, but then he smiled,

revealing yellow-stained teeth that seemed too long for his mouth. "You never did like to be touched, did

you, Conar?" he asked, his voice soft and seductive.

There was fresh pain in Conar’s face as the old man turned his hand and the long nails ran down

Conar’s shirtfront before withdrawing. Tolkan smiled. His gaze crawled hotly over the young man’s

shivering, settling for a moment on the thick gold hair combed carelessly to the side; the tawny brows

arched over pale blue eyes now narrowed with pain well-remembered from long, long ago. The prince’s

broad nose with its flaring nostrils, the finely chiseled lips with their dark pink coloring, the mole below

the right corner of his mouth, the deeply cleft chin, all combined to turn a spasm of awareness in the pit of

the old man’s gut. His evil gaze went over the wide shoulders, flew over the lean and narrow hips, swept

down the long legs, and then moved with insulting slowness back up the tall frame to settle on eyes

regarding him with fear and dread.

"You have become an extraordinarily beautiful man, Conar."

Conar had to tightly clamp his lips to keep from groaning. He flinched, his hands opening and closing at

his sides as he stared. He could actually smell the essence of evil rolling from the thin body. "Tell me how

to get to the monastery. That’s where Tohre is, isn’t it?"

Tolkan pursed his thin lips. "No man goes to the Great Abbey unless he seeks the Rites of Passage into

the Order. Is that what you are seeking, Conar?"

"You know perfectly well what I want." He looked away. "And you know what I
don’t
."

Tolkan shrugged one thin shoulder. "I
know
you want your wife."

A plummeting twist shot through Conar’s belly, but he raised his chin. "Tell me how to get to Tohre. I

will deal with him." His tone made it clear that he thought Tohre the lesser of two evils.

Tolkan’s lips stretched wide over his stained teeth. "I am pleased you have decided to meet your

obligation to us."

"Don’t count on it," Conar hissed.

The old man laughed. He looked behind him. "Take Prince Conar to the Abbey." He turned back to the

young prince and grinned hatefully. "He has an appointment with destiny."

Conar turned away before he lost his nerve. As he walked, feeling the old man’s eyes on his back, he

heard Tolkan’s malicious laughter and nearly made a break for it. Not that he would be allowed to leave,

he thought, as two Temple Guards escorted him to his horse. He was well and surely trapped and there

would be no turning back.

Before he mounted, one of the guards blindfolded him while the other tied his hands. The taller of the

two helped him to mount, then looped the silken cord binding Conar’s crossed wrists around the pommel

of his saddle.

He had no idea how long they rode, but he knew it had to have been well over two hours, for his arms

were almost numb with cold and his hands tingled below the binding cord. The two men did not speak as

they rode. Only the harsh soughing of the icy wind and the jingle of harnesses penetrated the silence.

When they finally stopped, he heard the rumble of gates opening, the clanking of armor and weapons,

and then the hollow crash of the portal shutting behind them.

His hands were untied before someone lifted him down from his horse, but they would not allow him to

remove his blindfold. In fact, they retied his hands behind his back so he could not. He suffered the

indignity, his jaw clenched, because he knew he had no choice.

Left standing within the chilly confines of the Abbey’s antechamber, Conar could smell the odor of some

strange incense. The cloying aroma wafted under his nostrils and made him giddy. He wobbled on weak

legs as he stood in enforced darkness, his hands still bound. He tensed as someone took him by the arm

and led him further into the building. He felt disoriented and sleepy as he walked, and shivered from the

cold.

The soft patter of feet sounded behind him. He half-turned his head in that direction as his companion

stopped and let go of his arm. He felt hands on his hair, untying the scarf around his head and he blinked

as a blazing light replaced the darkness in which he had spent the last few hours.

"You didn’t keep me waiting too long, my prince," Kaileel’s amused voice from behind.

Conar didn’t look around as Tohre slit the thin rope binding his wrists. He eased his aching arms in front

of him and chafed the band of restriction the cord had left on his bruised flesh.

"Did they hurt you?" Tohre asked, moving in front of the prince.

Conar looked into the face of the one man he hated more than any other. He loathed the white-blond

hair and the hooded, deep-set blue eyes. His stomach turned at the mottled flesh that wobbled beneath

Tohre’s chin. The skull-like head with its thin, colorless lips made him want to gag. The skeletal nose and

high cheekbones seemed to be almost devoid of flesh, for the skin along those features was stretched

taut. Though not tall, Tohre carried himself with a haughtiness that somehow made him seem larger than

life.

"I asked if they hurt you, Conar," Tohre repeated, glancing at the bruises on Conar’s wrists.

"What do you care?"

Kaileel Tohre’s tone was friendly, helpful, the tone of a father speaking lovingly to his child. "Only I am

allowed that honor, Conar."

