City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (54 page)

Morghiad hoped it would be something he could take to the cells with him.

She went to the dresser, upon which a wrapped package lay. “I had this delivered from a shop in the city. I don’t expect you to like it immediately, but I know I have chosen well...” Artemi handed him the soft parcel.

 He frowned. She ought not to be buying anything for him. “My la -”

“Shut up and open it.”

Morghiad obeyed and set about un-wrapping the gift. Whatever it was felt weighty and flexible, like heavy fabric. He felt half exited, half fearful. When the last of the paper had been removed he spied folds of deep, blue velvet; so dark it was almost black. It looked and felt rather expensive. The kahr gazed up at her, about to speak.

She cut him off again. “Find out what it is first, and then you may reprimand me.”

He carefully unfurled the material and laid it on the bed next to him. It was a full-length, perfectly tailored coat, split for riding and subtly edged in gold. Morghiad had never owned anything so understatedly extravagant.

The wielder was pleased with his silence. “A beautiful man should wear beautiful clothes. And besides, you have spent the last few years dressing me so it is high time I did the same for you.”

“You will turn me into a peacock of a man.”

She laughed. “I don’t believe anyone would think that of you. Are you going to try it on?”

He stood and unbuckled his old black coat. It had seen better days, and numerous fighting ones. Artemi watched closely as he slid his arms into the new one. It fitted like a glove around his chest and arms, before dropping freely from his waist. Gold buttons marched up the front of it and it was split highly at the left side for his sword, should he wish to wear the belt beneath the coat. Morghiad did not like that arrangement, and re-fastened the belt on the outside. He looked at Artemi for reassurance, feeling a little silly.

The woman stared at him. He could feel her love and sexual desire burning away, but there was something new there: a cascading feeling that made her skin prickle. “You will make a wonderful king. And not just because of your mind, lineage or your sword skills. Now you truly look like one, and a legendary one at that.”

He had no idea how to respond. How could he accept this when he had misled her? Guilt plagued his conscience, and so he did the only thing he could think of to rid himself of it. Morghiad picked her up, hooked her legs about his midriff and pressed her against the wall. Flames tore through his face as he kissed her, erasing all the thoughts he’d had before. These moments with her were the only moments of true clarity, when no events intervened and no worries interceded. It had been selfish of him, he knew, to keep her here when she could be hidden in the safety of a provincial farm. But as she pulled at his clothing and pressed her soft, rounded breasts against him he believed that selfishness had been entirely correct. She was supposed to be here; ruling Calidell had always been her destiny, and he was merely her facilitator. He would be the stepping-stone she needed to make her next legend, and fate had decided his love for her would be the bedrock for it. The pair fell to the floor, where they spent the entire night riding the ecstasy of their Blaze-enhanced sex.

King Acher blinked hard as the lights danced on the ceiling above him. Sometimes they formed shapes he could almost recognise, but mostly they were abstract curiosities that kept him awake. No one else ever claimed to see them, and they only flashed before him when he was alone. At first he had been sure it was a trick of a witch, but no kanaala he had asked knew what he was talking about. Acher feared he was starting to go mad. It happened to older people, so he had heard. One too many centuries on this Earth and your brain started to rot inside its casing.  But he would have expected to be a thousand before this happened! He was only three-hundred and sixty-bloody-seven! Acher rose from the black velvet chaise and paced his quarters. The lights followed him around the room. Suhla was absent this evening and he was glad for some time alone. She was pretty enough, and loyal. But the girl was entirely stupid. The king hoped the child she produced would take its brains from him. And he hoped it would be male. A queen would never do for Calidell. He thought briefly of Tylena, the woman who happened to get herself killed in the same year as Morghiad’s birth; a convenient substitute for Medea. Both women appeared to merge into one in his mind, these days. He remembered that he had loved Medea, but that she had been a filthy wielder. She could have lived in such wealth if she’d accepted his kind offer. All the woman had to do was undergo quenching to remove her of that cursed fire. True, she’d never have been safe to take to bed, but she’d have made a fine decoration for the court. Instead she’d left him with that pathetic excuse for a son. And no wonder he was so useless at every task he was set; the boy’s father had been just as soft – weeping over a dead woman before defending his children.

Morghiad was becoming a bothersome issue. Several times now he had directly defied Acher over military matters and the king was not about to lie back like a benay-gosa and accept it. No, he needed to punish Morghiad severely for that. Taking that fine, red-haired girl off him would be the first step. Acher had been far too generous in allowing the boy to have her. Perhaps a stint in the cells would be a good re-enforcer. A noise outside his chambers caught his attention. Someone was arguing with one of the guards.

“... This is an urgent matter, I must see his majesty.”

“The king does not like to be bothered at this time in the evening. Come back tomorrow,” came a muffled response.

“I’m telling you, he would want to know about this.”

Acher recognised the visitor’s voice and northern accent: Hegard. The mercenary had proven himself reliable in matters which required a certain level of discretion, and had come highly recommended by one of his most prolific provincial law enforcers. The king had heard enough and went to open the gilt door. “Let him in.”

A robust man with grey eyes and tied, lank brown hair strode in. All of his features were sharp and pointed like the mountains of his home country, giving the impression of a permanent sneer on his face. The door slid shut behind him. “Sire.” He looked especially disgusted at the world today.

The king went to sit by the window and rubbed at his beard. At least this man’s presence had rid him of those damn lights. “What is it, Hegard? Is Suhla safe?”

