Crystal Moon (24 page)

vengeance. An elusive something that drew her like a flower

draws a bee. A force that commanded her.

Staggered by the cruel reality of Aubin’s death, she felt

faint as she realized the depth of the connection Kyne had

forged with her. In this instant she bonded with Kyne beyond

what she had ever imagined possible. She became him.

“Give me a reason not to condemn you. Save yourself.

Save me.” His voice trailed off to a whisper, and he released

his hold on her shoulders.

As suddenly as it had come, the connection between them

ended. Pain left her limp. The bond went only one direction.

None of herself reached into Kyne’s ka. To him she remained

DiSanti’s daughter. He understood nothing. She sagged into

the chair and raised tear-filled eyes to Kyne. “I can’t.” I can’t

save myself at the cost of another.

But in saving Laila would she destroy Kyne? If he executed

her alongside her father, then learned the truth, guilt would shatter

his ka.

“So be it.” He turned away. “You seal your own fate.

Tomorrow we leave to meet your father.” He strode to the

door and left.

Warda’s warmth pressed against her knees. She buried

her face in his fur and sobbed. She cried for Kyne. For Aubin.

For Laila. For the suffering caused by her father’s lust for

power. For lives wasted and lost. For the stillbirth of Kyne’s

love for her. For her hopeless love for Kyne.

When her tears ended she rose on shaking legs and went

looking for her sister.

An hour later, Sianna found Laila in the stable.

Dressed in a clean blouse and trousers, her cropped, dark

hair and skin freshly scrubbed, Laila’s tall thin frame looked

more like a lad’s than a woman’s quick with child. Only the full

jut of her breasts beneath the thin material and the roundness

below her waist hinted at her condition. Brow furrowed in

concentration, she rhythmically stroked a brush over her quinar’s

already sleek coat. Eyes shut, the beast nearly purred with

contentment, his massive head resting contentedly on Laila’s

shoulder.

Sianna stepped forward, intent on talking with her elusive

sister. “Laila.”

Laila whirled around. The brush dropped from her hand,

and a knife flashed in front of Sianna’s eyes. “By the moons,

woman. Don’t you know enough not to sneak up on a person?”

She relaxed her battle stance, and the knife disappeared into

whatever hiding place she’d retrieved it from. “And my name

is Lisha.” She turned back to the quinar and soothed its agitated

prancing.

Sianna swallowed her sudden fear of this near stranger

and approached. “I must speak with you. It is not safe for you

here. Rul Cathor has become suspicious of my identity. If he

discovers our father has two daughters, he will begin to hunt

for you. In his eyes you bear equal guilt with our father for

Aubin’s murder. Think of the child you carry.”

Laila gave a harsh laugh. “Believe me, I think of little else.”

“Then you do carry Aubin’s child?”

“Yes, and as long as our father lives, no one is safe in

Dramon, especially not my child. Given half a chance DiSanti

would rip the babe from my belly. Where better for me to hide

from him than in the lair of his most feared enemy? Tell me,

little sister, what has roused the good Rul’s suspicion?”

Heat rushed into Sianna’s cheeks as Laila stared at her. “I

know not,” she stuttered.

“You are a poor liar. No wonder Rul Cathor doubts your

identity. Or have you given him other proof you were not his

brother’s lover? Hmmm?”

“I...I....” At Sianna’s renewed blush and stammer, Laila

grinned.

“It matters not. On the morrow, Cathor and his men ride

out to meet DiSanti. I ride with them.”

“Are you mad? You cannot! There may be fighting. You

might be injured.”

“Perhaps. It matters not. Cathor intends to take DiSanti

prisoner. The fool believes in justice and would try our father

for his crimes before executing him. I will kill him and save

Cathor the wear on his blade.”

Like hot lava spewing from a long dormant volcano, Laila’s

hatred drenched Sianna in fiery agony. She staggered against

the burst of raw emotion, the blood bond between them

intensifying the connection in a way Sianna would not have

thought possible. “And if you are injured or killed, what becomes

of Aubin’s child? Does he die with you?”

