White Star (4 page)

Evelyn smiled wryly. “A man who stole it told me that it’s worth only a few silvers at best. The stone is flawed. But I love to see that star shine in the stone.”

“When did he tell you the value of the ring?” Blackhart’s eyebrows went up. “As he removed it from your hand?”

“When he returned it.”

Blackhart gave her a long look, then stood and left the room without a word.

Evelyn studied the door, but when Blackhart did not return, she finished the food in silence.

Orrin
cursed under his breath as he descended the tower stairs. Archer was right, he should just take the woman and get her out of his system. Elanore would not mind, since the Priestess would be raped before she was killed anyway, but for some reason Orrin could not bring himself to do it. Because though he could perform the physical act— hell, ached to perform the physical act— he’d destroy the laughter in those eyes.

He’d made his choices long ago, and the darkness of his soul was a result of those choices. He’d commanded the human warriors for Elanore, and aided her to create undead abominations to use against her enemies. Watched a woman he had been intimate with turn into a monster, and had followed her down into the mire without hesitation. He cursed again, thinking of the woman in white.

Archer waited at the bottom of the stairs, an eyebrow arched. “Did you—”

“No,” Orrin snapped, trying to step around him.

Archer blocked his path. “You and the Baroness, both smitten fools. She’s being stupid, haring off to secure her Josiah in the midst of a war. And now you, with this priestess. You can’t afford to be distracted, especially—”

“Was there something you wanted?”

Archer stepped back. “Riders in the distance— coming hard. They’re ours, from the look of things.”

Orrin hesitated for a heartbeat, a pang of regret filling his heart. But he clamped down hard on that, and turned toward the main hall. He strode carefully at a set pace, making sure his steps were calm, strong, and even. Finally, word had come. If Elanore was but a day or two behind, they could still make this work, protect his people. If she was close. . .

The main doors were already open, and men were gathering in the courtyard beyond. The odium were there as well, lining the walls, their gray flesh falling from their bones. They would stand there and rot until commanded to move or attack. Orrin walked out to stand at the top of the stairs, grateful to feel a breeze. It would keep the stench down. He could see the riders passing the outer wall and spurring their horses forward.

More noise, and Orrin knew that Sidian, Mage, and Reader had arrived, along with the brothers Timothy and Thomas. His hearth-band, ready to support him.

Archer was a step behind, and a soft sound told Orrin that the lanky blond had nocked an arrow in his bow, ready for anything. A wise precaution, but not necessary; he recognized the lads.

“Lord Blackhart!” one of them called as he reined his horse to a stop.

“How far behind you is she, lad?” Orrin called, as Archer eased his stance. The boy almost fell from his horse in his haste, scrambling to kneel on the black marble steps.

“Lord Blackhart.” The lad took a gasping breath, swallowing hard. His voice was the merest rasp. “The High Baroness is dead.”

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Time
froze. Orrin’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. His worst nightmare had come to pass, and for the barest instant he wanted to turn and run. But then the lad before him held out his fist, and unclenched a filthy, blood encrusted hand to show him Elanore’s golden signet ring.

Behind him, Mage sucked in a breath. “How . . .”

“Are you pursued?” Orrin said, looking at the exhausted group milling in the courtyard.

“No,” the lad responded. “But Lord, we are all that are left.”

Rage washed over Orrin. Elanore had taken thirty good men, and odium on top of that. There were fewer than ten in the courtyard. Damn the bitch.

He swallowed the rage. He looked at the ring, then scanned the courtyard with a rising dread.

Archer stepped forward, hand extended to take the ring still displayed in the lad’s hand. “You look exhausted, warrior. Let’s see to your needs and to the others’. ”

The lad flushed with pleasure as he stood with Archer’s help. Archer turned swiftly to put the ring in Orrin’s hand, then called out to the men in the yard. “Someone see to the horses. I’ll take these men to the kitchens for a meal and some of Reader’s brew.”

Men nodded. Some turned to their tasks, others ran forward to lead the horses away. Archer had a hand on the lad’s shoulder as he guided him and the others toward the kitchens. He gave Orrin a look, and Orrin knew Archer would get the full story out of the boy and then report. In the meantime. . .

