WinterofThorns (19 page)

“Touch one hair on his head, send him
anywhere, Vindan Brell, and I will cut your throat in your sleep,” she warned,
showing true ferocity for the first time.

“You dare to threaten me, woman?” he
barked.

“Not a threat,” she said. “A promise and
one I vow to keep.”

He would have grabbed her as she passed but
the cold look she gave him stilled his hand. He watched her leave the room with
impotent fury lashing at him. Turning, he drove his fist against the wall and
wished he hadn’t. Though he didn’t break his hand, he did open cuts over the
knuckles.

“Bastard,” he said of his father.

There had never been a good relationship
between them. He’d always thought his mother was the cause of that. She was a
hateful, bitter woman who loathed men—his father and him in particular. Venting
her spleen seemed to be the greatest joy in her life. Well, that and finding
advantageous alliances between the House of Brell and whatever powerful family
with sons who were willing—and often unwilling—to marry her ugly-ass daughters.

Cradling his injured hand, he went to the
sofa and flopped down on it. Drawing his knees up, he lay there seething.

“It’s all your fault, Seyzon,” he muttered.
“You’re a bigger bastard than my father is.”

Which isn’t true
, he thought. Seyzon had been a true and loyal friend to him over
the years. He’d stepped aside to let his prince shine when all the while the
aura that rippled around Seyzon was a thousand times brighter. Stronger,
faster, cleverer, Seyzon would have made a much better prince for he was also
compassionate and levelheaded, wise and fair. Seyzon Montyne was the better man
and Vindan knew it.

“Damn you to the Abyss,” Vindan whispered.
“Why did you have to go behind my back with her? If you had only brought her to
meet me…”

I would have taken her away from you all
the same,
a little voice hissed in his ear.

Lapping at the blood pebbled on his
knuckles, he turned his head to the window. Winter was coming. The leaves were
already turning gold and rust and scarlet, cascading to the ground and whirling
like a gypsy girl’s skirts.

“Winter of Thorns,” he said and laid his
left arm over his eyes.

That was what the coming year—which ran in
Meiraman from the Winter Solstice to a day before the next Winter Solstice—would
be called. The Winter of Thorns was the second symbol in the nine-year cycle of
the Meiramanian zodiac. This year had been the Winter of Shards, the Primary Symbol,
the First of Nine.

“And this year certainly blew my life
apart,” he said quietly.

Thorns. Crystals. Staves. Quills. Blades.
Spurs. Needles. Claws.

“All things sharp,” he remarked.

He dwelt on the meanings of the word
thorn
.
First to mind was the rigid point on a plant. A thorn pricked the finger and
drew blood. Aye, well, blood had been drawn between him and Seyzon. Was there
more to come?

Second was that of an impediment that
causes distress or irritation such as the idiom of something being a thorn in
one’s side. Wasn’t that
exactly
what Seyzon was?

Third was the twenty-third letter of the
Meiramanian alphabet,
þ
. He’d always thought the letter
looked like a tall skinny woman with a big swollen belly.

He dropped his arm behind him, drawing in a
quick breath.

“Pregnant belly,” he said.

Jana was pregnant. This was her year of the
Thorn.

No, he thought and shot up so fast his head
spun.

Not Thorn but….

Thorns!

“Is she carrying twins?” he asked.

Surely not. That could not be what this new
year signified.

He flung himself from the sofa. There was
only one person who could tell him what the connotation of this coming year
could mean in his life and that was the Mage.

* * * * *

“He paid the ransom,” the border lord told
Seyzon. He was standing off to one side with his arms crossed over his broad
chest as the plexigon shield slid back and the healer helped his patient to sit
up on the sled of the TAOS unit.

Seyzon ran a hand through his hair. “The
king?”

Lord Robin Bray snorted. “Not fucking
likely. That bastard is as tight as a nun’s cunt.”

“Then who?”

“The shitty little twit, the princey-poop,”
Bray replied.

