City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) Read online

  Morghiad drew Silar to a stop in a small hallway outside. “Not her,” he ordered. “You can’t have Artemi.”

  “Why? Have you decided to keep her for yourself? You could have told me.”

  “No. She cannot be anyone’s.” The kahr kept his voice low.

  Silar shifted his feet a little. “Has the king chosen her, then?”

  Morghiad was scanning the area around him subtly, looking for hidden ears. “No. But you must not pursue her.”

  “She’s not secretly a man, is she?” Silar felt his half-smile slip from his face almost as soon as he had formed it.

  The dark-haired man compressed his lips and motioned the lieutenant deeper into the corner. “She’s a wielder.”

  Silar felt sick to the bottom of his stomach. That pretty thing was a witch? She’d had her hand on his arm; she could have melted it into nothing before he knew what was happening! He would have happily jumped into bed with her, enjoyed the pleasures of a lifetime and then... then he would not have woken up. He could have ended up like the eisiel, wandering the Earth looking for more hapless, idiot men to kill. “If you knew this then why is she still out there, free?”

  “Her power is hidden. No other kanaala has detected her. I only discovered this a few days ago, as did she. She had no idea what she was.” A tall waiter walked by, looking at them out of the corner of his eye.

  Silar whispered, “Doesn’t she blow things up just by thinking about it? How can she not know?”

  “She’s still too young to wield without someone like me. And since no one detected her, there is no reason to believe anyone could have told her what she was. I believe she was truly innocent of that knowledge.”

  Silar felt nervous. “Then why haven’t you imprisoned her? What if she... accidentally kills someone?”

  Morghiad folded his arms. “She gave me a promise that she would not unless they were a threat to Calidell. Besides, any prison sentence would be a brief prelude to death and I cannot justify submitting her to execution as an innocent adult. Could you send her to her death? Have them cut her hair? This woman you claim to love?”

  Silar considered her fine eyes and red-gold waves for a moment. “No.” Her smile tugged at him. “You could have sent her to Hirrah. She’d be safe and so would we.”

  Morghiad shook his head. “There is something else.”

  “You’re going to tell me she’s from Achellon next, or that she can grow arms out of her head, or that she drinks pinh for breakfast.”

  “I believe she is more than a wielder. I believe she is... The Artemi.” Did the kahr’s eyes widen a touch when he said that?

  “Impossible. A small thing like her, a warrior? She probably weighs less than half of either of us! She doesn’t exactly walk like an assassin either. You could hear her stomping about forty miles away.”

  “She may well have the strength and speed necessary. Some women do – you know that. She’s not yet twenty, she won’t remember any of her training or any of her famous battles yet. But I think we can use her. It shouldn’t take long for her to learn to use a sword if she has that innate ability.” Morghiad’s grass-green eyes followed a serving maid some yards beyond.

  Silar had seen the way she moved around the table waiters, and it had been rather elegant. “A woman? In our army? And a woman legendary for being a wildcard, at that! How do you propose to keep this a secret? How do you propose to keep her under control?” Silar almost spat the words out, though he still tried to keep quiet.

  “I am still considering some of the finer points but I believe she will keep her promise. Do you think she will keep her word?”

  Silar considered her manner for a moment. “Yes, I do.”

  “Will you help me protect her?” It sounded more like an order from the captain.

  The blond man examined the hilt of his sword. Silver stags decorated the handle where it was not covered by green ribbon. It had belonged to his grandfather and bore some scars from its previous adventures. He had made the same promise with it as Artemi had, and he had promised to uphold the laws of the country. Harbouring a wielder was most definitely against the law. Morghiad really was stirring things up. “Yes,” Silar said solemnly. She was rather lovely, after all. He didn’t want King Acher getting his grubby hands on her, or his executioner’s axe.

  Morghiad relaxed a little. “Good. How many armies do you suppose have a legend on their side? It will be worth taking care of her. We do not want her as our enemy, in this life or the next.”