“Timothy, Thomas, get down to the main gates. Any other stragglers come in, you bring them to me. Don’t let them spread word of this.”

The stocky brothers nodded, and headed off at a trot.

Sidian stood watching over the courtyard. Reader was there as well, looking very nervous. “This ain’t right,” the little man said. “They’re still—”

Orrin turned. “Let’s stay calm.” He looked at the young apprentice. “Mage,” he said softly, “how can the odium still be—” He stumbled over the words.

“Odium are destroyed when the spell-caster who created them dies.” Mage’s eyes were wide, but he met Orrin’s gaze without a flinch. “If she’s really dead—”

“That’s the only way this came off her finger,” Orrin said. He opened his hand again, checking the heavy gold ring with its bloodred stone. For a fleeting moment, a contrasting image of a slim silver ring with a flawed white stone flashed in his mind’s eye.

“I know,” Mage said, swallowing hard.

“If she’s not controlling them, and I’m not controlling them, then who is?” Orrin growled, clenching his fist over the ring.

Mage trembled, but he didn’t move. “I don’t know.”

“What if they turn on us?” Sidian rumbled.

The moment froze again, as Orrin’s gaze went toward the tower where the Priestess was imprisoned. Elanore was dead, he felt that in his bones. The very tool she had made to gain her power would destroy her people. There were more odium than living men in the Keep. And if they started to go into the countryside . . .

There was one chance . . . for his men . . . for his people. The cage doors had opened, and he caught a glimpse of a way out. A chance for his men and their families to survive.

“Sidian, Reader, summon my sergeants.” Orrin stalked back into the Keep. “Mage, you’re coming with me. We need to send a message.”

Sidian and Reader were already moving, calling for the army leaders. Mage scrambled to stay beside Orrin as he strode off. “Where do you want the message to go, sir?”

“To the Chosen,” Orrin said.

She’d
been left alone for most of the day, alone with her thoughts. One would think a priestess of the Light would prepare for death with meditation and prayer. Evelyn sighed as she knelt by the fire, at the length of her chains. She was trying to pray, but her mind kept drifting to Orrin Blackhart.

For a man who’d plotted her capture and death, he’d treated her decently enough. And though the Baroness would take great pleasure in Evelyn’s death, it seemed that Blackhart would not share in that joy. Odd. She’d spent only a few moments with him, but he . . . interested her.

Orrin Blackhart, Scourge of Palins. A warrior, certainly. She tried to think of what little she knew of him. Mostly rumors. He bore the title of Lord Marshal, and rumor had it he’d worked his way through the ranks to earn the position, with a ruthlessness that all feared. That under his command, the people of Farentell had been slaughtered. Ezren Storyteller had said that the Baroness was using odium, and that she’d used those prisoners to create her army of undead with the support of the Usurper. Evelyn had denied it, but now she’d seen it with her own eyes.

She shuddered. That anyone would engage in those black and evil practices was unthinkable. How could she be . . . interested . . . in a man who would—

The crashing of the door brought Evelyn to her feet, heart pounding.

Blackhart stood in the doorway, a ring of keys in hand. “Time to go, Priestess.”

Startled, Evelyn watched as he moved around the bed to where her ankle chain was attached to the wall, and reached to unlock it. She hadn’t heard any fanfare to announce the arrival of the Baroness, yet it seemed the time of her death had come. But if those keys opened the manacles on her wrists. . .

She didn’t give herself time to think. She just moved, as quietly as she could. Blackhart spoke as she stepped behind him. “I’m going to—”

She threw the chain over his head, planted her knee in the middle of his back, and yanked back hard. At best she might kill him, at worst . . .

The chain caught in his mouth, cutting off his words. But he didn’t budge, even when she threw her full weight back, putting everything she had into it.

It wasn’t enough.

He moved then. Evelyn heard the keys fall to the floor as Blackhart’s hand gripped her wrist and pulled. He turned in her arms, and she found herself facing a very angry man whose glare pierced her heart. She tried to step back, but the chain around his neck pulled her short.