Seyzon stared at him. “Vindan paid the
ransom?”

Bray nodded.

“All of it?”

Another nod.

“The entire seven million credits?”

Within the black mask, the border lord’s
blue eyes twinkled. “In rhodium bars as I requested.”

“Why?”

“I hear he was ordered to by the supreme
high imperial muckety-muck asshole at Blackhall because your mother hop-skipped
over there and raised holy fucking hell with the poor bastard.” He shrugged.
“No skin off my nose but I almost felt sorry for old Nolan Brell,” Bray said
with a chuckle. “Almost.”

“Damn,” Seyzon said. Gingerly he tested his
left leg by putting his hands under that thigh and lifting the leg from the
sled. When there was no pain, he shifted the other leg beside it then slid
carefully from the TAOS unit to the floor.

“Any pain, milord?” the healer inquired.

Seyzon shook his head. “No, none at all.”

“Test your shoulder, boy,” Bray ordered.

Lifting his left arm with his elbow
crooked, Seyzon slowly straightened it, flexed it then straightened it again.
“It seems to be okay.”

“Fucking A,” the border lord said, clapping
leisurely. “Now you’re good to go.”

“Aye and then what?” Seyzon asked. “Go back
home so I can be arrested as a deserter?”

“There is a secret order for your arrest as
soon as you cross into Meiraman,” the border lord lied.

“I figured as much. Vindan doesn’t want me
coming after him.”

“It isn’t him who issued that order, son. That
edict came straight from the king.”

Seyzon’s head came up. “How do you know
that?”

“I have spies everywhere, Montyne,” the
border lord said with a grunt. “Even at Blackhall.”

“That edict won’t stop me. I will find a
way to get my woman.”

“You could,” Bray refolded his arms. “Or
you could tweak their noses.”

“How?”

“By joining the Reivers and making life
hell for Vindan Brell. Teach that brat some manners. You’re already a wanted
man. Might as well make it count.”

Seyzon smiled. “I could do that,” he said.

“Aye, lad, and you should,” the border lord
replied. “It’s just a matter of time before they seize your lands. Where would
that pretty mother of yours go?” He tilted his head to the side. “Why not bring
her to Selwyn and set her up in a grand keep here?”

“Where would I get the credits to do that?”

“You can take her to Gracen Hall,” Bray
replied. “It belongs to me but I’m never there. It’s just going to waste.” He
shrugged. “Take those servants that are loyal to you and her and you’ll rest easy
knowing she’s out of the prince’s reach.”

“Aye, she would be,” Seyzon said. He was
liking the idea more and more. The lands had been in his father’s family for
centuries but it didn’t mean that much to his mother and if it meant keeping
her safe, he could do without it. If Vindan did get around to confiscating it,
losing it would not be a burden.

“And once we have your lady, we will bring
her here as well and I guarantee you there would be no way in hell Vindan Brell
would ever get to her again!” He unfolded his arms and stepped forward with his
hand. “What do you say, lad? Is it a deal? Will you join me and my merry men?”

As a soldier who had been stripped of his
rank and given a dishonorable discharge, Seyzon had lost his rights and
privileges as a Meiramanian citizen. He would no longer be allowed to vote, to
buy land, to engage in trade with respectable and lawful merchants. For all
intents and purposes, he had become a pariah. Law-abiding citizens would shun
him for fear of being tarred with the same brush that had smeared his
reputation. What did he have to lose?

Seyzon took the proffered hand—trying not
to wince as his hand was enveloped in a grip so tight and firm it crushed his
fingers together.

“You’ll not regret it, lad.” The border
lord shook Seyzon’s arm hard.

The Mage had given Vindan news that had
unsettled him. Jana was expecting twins.

“Twins run in milady’s family and since it
is from the mother’s side twins come…”

“She has a twin brother,” Vindan said.
“Does that mean she is carrying a boy and girl?”

“Not necessarily,” the Mage replied. “It
could be identical twins of either sex, Your Grace.” The old man smiled. “And
may I be the first to offer my congratulations to you and your lady-wife?”