Hegard straightened and frowned. “She is fine. But there is something else I have discovered which may threaten her, you and everyone else in this city.”

“What is this menace you speak of?”

The mercenary looked grim. “Today I took leave of my duties with Suhla as I detected wielding in the city. There have been small amounts of it at night which I attributed to be nothing more than the results of the castle’s kanaala training or perhaps an undiscovered wielder, unaware of her talent.”

King Acher felt his gorge rise. “What?!” Hegard had also been recommended on account of his effectiveness in dealing with witches.

“Indeed. I expected that your son and his team would already have spearheaded these occurrences, but when I asked one of their newer recruits if he had noticed anything untoward he replied that he had not. That aside, I went into the city to investigate. And that is when I happened on this worrying discovery.”

The old king rose from his seat and paced the perimeter of the room. “You’re telling me that Morghiad has not suppressed these wielders?”

“Worse than that. While I was walking the streets I came across something very unusual. I chanced to brush past a wielder, by far the most powerful I have ever seen, and yet the moment our contact was broken she was invisible to my senses. She is a hidden wielder, my lord. Further, her identity is known to you. She is the kahr’s benay-gosa.”

 Acher felt fury consume his entire being. “Her? Are you sure of this?”

Hegard nodded gravely.

The king shook with rage. He had been deceived by a boy whose life he had saved. He had given Morghiad everything! Unaware of what he was doing, Acher picked up a delicate glass ornament, probably worth more than most people could conceive, and crushed it in his hand before throwing the remains onto the ground. Well, he couldn’t very well execute his own son for treason when there was no other heir to replace him. That would be an excellent excuse for Hirrah to invade.

Acher would have to be patient about that. And his guards were commanded by the kahr, so he could not trust them to hunt the boy down. Time. He would have to take his time over this. With much difficulty, Acher forced his passions back down and cleared his mind. “Hegard, can you dispatch this wielder alone?”

The man’s jagged face nodded. “It is possible, but she must be caught unawares. And I’ll need to separate her from the guards that Morghiad has placed around her, assuming she is not with him.”

The king rubbed at his beard. “You and I will locate her tomorrow morning. I will deal with the guards and my son. You will escort her back to the benay-gosa apartments. Take her to a small room and get rid of her.”

“I will need her to trust me, my lord.”

Acher nodded. “Do whatever is necessary. I will see you here two hours after dawn.”

The sturdy man bowed and made his exit. He had been worth every penny. Betrayed, by the man he called a son! Wielders were horrid creatures, created by nature to kill and wreak havoc upon men. But when a kanaala, the first line of defence, turned on those he was meant to protect it was unforgivable. The king ground his teeth. He had almost taken that woman as his benay-gosa! He’d have died that night utterly oblivious to his error. And Morghiad had stepped in to keep her; the boy could only have known from the off. Acher stormed into his bed chamber and collapsed onto the sheets, fully clothed. The lights had returned again. Maybe they would go once she was dead.

Soft dawn light teased Artemi’s eyes open and she squinted as it began to glare from the blade of Morghiad’s sword, which rested against the bed. He was still fast asleep, exhausted from the previous night’s exertions. The marble flagstones felt cool beneath her, and several of her muscles complained at being made to lie on it. His arm rested heavily over her side and she knew that moving it would wake him, even though he was in something much deeper than a guardian sleep. Artemi was content to lie there for a while longer, letting him enjoy the peace that now so rarely filled his mind. She took the time to examine his perfect features. Delicate waves of black hair touched his eyelids and brushed at the short stubble along his jaw. The kahr was a very handsome man indeed, and seemed a world away from the hard-cut statue of granite she’d once regarded. Flawless silence filled the room about them, and she felt true contentment.

 It wasn’t long before his clear, green eyes popped open and smiled warmly at her. She relished those few seconds before a world of concerns and problems deluged his thoughts. He beat them back, forced them into a corner of his consciousness; but they were still in there, frothing their negativity. “Good morning,” he said softly.

Artemi shifted and smiled back. "Hello."

“Come here.” He scooped her up and lifted her to the delightfully soft bed.  Artemi was happy to curl in his arms for the moment. Once believing herself a self-sufficient woman, it was odd how dependent she had become upon his company; how much she needed it. Morghiad had been trying to push her back into self-reliance lately; sending her out to train or walk the countryside without him. Not that it was truly self-reliance when one was surrounded by guards. She knew that part of it was to occupy her while he held his secretive meetings, but she would rather have been either alone or with him. It had been a long time since she’d spent time on her own, or since she’d been able to bathe without informing someone about it. She felt she had been... tamed.

She dropped her eyes to the scar that trailed just below his left collar bone. A year had made its surface relatively smooth. Artemi ran her fingers along the darkened line. The wound had been tricky to clean, but she was rather proud of the job she’d done in fixing it. A dab of swift liquor had helped, too. Wisnden had been a muddy, rain-soaked and hot battle. And Artemi had relished every minute of it; feeling pure life flow through her with each strike of Blaze and every cut of her sword. It wasn’t that she enjoyed taking their lives, and thinking of that could have driven her insane; it was more that she was doing something with meaning. In battle she fought for her home country, for its people, her brothers and for Morghiad. Moreover, she knew she was good at it. The kahr started stroking her hair in the way he did, sometimes twisting it between his fingers. “What do you plan to do today?” he asked.