Conar forced himself to stand still. He lifted his head. "Will you get her back for me?"

There came a steady-eyed reply. "Aye, you know I will."

"At what price?" Though deathly afraid of the answer, he would not look away.

"You know that, as well."

Conar looked at the raw place on his wrists with well-remembered pain. "What you ask is too high a

price."

With a gentle smile, Tohre’s voice went soft and generous. "It is a matter of how much you wish to pay

to have her returned."

His head snapped up. "She is my life, Tohre!"

"And you shall have to give up your life to save hers."

Conar turned his head, no longer able to look at Kaileel Tohre’s smiling, evil face.

"Conar," Kaileel said reasonably, "you seek revenge on your brother for taking your woman. I can grant

that. You want her returned; I can grant that. I can grant those things because I want something that

belongs to me returned; I seek revenge of my own."

Conar tensed. "Is that what you call it…revenge?"

A soft twitter came from the too-thin lips. "It is called many things, I suppose, but revenge is the nicest

way of putting what I want from you." He smiled as a tremor went through the man whose back was to

him. He saw the blond head lower, the wide shoulders sag. "Your paying of the full price is the only way

it will be if you wish to ever see the woman again. Else, she remains with Galen for the rest of her life, and

you know that, with him, she is expendable."

Conar stared at the floor. He could feel clammy sweat under his arms and in the creases of his thighs. He

had to ask, knew the answer already, but had to ask the question gnawing at his vitals. "Is she with

child?"

"I will abort it. It is but a moment’s work."

"If he has hurt her…" he began, his lips drawn back over grinding teeth.

"Not as of yet, but…" Kaileel shrugged. "Who knows with your brother?"

"Get her away from him." He locked his gaze with Tohre’s. "Right now. This minute."

Kaileel clapped his hands. A young man appeared out of nowhere. "Have the Princess Anya Elizabeth

removed from Prince Galen’s care immediately. Take her to one of the cells near my chambers. See that

a guard is posted to keep Prince Galen away from her." The young man bowed and hurried off to do his

master’s bidding.

Conar squeezed his eyes closed. She was so close. So very close. "May I see her?" he asked, ashamed

that his voice held a note of pleading.

"When you have made good on your bargain to us."

The prince opened his eyes, dull and dead as they were, and stared unseeingly across the antechamber.

"Take this horror from her, Kaileel. Don’t let her remember anything he did to her."

"I will wipe away all memory of Galen’s touch from her body and her mind, if that is your wish." He

stepped close to Conar and hesitantly put his hands on the prince’s arms.

Conar lowered his head, but he didn’t pull away.

Encouraged, Kaileel lightly caressed the hard muscles along the man’s upper arms. His gaze was tender

as he looked at Conar’s bent head. "Pay the price and I shall make it so, Conar."

Conar felt as though a heavy wheel was turning slowly over his chest. He hurt. He hurt in ways he

thought never to hurt again. He felt things he had prayed to Alel he would never have to feel again.

Slowly he raised his head and turned his face. The two men stared at one another.

Kaileel put one of his hands in the center of Conar’s back and gently moved it up and down the tense

spine as though trying to calm the young man. "Your only hope is through me, Conar. You understand

that, now, don’t you?"

Kaileel Tohre’s touch made Conar ill. He could feel the heat of it through his shirt. He wanted to run, to

hide from that vile touch. He had felt it before.

"What is your decision?"

Conar took a deep breath and his voice was only a whisper. "Free her, Kaileel. Free her and I’ll do

what you want." He had to look away.

"You will accept the mandates of the Domination?"

Revulsion shone on Conar’s face. "Aye."

"Like unto like?"

There was a long hesitation before Conar could force himself to say the words. "Like unto like," he

whispered.

"Look at me, Conar," Kaileel said softly.

Conar’s face filled with shame, his heart with agony. "Kaileel, please, don’t."

"Look at me, sweet one," Tohre insisted, turning Conar toward him. Conar’s eyes filled with what might

well have been remorse as he buried his face in his hands to avoid looking at the Tohre. He gently tugged

the young man’s fingers from his face. He crooked one forefinger and placed it under Conar’s chin,

raising the terrified face to meet his own.

"Kaileel, don’t—"

"You know what will be demanded," Tohre interrupted. He had to grip Conar’s chin as the man tried to

pull his head away. His voice was a soft caress as his eyes roamed over the prince’s handsome face.

"You know what they will do to you if you do not declare to me."

Conar’s chin trembled as he tried to keep the tears of shame at bay. "Can you promise me it will be only

you?"

"After the Rites of Passage, aye, I can." A flicker of regret shot over Kaileel’s face. "Until then, I can