Indecision flashed across Laila’s face. She placed her hands

protectively over the swell of her belly.

Sianna rested her palm over the back of Laila’s hand and

was surprised by the flicker of life she felt within Laila. “He

deserves the chance to be born. To have his mother there as he

grows. Don’t throw Aubin’s gift away to avenge his death.

With his last words, Aubin spoke of the babe the two of you

had created, knowing his brother would stay his vengeance

until the birth. Perhaps Aubin believed by then you would have

convinced Kyne of your innocence.”

Laila jerked away from Sianna’s touch. Her gaze turned

hard. “Why are you so convinced of my innocence? You barely

know me. Perhaps I did betray Aubin. Power is a heady wine,

and DiSanti nursed me on the brew. He would have me rule at

his side.”

“No. There is no evil in you to do such a thing. You loved

Aubin. I’m sure of it.”

“Then you are a fool.” She turned her back to Sianna. “I

love no one and nothing. DiSanti beat love out of me years

ago.”

“Then why are you so angry over Aubin’s death?”

As if in pain, Laila’s shoulders hunched forward. “Aubin

was mine until I chose to let him go. DiSanti stole what was

mine. He will pay for it,” she rasped. “Now leave me. I tire of

your questions. My mind is set. I ride with Rul Cathor and his

men on the morrow. I will take my chances on my identity

being discovered. As you said, my pregnancy will protect me—

at least for a time—from Cathor’s wrath. As long as DiSanti

dies first, I will be content. Tell Cathor the truth now. Protect

yourself. You have my blessing.”

“Just one more question.”

“Very well, but then be gone.”

“Did you write to Aubin asking him to meet you at the

Lyon’s Head tavern?”

Even before she heard Laila’s whispered “No,” Sianna

knew the answer.

Fourteen

Though the pale, emaciated form on the bed no longer held

his beloved father’s spirit, his physical presence gave Timon

comfort. Breath rasped through King Dracken’s toothless, slack

mouth. Chewing nika rotted a person’s teeth along with his

brain. Timon gently wiped away the spittle from the king’s chin.

How often in the last two annum had he sat at his father’s

side and begged him to wake from his nika-induced stupor.

Pleaded for advice and answers to the dilemmas facing him?

But the only time his father stirred was when his body’s craving

for the drug that had destroyed his mind set him to screaming in

agony. Then only a mouthful of the harmless looking leaves

eased his pain and let him drift back into whatever limbo he

found peace.

Timon strode to the window and gazed out over the castle’s

quiet courtyard. Hours before, DiSanti and his loyal personal

guard had left for their rendezvous with Rul Cathor. The outcome

of that meeting worried Timon. If DiSanti escaped Cathor’s

trap, there would be no doubt in his mind as to who had betrayed

him. With only a few of the remaining palace guard loyal to

DiSanti, Timon didn’t fear for his own well being. As he waited,

his own guard were securing the palace.

Even if DiSanti regained control of the palace, he needed

Timon too much to do more than threaten and bluster. And his

father would probably embrace death. But what of his mother

and Thomasa?

None of Timon’s spies or informants had been able to

discover where DiSanti had hidden the two women. Timon could

only pray Rul Cathor would be successful. If not, Thomasa and

his mother might pay the price.

Had he been foolish to put his faith and trust in a man he

didn’t know? A man declared an outlaw by the Council. A

Council controlled by DiSanti.

Rul Cathor hadn’t been to court since the death of his

parents six annum prior. Eight at the time, Timon remembered

little of the Cathor family or the tragedy and scandal surrounding

their deaths. He knew that year heralded the beginning of

DiSanti’s rise to power and his father’s decline into nika

addiction.

He gripped the stone sill. What choice did he have? Cathor

offered him his only option other than meekly submitting to

DiSanti’s dictates.

