Broken (3 page)

“Zi’ah, throw open Thy gates . . . and receive my spirit.”

Strong hands clamped around Octavion’s wrists, pulling the knife away from his chest, but not before the tip tore through his tunic, pierced his flesh and drew blood. He opened his eyes to find Luka crouched in front of him.

“You are not strong enough to fight me.” Octavion pulled against the knife, twisting it so the tip grazed his cousin’s neck. “How did you find me?”

“I have orders from your father not to let you out of my sight.” Luka leaned away from the blade, releasing his hold. “And you are a fool if you think this will get you through the gates of Lor. Zi’ah will cast you out. Is that what you want, to spend eternity with the evil one?”

“Why is it your concern? Xantara has been without its prince for years. They will not mourn my death.”

“Do you not see the pain in your father’s eyes? And what of Lydia?”

Octavion had lowered his hands when Luka released them, but now brought the blade back to Luka’s throat. “You dare utter her name. My father will have your head for treason.”

“We are in the B’Kari forest. Who would venture within its depths to hear your sister’s name?”

A deep growl filtered through the trees—and then another. Both men cautiously turned their focus to the dark shadows surrounding them. Octavion peered over Luka’s shoulder as a single set of red eyes appeared. Another growl brought several more.
Jraks! I count five
, he told Luka, being careful not to move or alert the creatures. The vicious rodents were no bigger than a small dog, but they hunted in packs—with their speed and rows of razor sharp teeth they were more like land-bound piranhas. They could take a large man down to the bone before his heart knew not to beat.

Four more at your back
. Luka inched his hands up to grasp Octavion by the shoulders.
Pull the knife away from my neck slowly and clear your mind, cousin. One false move and we will both be their meal.

Lowering the blade, Octavion breathed deeply.
On three. One . . . two . . . three.
The next moment seemed to last an eternity as Luka’s attempt to leap back to Xantara drew the entire pack to their wake. They managed to shake all but one of the deadly little creatures before landing hard on the cobblestone floor of the castle courtyard. The surviving Jrak latched onto Luka’s boot before snapping its jaws at his leg. Octavion grabbed the back of the animal’s neck and slit its throat, but not before its teeth broke through Luka’s leather pants.

“Did he bite you?” Octavion asked, tossing the beast aside.

Luka stuck his little finger through one of the holes, letting the tip of it wiggle out another. “No, but he ruined my favorite trousers.” He stood, brushed off his seat and gave a full body shiver. “I
hate
Jraks.”

Octavion still knelt on the ground when a commotion erupted behind him. He clumsily stood—still not completely recovered from Darion’s magic—and turned to see two men run across the drawbridge. They stopped when their eyes locked on Octavion.

“Forgive us, Prince Octavion,” the younger of the two said. They both bowed. “We have captured an unfamiliar Royal trying to enter at the main gate. He insists on seeing you, but will not give his name or hint at which kingdom he represents.”

Luka straightened. “One of Shandira's spies,” he muttered under his breath. “Where is he?”

“In the guard station, near the gate,” the other man said.

Before the last word rolled off the man’s tongue, Octavion stood in front of the small stone structure. Two blazing torches flanked the doorway, giving enough light to see the man's face clearly. Dark skin. Bald. The fine lines of an intricate tattoo snaked around his neck.

Octavion yanked the Royal through the doorway and shoved him against the exterior wall. He wrapped his fingers around the stranger’s neck. “Who sent you?” Octavion’s transformation progressed rapidly with the thought of one of Shandira's men getting this close.

Luka appeared an instant later, clamping a hand onto Octavion’s shoulder. “If you kill him, we will never know who sent him or why he is here.”

Pushing a thumb even deeper into the man’s windpipe, Octavion gave no heed to his cousin’s words. “Who sent you?”

With his hand still on Octavion’s shoulder, Luka pulled him back with a jerk, breaking his concentration. Octavion turned to meet his eyes.