  Silar had not considered the possibilities of that. “I suppose she’s one way to get into the history books.” He felt bitterly disappointed that she had turned out to be this thing. It was such a terrible waste. What was the point of having such a fine figure and delicate collar bones if no man could appreciate them without fear of being blasted to oblivion? Perhaps he ought to find Beetan and join him in the revelries. “Morghiad, how about a few drinks with the men? I can’t imagine you’d want to spend much longer around the viper di Certa.”

  Morghiad nodded. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

  King Acher looked out at his guests, ungrateful parasites as they were. He disliked that they ate all his food and drank all his wine as if compensating for years of famine. One had to maintain appearances when one was king and a grand, extravagant feast day was just the thing. And what better day to enjoy such a feast? Gialdin had been his finest victory, and was worthy of all celebrations.

  Benay-gosa were pleasures singular to him, though. Only he could enjoy these beautiful women, which was some small comfort amidst the gluttony of the attendees. Perhaps he would take two of his women to his chambers tonight. Tara was looking especially succulent this evening in her vivid, red silk dress. It touched the floor but appeared to be split entirely up the back of her left leg, and he was pleased to see that much of her bosom was on display too. He couldn’t decide on the second, maybe Suhla or Rhionin.

  Suhla had been with him for the longest at four years. He hoped that she might continue to please him and provide an heir in the years to come, but one could never be sure when a woman’s temperament could change or when she could so easily become bothersome.

  Heirs. The king’s thoughts turned to Morghiad. Acher had never expected the boy to look as much like his mother as he did. It was a shame to have lost Tylena, a necessary casualty in a difficult battle. He had loved her more than any woman and, yes, she had rejected him, but she had learned the price of doing so. His benay-gosa knew that price, too. It amused him how often they tried to refuse his advances in light of this knowledge, though they did not resist for long. He was stronger and they could be made to comply with a little pressure. It was only right that the king should exploit what was rightfully his.

  Morghiad, however, seemed to have no knowledge of his entitlement at all. Or perhaps he had shunned it as a foolish sort of rebellion. The boy needed to learn what women were; he needed to know that they were a necessary curse that had to be controlled and ruled. If only he could get his son to sample a single woman, just one, the problem would be solved. Morghiad had shown far too much in the way of weakness when the witch had been put down.

  Servants had spoken of how he had wept for her, as if she were something more than an animal! The king had gone to a great deal of trouble to smother that particular rumour. At fifteen the lad should have taken it like a grown man. He was pathetic. He needed to grow a backbone if he was ever to do his duty. Perhaps if Morghiad ever got around to siring an heir, he could be banished to some remote corner of the country where he would be of greater use. He would never make much of a ruler.

  King Acher scanned the room for Morghiad, usually easily distinguishable by his height, but cursed at not being able to see him. The lad had clearly scurried from taking part in the necessary social discourse. He was probably drinking in some dark corner in the company of his guardsmen. Damn boy!

  The Lady Aval di Certa had shown some interest in him, however. Perhaps it was time to
pursue such interests on the kahr’s behalf. Acher asked his footman to seek out the chestnut-haired beauty while he thought on the problem. If things did not go well for her and Morghiad, the king could always make her one of his own benay-gosa.

  Lady di Certa approached in the company of the footman and bowed quite adequately. A draught of wine and a good beard scratch were necessary operations while he appraised her. Aval had been at court some years before and had made no great impact. She was attractive in a predatory sort of way and far too assertive to be a good wife. She would have to be made benay-gosa to Morghiad, since it was entirely possible she would try to control the weak lad. “Tell me of your House, Lady di Certa. Is it of any import?”

  The lady’s eyes bulged. “The di Certa’s own three-hundred square-miles of the best land in western Calidell, my lord.”

  “Not the best land!” the king snorted. “And what is your position in this House?”

  “I am the eldest granddaughter of its head, my lord.” She kept her chin raised.

  The king stood from his throne and walked over to inspect her more closely. Her breasts were quite magnificent. “Are you interested in my son?”