Vindan felt a wave of relief flicker
through him. If the Mage thought the children were his, mayhap no one would
question the legitimacy of their birth.

“We are very happy with the news,” he told
the old man.

Walking back to the quarters they shared,
Vindan decided not to tell Jana what he had learned. She was so angry at him he
doubted anything he said could mollify her.

Or change her opinion of him.

He loved her. The gods knew he did. That he
had fallen in love with her so quickly—almost at first sight—wasn’t surprising.
Seyzon loved her, had chosen her for his wife knowing he was borrowing trouble.
He and the man he wished was still his friend had always liked the same things.
Their tastes in food and drink and horseflesh was identical. They had shared
the same lady-in-waiting who made men of them both. They’d had crushes on the
same girls growing up and—if truth were told—most likely bedded the exact same
women save for Seyzon’s first wife.

“Jacqueline DuMer,” Vindan said and
shuddered. The poor woman was dead but still the thought of her had the ability
to distress him.

King Nolan had given the DuMer chit to
Seyzon to bind two influential Meiraman families together so therefore Zonny’s
bride had been off-limits to Vindan. That arranged marriage had not been one
into which Seyzon had happily entered but he had made the most of it. At least
he had liked the overweight woman.

Vindan had not.

The Lady Jacqueline had been a plain,
nondescript woman with big tits, broad hips, and a laugh like the braying of a
mule. She’d been nice enough but she’d been no goddess for whom a man would
lust—not that he would have touched her anyway.

So it was no surprise they had fallen for
the same woman who had set their bodies aflame with desire.

Sitting down on a wrought iron bench just
outside the solarium, Vindan braced his elbows on his knees, his head in his
hands, and stared at his booted feet.

How did it go so wrong?
he asked himself. He had not gone to Riverglade to take his
friend’s woman from him. He had gone there to clap Seyzon in irons in the
Reynaud’s dungeon for a few weeks to teach him a lesson.

Nothing more.

He certainly hadn’t entertained the notion
to do to Seyzon what he had done to Lord Raymond deVille. Punishing Zonny in
that way was unthinkable.

And he hadn’t gone there with it in mind to
declare
Ceart an chéad oíche
. That, too, was unthinkable.

Until he looked into the beautiful face of
the Lady Jana and lust reared its ugly head.

Lust and the sure knowledge he could—
would
—have
the woman standing at Seyzon’s side.

He thought back to the conversation he’d
had with Lady Millicent. She had brought it home to him just how he had taken
things from Seyzon over the years. Not once had Seyzon complained. How could
he? He was the son of a baron and Vindan was a prince. What choice did Seyzon
have but to turn over whatever had been demanded?

And for the first time in Seyzon’s life, he
had balked. The reason he had was clear. The Lady Jana was his heart-mate, his
soul-mate, his life-mate and he would fight to keep her. Unfortunately, he had
never stood a chance.

Vindan scrubbed his hands over his face and
lifted his head, the bottom portion of his face hidden behind his palms as he
stared across the garden. He had engaged in each of the Seven Sins and he knew
his soul was damned.

Envy. Aye, that had been the first to trip
him up.

Lust. Who could not look upon Lady Jana and
not feel that?

Greed. He had wanted and he had taken.

Gluttony. He had sent her back to Seyzon
but he could not bear being away from her. He wanted more of what he had
experienced that first night. His every thought of was of her. His body ached
desperately for hers.

Pride. He was a prince and as such he could
have what he wanted. He wanted Jana and had ordered Seyzon to give her up and
like it.

Sloth. Another word for apathy and he
had
been indifferent to Seyzon’s rights and Jana’s commitment to the man she loved.
He cared not what anyone thought. He did as he pleased and to hell with
whomever did not approve. He was uncaring of everyone else’s wants and needs,
desires and dreams.

And lastly…

Wrath. Self-evident in the way he had
ordered Stoneway to chastise Seyzon.

