Authors: Janny Wurts

Sorcerer's Legacy (30 page)

Yet when he looked up, determination etched new lines across his lean face. “Your Grace, the girl died believing she granted you deliverance.”

“No.” Darion made a trapped gesture with his hand, breathing hard. The stag medallion ﬂashed on his chest. “You’ll work no darklore for my sake. I refuse to see you damned.”

But Taroith was not deterred. “Would you permit Faisix to reverse the curse against you?”

“He’s dead.” The prince spoke aggressively, clear warning his temper neared the breaking point.

“Not precisely.” Taroith paused, as though waiting. His gaze stayed locked upon the Prince. A moment later, one of his colleagues entered carrying the iron bar that conﬁned the demon ring which had once driven Minksa to murder. The Sorcerer handed the rod to Taroith, who raised it balanced across his palm. Stillness settled over the little room, and Elienne held her breath as he addressed the Prince. “Your Grace, if I release the ring and place it upon my own hand, Faisix’s projection will supplant my will. With seven Masters present to direct his inﬂuence, I believe he may be pursuaded to reverse your affliction, in the same manner as it was originally cast. Our offense against Ma’Diere’s Law will be but slight.” His tone turned stony. “Faisix was not the only adept about with a touch for mindbend.”

Darion stepped out of the doorway, stern proﬁle bronzed by ﬂamelight. “There’s danger to you.”

Taroith gripped the bar of iron on either side of the ring and stared at the bright gold glitter of the demon as though he and the Prince were alone. “Of course. Should my colleagues lose control, yes, there is danger. There is danger in all sorcery. But I assume that risk, as is my right.” He looked up in sincere appeal. “Trust me, your Grace.”

“I understand.” The words seemed tortured from Darion’s throat. Fallen hair veiled his expression as he blotted his brow with his sleeve. “Please take my Consort from the room. I will not risk her to Faisix again.”

Duaire moved to Elienne’s side and took her elbow.

“No, please. I wish to stay.”

But Duaire paid no attention. He caught her with uncompromising ﬁrmness, just as Taroith set his hand on the ring, soulfocus stark as a beacon over his head. Heated air fanned her hair as Duaire steered her toward the door, and a harsh blaze of scarlet rinsed the walls. Duaire guided her ﬁrmly outside. The corridor went dark as the latch fell shut under his hand.

The subdued light of the Sorcerer’s focus drove the blackness back. She sat down on the cold stone, weary, feeling decades older than the desperate woman who had first come to Pendaire with Ielond. “I wanted to forgive her,” she said at last.

Duaire sighed, scarred features troubled by memories of his own. “Minksa could not forgive herself. All her life, she was used as a pawn in this mad play for power. She died believing your heirs would bring an end to the feuding. Mourn her loss, but do not dishonor her sacriﬁce, my Lady. The decision to take her life was hers alone.”

Elienne waited in silence. From within the cell came a rumble of thunder and a sharp metallic clang; she heard a Sorcerer’s voice say, “Your Grace, I suggest you burn that garment.” After an interval, the door opened, throwing yellow light into the corridor. Darion emerged, shirtless, his face a mask. Taroith followed on his heels, haggard with weariness. He had rinsed his hands. Elienne watched the approach of the Sorcerer and the Prince and thought, It’s over now. It’s all over.

Gently Darion pulled her up from the stone. Elienne leaned against him and listened to the steady beat of his heart. Taroith shoved damp hair back from his brow and broke the silence with a curt command. “Your Grace, tell Elienne your third of the Trinity of Fortune.”

Darion swore in mild surprise. “Wasn’t she told?” And he leaned close, a trace of life restored to his expression. “The Seeress promised me my heart’s desire.”

“Your succession.” Elienne traced his jawline with hesitant fingers. “I’m glad.”

“Ma’Diere.” Darion laughed and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. “No, love. My heart’s desire was nothing less than a child of my own, by you.”

“The curse has been reversed.” Taroith raised an iron rod newly bent into a seamless ring. The demon glittered hotly, imbedded immovably in a surface that glowed white with wardspells. “Lady, I can promise with Eternity’s finality Faisix will cause no more harm to your children.”

Darion cradled her close. The Sorcerers fell behind as he moved off down the corridor. Elienne felt his grip shift as he started up the stairs.

“I can walk,” she said. When he failed to respond, her protest turned heated. “Lord, put me down!”

But his arms only tightened. “Not here, my future Queen. I’m taking us both to the bedchamber. We’ve an obligation to the realm of Pendaire.” He paused. Chestnut hair tickled her cheek as he kissed her long and gently. When he finally raised his head, a dawning glimmer of joy shone through his solemnity. “Our first male heir will be named Cinndel. This time, by right of sovereignty, I’m going to insist.”