  Aval kept her eyes fixed on the throne. “I find Morghiad very handsome, my king.”

  He circled her, assessing all angles. “Yes, but what is it you want from him?”

  “What any woman desires from a handsome man. Perhaps more.” Aval would be good enough for breeding, that much could be said of her.

  “So you desire him for sex. Should I make you his benay-gosa?”

  The woman coughed - a rather inappropriate response, given her position. “I hope to marry well some day, my lord.”

  “Out of the question! Marriage is for the children of kings only.”

  Lady di Certa bit her lip. She was far too assertive for a woman. “Of course, I should only wish to be with your son if he wishes the same of me.”

  The king merely grunted. He had heard enough. He placed himself back onto his throne and beckoned Suhla over, before running a hand appreciatively up her thigh and pulling her onto the arm of the seat. She was not terribly intelligent, but she was very well-trained indeed. “Lady di Certa, if you or my son request that you don the scarves of a benay-gosa, I will accede. I will not grant you anything more. Enjoy the ball, my lady.” He waved his hand in dismissal. Lady di Certa curtseyed and withdrew to the mass of silks and lace.

  Suhla giggled as he twirled his fingers in her long, dark blonde hair. He had grown rather tired of the celebrations, and watching the vultures fill their already-stuffed crops had become repetitive. King Acher rose and held out both hands to signify that he was about to leave. The band roused the hall with a vigorous fanfare and the crowd parted, creating an avenue to the great doors. He caught Suhla and Tara abound their waists and pulled them close to himself, declaring, “Tonight I shall feast on some of the finest women of Calidell. May you all feast with such abandon and pleasure as I. I bid you good night, my honoured guests.”

  The crowd applauded graciously, and the king sashayed along the channel of people with his benay-gosa in tow. The smell of the women beside him was intoxicating. He took note of some of the prettier faces among the surrounding people as he passed, though none were quite the quality he was looking for. Blasted Morghiad was still absent from the gathering! They would have words about this transgression tomorrow.

  The green doors parted before him and he passed through in silence. Once they had reached the bottom of the steps, King Acher released the two women and turned to address the rest. “Tara and Suhla will accompany me this evening, please run along to your beds, my pretty whores.” It amused him highly that two of these ‘whores’ had once been high-born nobles, higher than Aval.

  The women in red curtseyed with elegance and swanned down the arched corridors that led to the benay-gosa quadrant. They truly were exquisite to watch. Acher took the hands of the remaining females and placed them together. “Will you walk in front of me, ladies? I would like to admire you from behind.” The two women inclined their heads in acquiescence and turned from him, though Tara had developed a tendency to a sullen expression recently. It was quite unbecoming of such a pretty woman. Her skin was the colour of bronze and her eyes a very bright blue, and she had stood out from the other linen girls like a jewel amongst a pile of coal. Sour-faced benay-gosa were a bad sign for his contentment, and he would have to correct that particular problem as soon as possible. Such were the responsibilities of being king.

  Acher’s apartments were a short distance from the Malachite Hall, taking up three levels and an entire aspect of the fountain courtyard. Every floor and wall in the rooms was swathed in polished granite or marble in shades of white and grey. After all, the only colour the king wanted to see in there was on himself or his women.

  He followed the two women past the dark antechamber and into the lounging room, which was tall and broad, filled with black velvet chaises for each woman. He overtook the women and led them through the two heavily worked silver doors into his bed chamber. A vast expanse of cream satin sheets lay before them, surrounded by silk mesh hangings.

  The women’s first duty was to remove their clothing slowly while he sat on the chaise that had been placed before the window. The autumn breeze filled the voiles behind him, making them brush at his shoulders gently. After the heat of the hall, he welcomed the coolness that came with the soft winds.

  One tall and slender, the other more petite and curved, the women were quite different shapes. Suhla, the shorter of the two, arched her back sinuously as her dress dropped to the floor. She certainly knew how to entertain a man, whereas the darker girl was stiffer in her movements. She faced away from him, but was probably still sour-faced. Both were a pleasure to admire, even so. Acher rose and strode to Tara to grab her roughly by the arm, whereupon he forced a hard kiss onto her lips. She would learn to behave.

