The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) Page 25

  This was the part he couldn’t really explain…yet he longed to earn her trust. He stared down at her, drinking in the sight of her dark eyes and lustrous blue-black hair, knowing Lucy was his one chance for something normal in a city of nightmares. “I trust you, Lucy…with my life.”

  Her eye’s widened.

  “Does your father still own the Jolly Penitent?”

  She nodded.

  “Sometimes the Dark Harper plays in your father’s tavern.”

  She gasped and stared in disbelief. “Papa won’t let me work on the nights the Harper plays…but I’ve listened to his songs…and I’ve heard the rumors.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “It’s dangerous to even speak his name.”

  “I came back to work for the Dark Harper.” His heart thundered at speaking the secret. He watched her close, praying for acceptance, hoping for understanding.

  Her face was incredulous, her voice breathy. “You’re one of the heroes of the Harper’s songs?”

  He had to laugh. He’d never thought of himself as a hero. “I help, yes.”

  “You free heretics?”

  He nodded.

  Emotions rippled across her face. Her dark eyes held a spark of interest. “Then you’re a hero!”

  Relief washed through him, relief and pride, two things he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wanted to take her in his arms but he resisted. “When I saw you in the market, I had to speak to you.” A strand of dark hair escaped her ribbon. With a tentative hand, he smoothed it back behind her ear, silken beneath his fingertips. “I just want to see you, to walk with you in the markets, to talk with you…”

  “And you’re not afraid to be seen?”

  “Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight.” His voice grew husky with need. “If I meet you in the markets, will you walk with me?”

  “You’re truly one of the heroes?”

  The admiration in her dark eyes filled him with pride, easing his fears. He yearned for more of that look. She made him feel brave. Courage made him reckless. “We freed a man from the stocks just two nights ago, over on the street of cobblers. Another innocent saved from the Flames…but every night it gets harder. The soldiers set traps hoping to catch us but the Dark Harper is full of tricks. We do what we can to make a difference.” He leaned toward her, drinking in the scent of lilac. “So will you walk with me in the markets?” He held his breath, daring to hope.

  A blush crept across her face. “I’ll walk with you. Tomorrow, in the spice market, a turn of the hourglass after noon.”

  Triumph flooded through him.

  “Till tomorrow then.” She gave him a coy smile and then turned and left the alleyway for the sunshine of the cobblestone streets.

  He watched her go. Watched her till she rounded the corner, savoring the memory of her smile and the way the wool dress clung to her curves. He’d found his courage, a talisman against the city of madness. He wanted to shout for joy but he settled for a smile. Noticing an apple lying in the dirt, he picked it up and burnished it against his tunic. It must have fallen from Lucy’s basket. Plump and juicy, apples were always lucky for him. He took a bite…but then spit it out. Rotten inside, the apple was full of worms. One worm was half eaten. Gagging, he threw it away in disgust. A shiver of dread passed through him. Samson told himself that he didn’t believe in omens. He fled the alley. Sometimes the gods asked for too much.

  27

  Liandra

  A battering ram pounded against stone door, the relentless voice of doom. The rebels sought entrance to the secret chamber but so far the stone door held. Liandra’s ancestors had wrought well. The queen paced the chamber, watching the faces of her loyal few. The slow pounding throbbed like thunder, eroding courage and multiplying fears. They all knew the door could not hold forever.

  Her ladies-in-waiting tended the soldiers, binding their wounds with embroidered linens and lace. The wounded lay on the floor or leaned against the wall, stoic in their silence, swords within reach. The queen kept a brave face and a stiff back, providing courage for all.

  The waiting was its own torture. Liandra paced the chamber like a caged lioness, examining options and strategies, searching for a way to snatch victory from seeming defeat. Only a handful of soldiers were fit enough to fight so the sword was not the solution. The passageways that honeycombed the tower offered a possible escape route, but the queen had sent the majority of her loyal soldiers through the secret ways hoping to ambush the rebels. If her loyal troops had failed then the passageways could be compromised, becoming a deadly trap. Stay or flee, the conundrum was enough to drive her mad.