Aye, he had committed all Seven Sins,
blackening his soul and condemning himself to the Abyss for his deeds.

None of that mattered. He would gladly
tread the fires of the Abyss to keep Jana at his side.

“You have wronged a good man,”
his father had said
. “Taken what did not belong to you. The
taking was your right but that did not
make
it right.”

There was guilt. A big heaping cupful of guilt
roiling around inside him. He loved Seyzon—he truly did—but the man had
something Vindan wanted,
needed
, and it was Seyzon’s duty to hand it
over without comment, to give it up without complaint.

“She is his wife,”
he had told the Lady Millicent.
“In my mind nothing has changed
in our friendship.”

Everything had changed. He had taken Jana
from Seyzon, annulled a marriage he swore he would not and then forced Jana to
marry him. He had destroyed the only friendship he’d ever known. A part of him
had deep regret at how he had treated Seyzon.

And Jana.

But in order to have her at his side, he
would do it all again.

Getting to his feet, he yanked open the
door to the solarium and was surprised to see Jana standing at the window.
She’d been watching him. Though her lovely face was expressionless, there was a
telling smirk hovering in her green eyes.

“You are
my
wife,” he stated.

“In name only,” she replied.

He took two steps and grabbed her arm,
pulled her roughly to him.

“Then we’ll just have to remedy that now
won’t we, milady?”

As he pulled her to the stone floor, that part
of him that mourned the loss of his relationship with Seyzon was pushed firmly
aside. The part of him that lusted after Seyzon’s woman took complete control.

* * * * *

“Why does he keep his face hidden?” Seyzon
asked Spence Dyson, the border lord’s 2-I-C.

“My guess is he doesn’t want anyone
recognizing him,” Dyson replied in a droll voice. “Why do you think he does it,
newbie?”

Seyzon smiled. He liked all the men of the
Reivers whom he had met so far. They treated him no differently than they did
any other warrior among them. No deference was shown because he had inherited
his father’s title of Lord of Lavenfeld or that he had—at one time—been the
adjutant general to the Prince of Meiraman. To them, he was just another
fighter against the tyranny that was his homeland.

Tyranny he had known absolutely nothing
about until the men began to tell him their tales. The things of which he
hadn’t been aware had stunned him, made him ashamed to be a Meiramanian.

“Have you ever seen him without the mask?”

Dyson frowned. “Instead of playing twenty
questions with me, newbie, you’d do best to hit the rack. We’ll be leaving
before dawn and ain’t a man among us who’ll be picking your sorry ass up off’n
the road if you tumble from your nag.”

Seyzon ran the palm of his hand down his
left leg. Though completely healed, he had phantom pains in it from time to
time. “I don’t plan on falling asleep on my mount.”

“Well, to make gods-be-damned sure that you
don’t, get your scrawny ass to your rack.”

Getting to his feet, Seyzon put his hands
to the small of his back and stretched. He’d been sitting before the campfire
for over an hour, shooting the breeze with the men who made up the border
lord’s inner circle of fighters.

“Any idea where we’re headed tomorrow
morn?” he asked.

“Away from here,” Dyson said in the same
noncommittal voice he used when he was finished with a conversation. He turned
his head and spat a thick stream of tobacco juice into the darkness. “Now, get
and let the grown-ups be about their discussions.”

The insult amused Seyzon. Dyson and
Hawkins—the red-haired giant who was the border lord’s private
bodyguard—treated him as though he were a green youth. He supposed to them he
was. Though he’d been on nine raids over the last three weeks, he had yet to
prove to them that he was an invaluable asset to their cause. They still
watched him as though they expected him to blunder badly.

As he started away, he heard Hawkins clear
his throat and he looked around, knowing the man was about to hurl another
insult his way.

“And don’t be rubbing one out in your
blanket,” Hawkins said. His green eyes reminded Seyzon too vividly of Jana’s.
“Save your energy for our next gig.”