  Tara struggled against him, twisting her arms in an attempt to escape his grip. Her complaints were muffled against his lips, and they only served to heighten his passion for her. He released her and she stumbled backwards, dark-honey hair falling over her shoulders.

  “Undress me,” he demanded. Suhla obeyed immediately and delicately began undoing the buckles on his coat. Tara remained where she was for a moment, her expression bitter. The king made sure to show his displeasure in his features. “You know what the punishment is for disobeying me.”

  She bit her lip, moved over to him and helped Suhla lift his coat off. It gave the king tremendous satisfaction to see her tamed, to see her obey. Still pouting, Tara pulled his shirt out from behind his belt, uncrossed it and tugged it from his shoulders while Suhla got to work on his trouser belt. She was doing it much too slowly for Acher’s patience. He pushed her away, which sent her reeling to the floor, and undid the fastening himself. But Tara was going to learn her lesson first. The king nodded at her to get onto the bed. She obliged, again with a grim look upon her pretty face, and lay face-down on the sheets.

  The king kicked off the last of his trousers, along with his heavy boots, and walked steadily to the prostrate woman. Her face was buried so that her expression was hidden, which was a very good thing. At the very least he could enjoy her fine backside and the curve of her spine. He leaned forward so that he could place a fist either side of her shoulders and his knees between her thighs. She remained perfectly still. Good girl. Suhla approached to perform her duties as the second woman, making sure that he was suitably aroused. Of course this engagement would benefit Tara too, as any pleasure he felt, she would get to share in. He often wondered why women were not more grateful for that. The king lifted his right hand and ran it down to her bottom, pulling one firm cheek away from its companion. The skin felt wonderfully soft amongst his fingers.

  Just then, Tara thrust herself upward faster than the king could react, thumping his face squarely with her back. He fell backwards from the bed and landed awkwardly on the rug below as an aghast Suhla watched with h
ands that covered her mouth.

  Tara had leapt to her feet and was running to the opposite edge of the bed. She slipped, fell onto a pile of clothes and then re-adjusted herself, grabbing at a robe once she had found her feet again. She made a break for the doors, and pushed over a crowd of glass vases as she pulled on the gown. Each vase shattered into thousands of shards as they hit the hard, marble floor. Burn her!

  King Acher rolled onto his side and clambered onto all fours. He yelled after her as he rose to his feet, then running to catch her before she escaped. He launched into the air with arms outstretched and caught her around the legs. They both fell to the cold, polished floor with considerable force, a loud snap emanating from Acher’s left elbow. He gripped her ankle firmly with his good arm as she tried to escape. “Suhla! Fix me so I can deal with her!”

  His grip was too strong for Tara’s squirming, but he did not know how long that would last. Suhla approached the pair tentatively and knelt before them.

  “Take the hand and hold it tightly,” he instructed. He could feel that one of the bones in his lower arm had rotated out of the socket and was now caught or snapped in an outwards manner; he knew what would be necessary.

  Suhla gripped his hand and he heaved his weight against it, still clutching a writhing Tara in his other hand. He gave his left arm a sharp, inward twist, and the resulting pop made Suhla jump back in surprise, but the king knew it had worked. The pain immediately subsided as he felt the bones knit back together again. He turned to Tara. She would pay very dearly for injuring the king, very dearly!

  He grabbed her other ankle and dragged her back into his bedchamber. She was kicking and screaming at him now, yelling something about his being vile or wretched or some other insult. The king gritted his teeth and hauled her into the broken glass, revelling in her screams as he did so. He roughly flipped her body over, seating her back deeply into the crushed shards so that they would penetrate the robe. Her front was speckled with glittering lumps of glass and drops of blood. A few of the larger cuts were already sealing themselves closed, extruding pieces of vase like eyes squeezing out their tears.