  The tempo of the battering ram increased, the rebels grew impatient.

  The tension in the chamber tightened. Her women threw worried glances toward the queen, looking for reassurance.

  Liandra balled her hands into fists, desperate for a solution. She needed something better than escape. She needed a checkmate. The queen paused in mid-stride. If she could capture the Lord Turner, the leader of the rebellion, then perhaps she could claim the field and end the fighting. A plan formed in her mind, thin and desperate but a chance all the same. “Captain Durnheart, we would speak to you and any men who are fit enough to fight.”

  The captain saluted and made the rounds, speaking to those who were the least wounded.

  The queen turned to Princess Jemma. “We have a plan, but it is fraught with risks. With so few men, your bow might make the difference.”

  The princess smiled, her dark eyes sparkling. “My bow is yours.” Her face blushed red. “But majesty, I must warn you, I’m only a middling archer. I can hit the target but rarely the heart.”

  Liandra had to smile; candor and courage in abundance, the young woman had the makings of a good queen. “You Navarrens are made of stern stuff. We are pleased to have you by our side.”

  The princess flashed a radiant smile, beauty enough to dazzle any court.

  Captain Durnheart approached with seven soldiers. Four of them bore wounds, badges of courage stained red with blood.

  The queen met each man’s gaze testing his mettle. A grim determination echoed in their faces. Eight brave men would have to be enough. They gathered around the queen, hands on swords, waiting for orders.

  The queen voice was steel coated with velvet. “We will not act the prey but instead be the hunter. We will strike at the heart of the rebellion and end this bloodshed. Will you take this chance with your queen? Will you be hunters instead of prey?”

  The soldiers’ faces blazed with eagerness. Captain Durnheart said, “Sound the hunt, our swords are yours.”

  “The hunt is sounded.” The queen dared a small smile. “We will use the tower secrets to hunt for the rebel leader. Capture or kill the leader and we may yet gain a checkmate and end the uprising. Are you with us?”

  “For the queen!” The soldiers’ cheer drowned out the steady beat of the battering ram.

  The queen turned to a young soldier with coppery hair. “In the storage room, you’ll find some shuttered lanterns. Bring two and light them.”

  As the soldier moved to obey, Liandra faced the rest of her loyal subjects. She took a moment to memorize each face. “We are not abandoning you. And we are not retreating. We go to fight, to take a desperate chance against the enemy.” She felt their stares begging for hope. “We will take these few who are fit and lead them back into the secret passageways, seeking an end to this conflict.” She wanted to give them hope but they deserved honesty. “If we fail, the passageways will not be safe. We give each of you leave to make your own choice. Wait here and surrender when the door fails or attempt escape via the passageways. The choice is yours.”

  The soldier returned with two lanterns. She took one, leaving more hands to hold swords.

  She stared at the faces of those who had been most loyal. “We thank you for your loyal service. May the Lords of Light protect us all.”

  One of the wounded banged the hilt of his sword against the stone floor. “The qu
een!” The chant echoed through the room.

  The queen turned away lest her composure fail. She removed the onyx plugs from the face of the carved king and stared into the hidden passageway. Darkness and uncertainty waited beyond but she would dare the risk. Turning to the soldiers, she said, “Keep your swords ready, the passageways could be compromised.” Replacing the onyx plugs, she unlocked the door and led her handful of loyalists into the secret ways.

  She paused on the threshold. Flinging her senses down the stairs, she listened for an ambush, but heard nothing. If treachery awaited, she could not tell.

  The lantern cast a soft glow on the stairs, just enough light to see by. She led them down the staircase, through the cobweb-shrouded passages. Time was against her. She couldn’t afford to check all the spy holes, so she relied on instinct instead. She knew her prey. The Lord Turner was too much of a coward to risk his own blood. If the traitor remained in the tower, she’d find him someplace safe, someplace opulent.