“Aye,” Seyzon acknowledged.

“I mean it, boy!” Hawkins called out. “Keep
your grubby little paws off’n your meat!”

“What little of it he has,” Dyson mumbled.

Those left around the fire laughed heartily
and Seyzon lifted his hand in the time-honored salute men gave one another.

Settling down a few minutes later in the
scratchy wool blanket that was now his bedding, he propped his head on his
saddle and stared up at the brilliant array of stars overhead. He wondered if
Jana was allowed to go up on the battlements of Wicklow to view the stars or if
Vindan kept her under lock and key.

“Fucking prick,” he said and the words made
him flinch for he knew that was exactly what his ex-best friend might be
wielding this night. The thought of it enraged him and hurt him at the same
time. Frustration brought tears to his eyes and he brutally reached up to swipe
them away.

Crying served no purpose and only drove
home the impotence that gripped him with steely claws—squeezing the breath from
his lungs at times.

“Hold on, Jana,” he said. “Just hold on,
baby. I
will
come for you.”

He did what he had done a lot of in the
last month. He began to count the twinkling stars scattered across the black
velvet of the sky.

The border lord joined his men at the
campfire, taking the place the young Meiramanian had vacated. He sat down with
a grunt—knees cracking—and exhaled a long breath. “All set for tomorrow?” he
asked Dyson.

“As set as can be given the circumstances,”
Dyson replied and spat into the fire this time. He lowered his voice. “I didn’t
tell the lad where we were headed.”

“Good,” Bray said. “He doesn’t need to know
else he’d get no sleep this night.”

“You think he’s ready for this?” Dyson
queried. “Can’t be no end to it tomorrow.”

“No, but it will help and that’s all that
matters at this point,” Bray said. “He needs a taste of victory to keep him
going. It’s gonna take a few more months before everything is in place so this
will give him the incentive to endure those months.”

“Let’s hope it don’t make him all the more
determined and thus reckless,” Hawkins put in.

“Despite the man who fathered him, the lad
is as levelheaded and steady as they come,” the border lord observed. “He’ll
hold the course in order to gain the finish line.”

“Then you’d best have a good long talk with
him before tomorrow afternoon,” Dyson advised.

“I will,” Bray agreed. “Believe me, I
will.”

* * * * *

At that moment Jana was looking up at the stars
as well. She had managed to escape the prince’s eagle eye and had gone to the
battlements.

“Are you watching the stars, my love?” she
asked. She wrapped her robe more closely around her for the night was chill
with a slight breeze. “Or do they have you locked away in the darkness?”

That the man she loved might be lying in a
dismal, cold cell—possibly chained to the stone wall—made her want to cry but
she refused to let the tears come though they blurred her vision.

The blame for Seyzon’s predicament falls
entirely at Vindan’s doorstep,
she thought. He was
the cause of any bad thing that might be happening to her husband—she refused
to name Brell her husband for she would have only one of those for as long as
she lived.

“I hate him, Zonny,” she said. “I despise
him so badly it makes me want to claw his eyes out for what he’s done to us.”

The wind whipped up to blow the hem of her
robe away from the pale-yellow nightgown she wore. She shivered, her fingers
tightening on the front closure of the wool robe.

“Wherever you are, know that I love you. I
will always love you and you alone. The babe in my womb is yours and even if I
dare not admit it to the world for his or her sake, I am telling you. He may
claim this child but it will never, ever be his.”

She did not know Vindan was standing in the
shadows behind her. She did not hear the long intake of breath that signaled
the deep hurt her words caused. She did not see him lower his head and close
his eyes to that hurt. Nor was she aware of his departure as he left her there
to commune with a man he intended to make sure she never saw again.

* * * * *

“One hour, brat,” the border lord said
firmly. “One hour from the moment you meet with your contact and no more. If
you are not back at the entry point at the precise stroke of three, we’ll leave
without you.”

Seyzon stared into the merciless blue eyes
that were locked with his and nodded. “I will be there.”