The Prince Deceiver (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 6) (6 page)

"Indeed."
It sounded like a fairy tale, yet Liandra knew so many fairy tales had dark
sides. "What else do they say?"

The princess
nibbled a slice of bread. "I've heard talk of a grand banquet to be held
at his mansion in the city. The merchants are buzzing like bees to the
honey."

"A banquet?
How odd."

The princess set
her bread aside. "Why is it odd?"

"Because we
offered to hold a royal reception for him here at the castle, a banquet
followed by a dance, but he demurred, preferring a private meeting." Liandra
made no mention of the chess game for the loss still stung.

"That
is
odd." The princess fingered her wine goblet. "Why would a visiting
prince decline a royal reception?"

The queen had no
answer.

The princess
leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspirator's whisper. "Would you
like me to wrangle an invitation to the banquet? Perhaps I could help solve
this riddle?"

A chill shivered
through the queen. The thought alarmed her...though she could not say why.
"No...let my shadowmen do their work." Liandra did not want a
possible heir to Navarre anywhere near the prince. "My spies will peel
back the riddle and then we'll decide."

"As you
wish."

The queen guided
their conversation towards matters of commerce, but in the back of her mind she
worried about the prince...and the missing fleet. The game grew complicated.
She sensed the hand of other players. The queen wondered if they were friends
or foes. Questions pounded through her mind. The very fate of Erdhe might
depend on these riddles yet she had few answers.

9

Bryce

The Mordant
slept and the malevolent evil receded like a foul tide, loosening the chains of
his prison. A soul trapped within the Mordant, Bryce clung to his sanity,
desperate to find a way to make a difference. Somehow his hellish existence had
to count for something. Surely the gods would not abandon him, yet his hopes were
few and his existence bleak. Horrified by everything he’d witnessed, he railed
against his bonds, but it had little effect. Without the sea’s ability to
weaken the Mordant, he’d lost the strength to move the smallest finger…yet he
had to try.

As an acolyte in
the monastery, he'd learned a timeworn saying,
When one door shuts another
opens.
He’d lost the sea, an unexpected ally, but another slender hope had
come his way…but with that hope came dire need. The Mordant had endured a
harrowing sea crossing to stalk a queen. Crouched within his prison, Bryce kept
watch through his spy hole while the two met across a chessboard. He'd felt the
Mordant loose his Dark will upon the queen, yet somehow she resisted. During
the whole of his long captivity, Bryce had witnessed only two people who
resisted the Mordant’s soul-assault, the cat-eyed man in the bloody cavern and
now the queen.

The cat-eyed man
had been his friend. Chained in the unholy sanctuary beneath the Dark Citadel, the
Mordant had tortured the cat-eyed man, yet somehow he'd repulsed the Mordant’s soul-probe.
Pierced by a hundred cursed daggers and left to suffer as an offering to
Darkness, yet he'd endured. Later, much later, Bryce had found a way to follow
a magical thread and speak with the cat-eyed man from afar. He'd hoped to
thwart the Mordant by sharing his plans, but that valiant warrior had died,
succumbing to his wounds. Now the Mordant fixed his deadly gaze upon the Rose Queen.

Spellbound with
worry, Bryce spied through his keyhole as the two met. At first the Mordant was
charming and courteous, the Dark threat coiled behind his eyes like a cobra’s
lethal strike. Bryce railed against his prison, desperate to warn the queen,
all to no avail. Crouched in his gray prison, he’d felt their stares cross...and
then the blinding flash of light beat against the Mordant, invoking his rage.
Hope and fear crashed against Bryce like two competing tidal waves. When the
waves calmed, hope bled away while the Mordant’s rage remained, annealed to a
cold, malevolent hate. The queen had somehow repulsed the Mordant's mental
assault, but she seemed oblivious to the threat standing before her. Smothering
his rage, the Mordant took a seat across the checkered board. The two played
chess like civilized people...but the queen knew not what type of vile monster
she battled. The oldest harlequin, an emissary of Darkness, a thousand years of
evil hidden beneath youth's stolen facade...played chess. Within his prison,
Bryce shuddered, barely able to watch. He could not imagine what terrible fate
awaited the queen.