  The queen led her small band around the tower, descending three floors without opposition. She paused at a stone face carved like an old woman, wrinkled and careworn. “Shutter the lanterns.” Prying the onyx eye plugs loose, she checked the room. She’d guessed wrong. Replacing the plugs, she tried five more faces before she found what she was searching for. The queen stared through the spy holes and smiled. She’d found the royal audience chamber…and her prey.

  The traitor leaned against a gilded table, sipping from a jewel-encrusted goblet. How confident! Hatred shuddered through her. She’d trusted this handsome viper, showing him favor by seating him on her council and giving him command of the royal guard. Venom flooded her stare, but Liandra had learned her lesson. She slammed her eyes shut, refusing to be caught by the intensity of her own stare. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and forced her gaze to circle the chamber. She counted ten soldiers. Ten that she could see. Her loyal band would be outnumbered but desperate times required desperate gambits.

  Putting her finger to lips, she warned the others to silence and then motioned Princess Jemma to the spy hole. “Look through and see the traitor. Tall and handsome with shoulder length blond hair, he has a thin mustache and gold braid on his uniform. Mark him well.”

  The princess stared through the spy holes and then nodded toward the queen.

  Liandra took a last look and then replaced the onyx plugs. She turned to address her loyal band, her voice a low hush. “The Lord Turner is the traitor leading the rebellion.”

  More than one soldier gasped in surprise.

  The queen nodded, her face grim. “This is our chance for checkmate. The traitor uses our private audience chamber as his command post. Ten soldiers guard him but we have the element of surprise.” She looked at the princess. “Prepare your bow. We would ask you to go first. Aim your arrow at the traitor’s heart and advance toward him. We hope to take him alive, but if he does not surrender, aim to kill.”

  The young woman turned ashen.

  The queen softened her voice, “Can you do this?”

  “I’ve never loosed at a living target let alone a man.”

  “But you fired in the hallway?”

  The young woman’s face flamed red. “I loosed several arrows…but I did not aim.” She shrugged. “I thought the diversion might help.”

  The queen was impressed with the young woman’s pluck. “Can you do this?”

  The princess swallowed, her voice low, “I will do what needs to be done.”

  Liandra gripped the young woman’s arm. “We will not forget this.” The queen turned to study the faces of her soldiers. “We will go second, urging the rebels to surrender. The rest of you follow behind.” Her voice hardened to steel. “If the rebels fight, they must be defeated. If they flee, they must be cut down. We will capture or kill their leader and then retreat into the passageway. Take care that none of you comes between the archer and her prey. Do not break the line of fire.” She looked toward the captain. “Captain Durnheart, we will trust you to disarm the traitor. Be prepared for tricks. He will not come quietly.”

  The captain nodded, his face determined.

  “Leave the lanterns in the passageway and prepare for battle. May the Lords of Light grace your swords.” The queen set her lantern on the floor and then removed the golden skeleton key from her bodice. The lock proved stubborn. The queen strained to turn the key. It turned with a click that seemed far too loud, but the time for caution was past.

  The queen looked to the princess.

  She nocked an arrow to her bow, her face was pale but determined.

  The queen pushed the secret door open. Bow drawn, the princess rushed into the chamber, an arrow aimed at the traitor’s heart. The queen hastened to follow, her soldiers on her heels.

  Time slowed. Every detail was etched clear as crystal in the queen’s mind. She saw the shock in the rebels’ eyes and the snarl of hatred twisting the Lord Turner’s face. The princess closed on the traitor, keeping her bow taught, a slight tremor in her arm. The Lord Turner froze, transfixed by the arrow’s threat, a calculating look in his gaze. The rebels reached for their swords. Her loyal soldiers sprang to meet the threat.

  Regal in her golden gown, the queen strode to the heart of the conflict, her voice a royal command. “Put down your swords!” She sought to dominate the room with her presence. “We have come for the traitor who misled you but we will pardon any soldier who swears allegiance to the crown. This rebellion is ended.”

  The rebels hesitated. Her men moved into position.

  The traitor snarled, “Seize her!”

  The queen’s voice was certain as stone. “Speak again and die.”

  The bow creaked with strain but the arrow held on target.