If Cathor succeeded, the battles would be far from over.

DiSanti was but the head of a large and ravenous beast. The

death throes of a headless sardak could still kill.

How soon before he heard?

A soft rap at the door heralded his manservant with his

morning meal. Though food did not interest him, Timon ate. He

had much to do to prepare. Whatever the outcome of the

encounter, this day DiSanti’s rule of Dramon ended.

***

Swirls of thick mist hung over the mountain valleys. Dew

clung to the courtyard’s meager vegetation and slicked the

paving stones beneath the restless feet of the waiting quinar.

Scents of milling animals, unwashed men, wood smoke and

hastily cooked morning meals flavored the cool air sour and

sweet. Dawn barely lit the sky as Kyne mounted Hakan. They

must leave to set the trap for DiSanti. Time grew short, but

only fools traveled the mountain trails in the dark.

In the grey morning light he watched as Hamon, his second

in command since Graham’s injury, readied his troop of fifty

men for departure. Though stout of heart and filled with courage,

they were a ragtag bunch made up of mostly old men and

beardless lads. The few men of fighting age stood out like early

autumn leaves on a summer’s landscape.

Swords and daggers flashed in sun’s first feeble rays.

Thanks to the raid on the supply caravan, at least all were well

armed. Did he have enough men to carry his plan through to

success? They desperately needed the element of surprise on

their side. If DiSanti reached the rendezvous point before they

did, they were lost.

Je’al said DiSanti believed his story of outlaws, but DiSanti

was a cunning adversary. Though told to come alone, how many

men would he bring with him? Enough, Kyne was sure, to defeat

what DiSanti would think to be a small band of desperate men.

Outlaws were common throughout Dramon since DiSanti’s rule

began. Any man faced with the starvation of his family might

turn to thievery, but most died before they became adept at it.

With luck, DiSanti would discount the risk and come with only

a few soldiers.

Hamon was a good man, strong and brave, but he did better

following orders than giving them. Kyne would miss having

Graham at his side during the coming encounter. Both for his

strong arm and for his solid counsel.

Kyne frowned as Je’al rode up beside him. Though a far

cry from the pathetic bundle of skin and bones who’d arrived

just the previous morning, the lad couldn’t be well enough to

ride into battle.

Before Kyne could question the lad’s strength, Je’al said,

“I am fine, my lord. You have need of every man.”

“And woman.” The woman Lisha urged her mount between

Je’al and Kyne’s, and lifted an eyebrow as if challenging him to

object.

Other than a general dislike for women in battle, Kyne had

no valid objection to her presence. He nodded his agreement.

“You proved your worth in the caravan raid. I welcome

you at my side.”

A slight easing of her tense stance was her response.

Since their return he’d not seen her around. With her face

and hair washed and combed, her trim, full-breasted body clothed

in fresh garments, she was a handsome woman. Something

about the clean lines of her face struck a familiar cord in Kyne’s

mind. Clear blue eyes met him stare for stare without flinching

at his scrutiny. She held her full lips in a tight, unsmiling line.

The rising sun caught blue glints in her short, black hair.

Sianna ran out into the courtyard, Warda charging at her

heels. She grabbed Hakan’s bridle.

“No, Kyne. She cannot go with you.”

Startled, the quinar reared and yanked Sianna off her feet.

With a growl, Warda lunged at the quinar. In panic Hakan swung

his massive head and half-reared. His feet beat a tattoo on the

stone pavement. Sianna dangled in air. Only her grip on Hakan’s

bridle kept her from falling beneath his flailing hooves.

Blood thundered in Kyne’s head.

Before he could react and control his mount, she murmured

a few words, and the beast settled down. Her feet touched the

ground, but Kyne’s heart still raced. Warda crouched at her

side, fangs bared, eyes focused on the still nervous quinar.

“Are you mad, woman,” he gritted out, not willing to risk