“Do
not
kill him,” Luka said.

Octavion loosened his grip enough to allow the Royal to breathe. “Did Shandira send you?”

The stranger cleared his raspy throat. “I have orders to speak only to the prince of Xantara.”

“And what message would you have for the prince?” Octavion asked.

The man answered with a lift of his brow and a smirk, then gestured to where Octavion still held his neck.

He released the man from his grasp. “I am Prince Octavion. What is your message?”

The man pushed away from the wall, adjusted the collar of his tunic and cleared his throat again. “I am Rowin, nephew to King Ramla. He sends his apologies for the way you were treated at the gate. He had not yet sent word of your arrival.”

Octavion took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “And will he see me now?”

“At first light—”

Octavion dropped his arms to his sides and curled his fingers into fists. “It will be too late. She will surely die before then.”

“Which explains my presence. I am to bring you and your female back to Panthera. Our physicians will examine her while others prepare you to see the king.”

Octavion stiffened. “What do you mean
prepare
me?”

Rowin looked Octavion up and down, then let out a huff of air. “Surely you do not expect the mighty king of Panthera to grant you audience wearing
that
. And you will have to be cleansed as well. After all, you have recently returned from another world.”

Luka chuckled, earning a glare from his cousin.

“Fine,” Octavion said after turning back to face Rowin. “I will do whatever it takes.”

Within the hour, Ussay had gathered fresh clothing and whatever else she and Kira would need for the trip. Even though Rowin insisted Panthera could provide a complete staff of maids to see to Kira's every need, Octavion wanted Ussay to accompany them. He knew there would be times when he couldn't be with her—when she needed dressed or bathed—and he didn't want to leave her alone with strangers. Luka agreed to stay behind in case King Belesgar needed help with Lydia—though her condition remained unchanged.

Octavion gently wrapped Kira in a sheet and lifted her into his arms. She seemed lighter than he remembered and much warmer. Tiny rivulets of sweat formed on her forehead and drenched her hair.

Ussay stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “I am ready.”

Octavion nodded to Rowin. A few seconds later they stood in a poorly lit hallway, so long it lay in shadows in both directions. Several sconces hung on the walls, but only a few were lit. Tall wooden doors lined both sides, while benches and tables filled the space between them. Tapestries adorned the walls and long rugs softened the white marble floor.

With the wave of a hand, Rowin caused the door in front of them to open.
A Jayde
, Octavion thought as an eerie glow flowed out into the hall. The sterile scent of freshly laundered linens wafted around them. Rowin ushered them into the large space where, not candles or torches, but glowing white stones perched atop rod iron stands. Some jutted out from the walls while others stood on the floor in various shapes, sizes and heights. The stones themselves seemed somewhat uniform in size—no bigger than a large egg—but were clustered in groups depending on the size of the disk at the top of the stand.

Dark drapes hung over several windows along the far wall. In the middle of the room, a small bed rose up from the ground like an altar—long and thin, resting on an ornate pedestal, making it about waist high. A thin mattress lay on top with a white cloth draped over it.

Behind the bed, in a straight line, stood five women, all wearing dark gray dresses and stark white aprons. Even their hair looked similar, dark and pulled up in a bun. They stared straight ahead and didn't move, not even to blink.

Rowin stepped further into the room and motioned for Octavion to lay Kira on the bed. “She will be well taken care of while you are away. Your maid may wait over there.” He pointed to a small bench near the oversized fireplace. No fire burned within its dark cavernous walls, but several of the glowing stones lay around its base.

Ussay quickly moved to her position, dropping the small satchel she'd packed at her feet. Her dark brown eyes scanned the room. Not many servants could boast about seeing any part of Panthera and
she
was in the castle. Knowing her childhood curiosity well, Octavion guessed she was both frightened for her life and about to jump out of her skin with excitement. If the situation weren't so serious, he might have teased her about it.