  One of the rebels lunged to the attack. A loyal soldier parried the stroke, plunging his sword into the rebel’s chest. The rebel made a wet, gurgling sound and then slumped to the floor. Blood stained the marble.

  “Stop!” The queen used the voice of command. “There is no need for more death. Keep your hands away from your swords and you will all live.”

  The Lord Turner seethed with anger yet the arrow’s threat was enough to keep him silent.

  The rebel soldiers obeyed the queen, holding their hands high, their faces confused.

  Captain Durnheart disarmed the traitorous lord without breaking the archer’s aim. A dagger and a gold-hilted sword clattered to the marble floor. The captain grasped the lord’s hair from behind and jerked his head back, holding the edge of his sword to the traitor’s exposed throat. A thin cut of crimson reinforced the threat.

  The Lord Turner glared at the queen, a killing rage in his gaze.

  The queen ignored the traitor, focusing on the rebel soldiers, willing them to stillness. “Captain Durnheart, get the prisoner into the passageway. Princess Jemma, you follow.”

  A ripple of unease passed across the rebels.

  The queen pitched her voice to carry. “We want all of you to live.” Her stare passed to each of the rebels, making the message personal. “We will pardon every soldier who lays down his sword and swears fealty to the crown. Spread the word to your comrades. The traitor is captured and the queen lives.”

  A shout came from the far doorway. More rebel soldiers poured into the chamber.

  The queen fled for the secret door.

  Swords clashed behind her.

  She reached the passage with two loyal men on her heels.

  Captain Durnheart yelled, “Shut the door!”

  “No wait!” The queen turned but it was too late. The door had slammed shut. More men lost. The queen leaned her forehead against the cold stone walls, drawing strength from the castle. A strange mixture of triumph and fear flooded through her, so this is how battle feels.

  From out of the darkness, the Lord Turner hissed, “You won’t succeed.”

  Captain Durnheart growled, “Quiet or I’ll cut your throat.”

  The queen lifted a lantern and studied the traitor, amazed tha
t she’d ever thought him handsome. Even captured, he did not relent, his face twisted by naked hatred.

  Staring into the cold, blue eyes of her enemy, she whispered, “Checkmate!”

  Confusion roiled across his face.

  “You had the swords but we outplayed you.” She stood regal within the dusty passageway, feeling the strength of her ancestors in the castle walls. “We are only a woman, but the queen is ever the most powerful piece on the chessboard.”

  The traitor hissed, “It’s not over.”

  Captain Durnheart tightened his grip. The traitor gasped, a trickle of blood running down his throat. The captain looked to the queen. “Up or down?”

  She considered the risks and the advantages. Having no information about the integrity of the lower passages, she decided to take the known risk. “Up. We will proclaim victory from the ramparts of the Queen’s Tower.” She nodded toward the captain. “And if the traitor balks, you have our royal permission to slit his throat. We only need his head to prove the rebellion is over.”

  “Bitch!” Despite his outburst, the traitor blanched pale, the stink of fear flooding the passageway.

  “A command I will be happy to obey.” The captain’s voice held a keen edge. He shoved the prisoner up the stairs, holding his sword as a threat.

  They reached the eighth floor without hindrance. Her small band passed through the king’s door with their heads held high in triumph. They’d lost three men but gained a traitor. A heartfelt cheer greeted their return…but the pounding of the battering ram did not abate. The queen hid her unease beneath a mask of courage, providing strength for her people. Her gambit had worked. She’d captured the red king but the knights and pawns fought on. War was not as neat as chess. The game was far from over. She ordered the traitor to be bound and gagged. Wits against swords, the Spider Queen vowed to keep her throne.

  28

  The Knight Marshal

  The knight marshal watched the recruits practice, blades clanging against shields and helms. They fought with edged weapons to better prepare for combat, but the rhythmic clang of Castlegard’s practice yard was a far cry from the chaotic din of battle. The marshal watched, wondering who would be heroes and who would lie among the fallen. Their fates lay in the hands of the gods and in their own skill of arms, but of one thing he was certain, these young men would see battle.