Blackhart’s free arm wrapped around her, pressing into the small of her back, forcing her against the length of his body. He took a step, and the edge of the mattress hit the back of Evelyn’s knees. She cried out as he pushed her down, covering her with his body, and pinned her wrists to the bed.

Furious, she struggled, opening her mouth to curse him.

“Stupid—” Blackhart cut off his own words, and covered her mouth with his own.

She
tasted like spring.

Like new green leaves and the scent of warm rain on the air.

He kissed her, wanting more, demanding more. And she responded, exploring his mouth as he plundered hers.

Her body softened under his, legs opening to cradle him.

His hand drifted down to cup her breast. Even through the fabric of her robes, she filled his hand, and his fingers brushed over—

“Oh, fine.
Now
you take her.”

Archer’s voice cut Orrin’s spine like a knife. He jerked his head up, staring down at the Priestess he’d just defiled. Her blue eyes were wide with shock and confusion, her mouth still open, still wet from his—

Orrin stood abruptly, pulling her off the bed. “Count yourself lucky, Priestess,” he snarled as he pulled her toward the door.

Archer stepped back from the doorway. “The Chosen’s envoy is on her way. Already passed the first gate.” Orrin nodded, and pulled the Priestess along behind him. He marched her through the halls and down the stairs to the main throne room. She never said a word, but he could feel the trembling of her hand.

He was too afraid to stop and answer her questions. Everything depended on the next few moments, and if she tried asking him about the kiss, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t press her against the wall and take her right there, and damn the consequences.

They entered the throne room, and he rushed her up the dais and placed her on the throne. She stared at him, then frowned. “What—”

Archer knelt, and chained her ankles, using a short chain. He rose and stepped back quickly.

Orrin nodded to Mage. He then moved back from the throne, making a swift gesture that stopped the woman from moving.

Mage had his book in one hand, loose pages poking out the sides. He raised the other hand and gestured, muttering the words of the spell. There was an odd sparkle around the throne, and then Evelyn stiffened, a startled look on her face.

“Did it work?” Orrin asked. He had his answer as Evelyn’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.

Mage closed his book, a slight frown on his face. “She can’t hear us and we can’t hear her.”

“Good work.” Orrin moved to stand at the base of the dais, looking around at his men. “Everyone, pull up your hoods. I don’t want her to see any face but my own.” His men obeyed as they moved into position. Archer entered the shadows behind Blackhart, bow at the ready. “I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to.” Blackhart turned to look at him, pleased that the hood concealed his features completely.

“You’ve passed the word? The men are ready?” Archer nodded, his eyes gleaming from the darkness.

“They’re ready. You give the word, and the Keep will empty before you’re out the gate.”

“Make sure that they gather the living in the fortified villages,” Orrin said. “Take this.” He tossed the gold ring with the red stone to Archer. “Melt the damn thing down and sell the stone.”

Archer faded back into the shadows. “You sure the Chosen’s gonna agree to this deal?”

Orrin glanced back to make sure that the Priestess hadn’t moved. Her eyes were wide, and she was staring at him, clearly trying to figure out what was happening. He turned back to face the doors, a grim look on his face. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

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The
doors of the chamber opened on their own accord. The figure that appeared out of the darkness of the main corridor was a tall, blonde woman wearing plate and bearing only a simple white flag. No weapons, as he’d requested. Orrin relaxed a bit, seeing that she’d obeyed that part of his message.

She was tall and impressive. Her armor had a sheen to it that made it glow in the torchlight. A warrior, and one with experience. Good.

The woman’s gaze flicked from the Priestess to the men in the shadows before she focused on Orrin.

He arched an eyebrow, well aware of her scrutiny.

“Lady Bethral, I assume.”

“Blackhart,” the woman replied coolly. “You asked for a parley.”

“I did.” Orrin gestured to the throne. “You see the Lady High Priestess, as promised.”

Bethral looked at Evelyn. “Lady High Priestess, are you well?”

Evelyn
almost couldn’t breathe when Bethral walked into the throne room. What was she doing here?

The Chosen had made it clear that there’d be no rescue. But there stood Bethral, fully armored, with no weapons and a small white flag.