Later, Bryce
considered all he'd learned. The Mordant's every move dripped with malevolent
purpose. Moon-turns ago, he'd planted assassins within the queen's court, one
assassin hidden as a jester, death hidden beneath jovial deceit. But the
Kiralynn Order had also entered the game. By spying through the keyhole, Bryce
knew that a brother monk had come to the queen’s court, proof of her
importance, yet the monk had died, murdered by the assassin’s foul poison. Plots
within plots, Darkness foiled the Light...but where one monk had failed,
another would take his place...even if that one was trapped within the gray
prison of the Mordant's mind.

Bryce had to
try. He had to give meaning to this terrible imprisonment.

And then the
gods lent a hand.

The death of the
monk brought an unexpected boon. The monk's malachite coin sat on the table
nearest the bed. The Mordant kept it close, intending to bond with it, but
Bryce knew it would never serve the harlequin, for somehow, while the Mordant
fondled the malachite coin, the magic of the focus found its way to his prison.
Piercing the gray haze, it formed a bond with Bryce.
A coin from ancient
Azreal,
his mind dazzled with the implications. Like an ancient curse that
had finally found its mark, the coin had come to the Mordant’s hand. Bryce felt
it on the bedside table, calling to him, so close but yet so far. He yearned to
hold it in his hand, to unleash the magic within. He knew not what it did, but
it gave him hope.

But before he
could wield it, Bryce needed to gain control of his hand.

Tendrils of
thought slipped through his prison. Bryce focused on the Mordant's right hand.
He willed his hand to move, like trying to flex a rusty gauntlet. Straining
against his bonds, he fought to work his will…but nothing happened. Remembering
his time onboard the ship, he sought to rethread the connections between his
mind and his flesh. Refusing to be defeated, he kept at it…and felt the
smallest finger twitch. Elation thrummed through him.

Sunlight pierced
the windows and the Mordant stirred.

Bryce retreated
to his prison, dampening his emotions.
The coin had come to him for a reason
.
Perhaps the Lords of Light had finally heard his pleas. He’d bide his time and
keep watch and find a way to make a difference.

10

Liandra

For the second
time, the queen met the prince across the chessboard. Liandra vowed this game
would be different. Not only did she intend to win, but this time she’d drill
him with questions, seeking to unearth his intentions, his motives, his plans.
Before this game finished, she'd peer behind his youthful face and courtly
manners to discern his true nature.

The prince
entered her solar with a confident smile. Clad in a sumptuous robe of dark
purple, his fingers glittered with jeweled rings, a blunt reminder of Ur's
formidable wealth. His face was so youthful, the queen guessed his age at
twenty-two, a young man just entering his prime, yet every aspect of his
bearing screamed of royal privilege. He carried himself with a rare confidence
that belied his years. A royal riddle, the prince was intriguing and deeply mysterious
despite his youth.

He took a seat
opposite her. “Once more we meet across the chessboard."

"We trust
this outcome will be different.”

The prince flashed
a haughty smile, yet his blue eyes remained cold as ice. “Your beauty is
exceeded only by your unbridled confidence.”

"Unbridled?"

He gave an
elegant shrug. "Having lost the first battle, there is no reason to
believe you shall win the second."

The queen
smothered a tart reply, her desire for victory multiplied.

Light against
dark, the exquisite chessboard sat between them, a lavish gift from the prince.
Malachite knights, monks, and soldiers stood in straight ranks, ready to battle
his phalanx of onyx dragons, wizards, and gargoyles. Chess was a game of wits,
patience and strategy, a game the Spider Queen intended to win.

He gestured to
the board. “Yours to begin.”

“We opened the
last game. Shouldn’t you take the lighter side?”

“Never.” He gave
her a courtly nod. “As a gentleman, I’ll play the Dark, ceding the first move
to the queen.”

His words held
an unexpected edge, yet the queen accepted the advantage. Besides, green was
ever her color. She scrutinized the board, considering her first move. Expecting
a bloody conflict, Liandra decided to strike first. She chose a bold move,
opening with her queen’s knight, setting up a strong attack. “Your gift is an
interesting choice, knights against dragons, reality vying against myth.”

“Myth or
metaphor?” The prince opened with his king’s pawn, advancing the gargoyle by
one space.

An intriguing
reply
…
and he makes a conservative opening, more proof the prince is
layered with riddles.
The queen considered the board while plying him with
questions. “Myths we understand, but if dragons, wizards and gargoyles are
meant as a metaphor then we confess to be confused. What is the message behind
your gift?"