Instead, he stepped to the bed. His heart ached when he looked down at the fragile girl he held. He thought of the times he'd held her close, safe in his arms. It nearly tore him in two to see her like this—broken and at the mercy of strangers to save her life. She made no sound when he laid her limp body on the bed.

Octavion brushed a strand of hair back from her damp forehead and leaned in to softly kiss her feverish lips. “You are safe, Kira. You are going to be all right.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. If only he believed his own words. There was no way to know for sure if she’d survive, even with Pantherian magic. He leaned closer and whispered, “I love you. Be strong. Do not give up.” He straightened the hem of her gown and positioned her hands at her sides. He took a few steps back.

Rowin simply nodded and the five maids seemed to magically come to life. One unlaced Kira’s gown while another poured a green liquid into a wash basin and sponged her face and hair. The other three scattered to various locations around the room and retrieved clean linens, various herbs and a basketful of more glowing rocks, these casting an amber glow.

“We should leave them to their work,” Rowin said, pointing toward the door.

Octavion turned to Ussay. “You will stay with her.”

“Of course. I will not leave her side for even a moment.” She turned her attention back to the women. As hard as it was to trust Rowin’s people, he had to believe Kira’s needs would be met and pray to the gods her life would be spared.

Four hours later, Octavion had been thoroughly cleansed by seven beautiful women wearing nothing but flimsy gowns. Every curve of their bodies shone through the sheer fabric as they swayed one way or the other in front of one of the many candles in the room. The gowns barely reached mid-thigh and Octavion felt certain they wore nothing underneath. They cleansed every inch of his body from head to toe, which humiliated him beyond belief. These young women were either harlots who hoped to seduce him or virgins who didn't know better than to tempt a man with such promiscuous behavior.

By the time they brought out the vessels filled with sweet smelling oils to rub onto his skin, he'd had enough. He protested vehemently, but was told if he wanted to see King Ramla, it was necessary. For the remainder of his torture, he closed his eyes and tried to think about how all this would be worth it if Ramla agreed to his request.

After he'd been completely slathered, rubbed raw and clothed in plain white trousers and oversized tunic, he was told to wait. He could either stay awake or sleep, but he had to remain on a stone bench in the main hall, flanked by two armed Royals. Sleep was impossible, not because it would be uncomfortable, but because all he could think about was Kira. He'd enquired several times, but was told her needs were being met and that he should remain there or he'd have to go through the cleansing process again.

So he sat.

And waited.

Octavion wondered if all this was some kind of test. Perhaps they expected him to give into the temptations while bathing, or get tired of waiting and decide Kira's life wasn't worth the trouble and discomfort. All kinds of thoughts scurried around in his head, including a list of possible demands from King Ramla. The list was short. What could a king who has everything want in return for a little magic?

It wasn't until the room filled with early morning sunlight and the castle was abuzz with servants scrambling to their work, that someone finally came to retrieve Octavion. By then his backside was numb from sitting on the stone bench and his feet tingled alive when he stood to follow the manservant.

A few moments later, they entered a magnificent garden, the likes of which Octavion had never seen—ornate shrubs sculpted into strange creatures, flowers with blooms larger than a stew pot and stone statuaries that towered over them.

In the middle of a small courtyard stood King Ramla. To Octavion's surprise, he wore a simple outfit, one you might find a commoner wearing—brown twill pants, a dark blue tunic and leather sandals. No jewels or precious metals adorned his clothes or hung around his neck, only a simple silver band around the middle finger on his right hand.

But what shocked Octavion the most, was that the
mighty
King Ramla—a man feared by everyone—played ball with a young boy. Not in the traditional sense, but by magic, making the ball whirl around in the air with a flick of their wrists. The boy ran up to the king and tried to hold the ball in the air with so much concentration a pained expression twisted his face. The ball fell to the ground and rolled under a bush shaped like a lion. Ramla laughed from deep inside his gut, then patted the boy on the head.