His gaze
remained fixed on the board, as if consumed by the game, yet the queen refused
to let silence reign. "Surely you know the intent behind your own gift?”

“Intent should
be discovered, not explained. Why take the mystery out of life?” The prince
moved another pawn.

Such a mature
answer for one so young.
She took a stab at his meaning. “As the Empire of
Ur is ever shrouded in myth?”

“Conveniently
so.”

Liandra moved
her queen across the board. Already the game was shaping up to be an epic
struggle, a convoluted tangle of moves, so different from the first bloody
onslaught.  Black evaded green, always slipping away from her traps, as if he
was afraid to engage. The prince displayed a devious mind, so different from
his ruthless attack of their first game. He played the second game like an
intricate dance, delaying the inevitable clash. Move and counter move, the
tension built to a fever pitch. 

A log fire
snapped and crackled in the hearth, releasing a breath of pine. Bathed in the
ruby glow of the firelight, they sat across from each other, goblets of wine
and platters of cheese long forgotten.

The queen eased
back in her chair, forcing herself to take a break. “We are curious about your
title, the twelfth-fold prince of Ur?”

“Merely a
measure of my nearness to the throne.”

“So you have
eleven brothers?”

“Hundreds.” He
flashed a startling smile. “We are legion, for the Emperor has many wives and
many more concubines.”

A harem,
the
queen hid her distaste. “So how is succession decided?”

“By deeds, by
duels, by the machinations of the harem, by the knife of an assassin, and
ultimately, by the Emperor’s favor.”

“So you’ve come
to Erdhe to set yourself apart?”

“Precisely.” 

“Or perhaps
you’ve come to evade the assassins?” She could not resist the jab.

“I have no fear
of assassins.” His dragon took her castle, the first major loss of the game. “I
find it passing strange that your lords let a queen rule alone.”

“And why is that
strange?” Her queen took his pawn, gaining access to his castle.

“When a royal
line narrows to a single queen it takes a perilous risk.” He shot a pointed
glance across the chessboard. “I hear you have but one living heir.”

Liandra gave a
terse nod, disliking the turn of question. Her hand stole across her empty
womb, mourning her lost daughter.

“Another reason
women should never rule.” He fondled the fallen pawn. “Kings sow their seed
across many women while queens risk their life at every childbirth.”

“True, yet it
does not lessen our ability to rule.”

He shrugged.
“But it risks your royal line.”

Anger spiked her
voice. “Unlike Ur, our court is not mired in assassins and duels.”

“That is your
loss, for such trials winnow out the weak, ensuring only the strong and the
worthy wear the crown.”

“There is much
more to ruling than knives and assassins. We value intelligence and honor in
our monarchs, not cunning and deception.”

"Spoken
like a queen instead of king."

His words struck
like an underhanded cut, yet the queen refused to be baited. Liandra fixed her
gaze on the board. Crowded with pieces, the game was becoming tricky, feints
within feints, plots within plots, so different from their first game…almost as
if she played an entirely different opponent. For such a young man, the prince
was laden with unexpected mysteries. He played a deep game, a complex game.

“Is Navarre not an ally of Lanverness?”

His question
ambushed her, drawing her attention from the board. “Why do you ask?”

“Because the
royal line of Navarre is so very fecund. They say the fecund shall inherit the
earth.”

“Yet Navarre remains a small kingdom while Lanverness prospers beyond all telling.”

“If you are
truly allies then why does Navarre not share their magic.”

“Their
magic?”
Startled, she met his stare across the chessboard.

“How else can
the seaside queens bear so many tuplets and live? Yet they do not share this
magic with you?”

Magic!
His
reply spiked her with doubt. It was widely known that the royal line of Navarre
was exceptionally fertile...but she'd never considered magic as the key to the
riddle. 

“You have but
one heir. Navarre’s magic could strengthen your line, giving you multiple
children with a single birth." He gave her a barbed look. "Spare
children can be very profitable. Surety for your throne, alliances by marriage
to spread your influence to other kingdoms, security for your borders. So much
to be had for the getting of a gaggle of children. After all, why conquer kingdoms
when you can gain them by marriage?”

His words
ambushed her. Flustered, she stared at him, desperate to discern his intent.

He moved his
castle, threatening her king. “Check.”

So the
conversation is merely a distracting diversion.
Liandra forced her mind
back to the game. Dark pieces surrounded her king, threatening to hand her a second
defeat. While she’d focused on building a subtle attack, he’d slowly surrounded
her king, trapping him in a corner. Liandra studied the board. In three moves,
he’d checkmate her king, winning the game. Refusing to accept defeat, she
scrambled to mount a defense. Out of necessity, she moved her king, evading the
check, but he moved his queen, tightening the noose.

He flashed a
wolf’s grin. “The outcome is evident.”

Refusing to
concede, she studied the board. Evading would gain her nothing, so instead, she
decided to attack. Her father had often said that the best defense was a good
offense.  Liandra reached for her monk, moving the malachite cleric the length
of the board in a diagonal attack. “Check.”

Annoyance
flashed across his face. “You peck at me like a hen, when you know the game is
over.”

“We know no such
thing.” She continued to attack, every move checking his king, driving him
backwards. None were killing blows, yet while she attacked, she kept hope
alive, keeping his pieces from closing on her king. Relentless, she chased him
into a corner. Bringing all of her remaining pieces to bear, she threatened him
with a pawn. “Checkmate!” The word was sweet upon her lips.

Rage flashed
across his face but was quickly smothered beneath a congenial mask...but his
eyes told the truth. Something ominous gleamed in the depths of his eyes,
something akin to hatred.

The queen
stilled, a rabbit hiding from the hawk’s bloody talons, but then the prince
smiled and she doubted her own insight.

Reaching
forward, he toppled his own king. “A victory for the Queen of Lanverness. That
makes one game apiece, the third game will tell the tale.” The prince offered her
his felled king. "To the winner goes the spoils." He drilled her with
his stare. So sharp, his gaze cut her like icy daggers. 

Unable to blink,
unable to look away, the queen felt assaulted...she felt defiled.

"Will you
have more wine?" Lady Sarah blustered into the chamber, a tray in hand.

Light flared
behind the queen's eyes. Liandra broke from his stare, her head throbbing.

The prince
snarled. Standing abruptly, he knocked the chess pieces across the board.
"You shall not win." His voice was a low hiss, a barely audible
threat.

The queen
struggled to ignore her throbbing headache. “The last game is not even begun.”

“This endgame is
closer than you think.”

“Your arrogance
will be your undoing. Even a pawn can topple a king.”

He sneered.
“Only in myths.”

“Myths are
metaphors for life; any bard will tell you that.”

“Bards and
pawns, I’ll grant you the riffraff of life, the dross of the back alleys, for
they shall never defeat magic and cunning. But then, what does a mere woman
know of either? How can a woman ever wield true power?” Turning abruptly, his
cape swept across the board, toppling the few remaining pieces. Without a
backward glance, the prince strode from the chamber.

The queen
remained in her chair, staggered by the prince's parting words.
You shall
not win.
She stared at the chessboard.
So many pieces toppled across the
board,
the prince left wreckage in his wake.

"Are you
well, majesty?" Lady Sarah hovered close, concern on her face. "So
sorry to interrupt, but I didn't like the way he was staring at you."

"You did
well to interrupt." The queen rubbed her forehead.

Lady Sarah
gathered up the cheese platter and forgotten wine goblets. "Will you play
him again, majesty?"

"We suspect
we are entangled in some game to which we barely know the rules."

"How can
you play a game when you don't know the rules?"

"Life often
entangles us in the games of others. The real question is learning how to win
even if you are blind to the rules."

Lady Sarah gave
her a puzzled look. "How do you do that, majesty?"

The queen gave
her friend a wan smile. "Know your enemy. Know yourself. And then make
your own rules."

"Is that
what you're doing?"

"We
try." The queen closed her eyes, hoping to dull her headache.

"Can I
bring you something?"

"Leave the
wine."

"As you
wish." Filling the queen's goblet, the lady retreated from the chamber.

The queen sat
alone before the toppled chess set, malachite soldiers and ebony gargoyles
scattered across the iridescent board.
Two chess games, each as different as
night and day.
The prince was far more complex than he first seemed and his
barbed talk of Navarre and the precarious nature of her own royal line put her
teeth on edge. Some deeper game was at work here.
Magic to quicken a child,
the
thought wormed itself into her mind. Plots within plots. Liandra reached for a
goblet of red wine. She’d won the second game, but somehow she felt as if she’d
lost.