Chains of Fate (The Fate Circle Saga Book 1) Page 9

  “Then go.” Vad’Alvarn waved him away. “Gather your army and oppose me. I relish the challenge.” The conqueror king smirked, showing his teeth. “I will bring Sartol to its knees.”

  “You will find it hard to bend stone, Commander.”

  “And you will find it far harder to lead an army from a cell.”

  The king did not have to let him leave; he did not have to allow him time to muster an army. It would be in his best interest to keep Mordaen locked away in the dungeon until he died, keeping him from contact with the outside world as the home he had carved out in the harsh mountains was ground under the heel of this new regime. Eye to eye over the space of a table, there was no mistaking the feelings of either man before Mordaen walked out. The doors shutting behind him seemed to be the cue for something because Vad’Alvarn directed his eyes to each man in the room in turn, holding their gazes until they looked away. When all of them had fixed their gazes on the table in attempts to avoid his own, he flatly stated.

  “You should have had the guts Sartol had.”

  Those words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors opened again and several soldiers entered the room. None of the men had come to the table armed; fearful it would be seen as a sign of direct opposition in a time when they were hoping to gain some measure of surety they would not be facing such imminent death. Therefore, none of them had a sword to draw when they were ringed in by steel. Shocked expressions were traded between those who knew they were going to die and the one who was going to give the order for their deaths.

  “You cannot do this!” One voice found the strength to say.

  “And why can I not?” Vad’Alvarn’s eyes betrayed no interest in this conversation. The outcome was already written. It awaited his final order. “You each came here seeking a peaceful alliance. The world will certainly be peaceful when I rule it as there will be no one to oppose me.”

  “But you allow Sartol to oppose you?”

  “Sartol was the only one willing to stand up and do so. You all sat here when the challenge was raised and not one of you supported him. As I said, you should have had the guts Sartol had. At least then, you would have been given the honor of being defeated in combat as opposed to slaughtered like the cattle you are.” Cattle was said with a definitive snarl and one young soldier seemed to jump forward, his sword at the ready, but Vad’Alvarn waved him back into the line. “What, will you fight now because you realize I care nothing for treaties, only surrenders and oaths of loyalty?” The words echoed back at them all from the high walls and ceiling, magically catching the exact words to best make his point. The truth was they hoped not to fight. They hoped he would be lenient and merciful, if they played the game of advisors and negotiations, all they held dear would be spared from the ravages of war.

  It appeared they would be. The kingdoms would be spared war because the leaders would be gone and by the time anyone realized it, the first arms of the Burning Island would sweep in and destroy all opposition. Everywhere would fall in a matter of weeks instead of years of bloody combat.

  “Have you anything more to say?” Cold red eyes moved from one set of eyes to another again, daring them to speak up, to say what they held hidden within themselves. Finding nothing, he turned to walk away. These were not warriors, these were dogs and as such they would be done away with. “Drag them to the dungeon.”

  13

  Mordaen gathered those still with him, unaware of Darien’s death and heart heavy from abandoning Jalcina, and left the stolen city, riding hard for Filenaden Pass. If he was to raise his army in time to defend his home, he would need every possible day. Still, it seemed time was on his side as he rode at the head of his small column; winter was coming. Only fools sent soldiers into the mountains to fight in winter when even Nature herself protected the mountains from the trespass of the most prepared.

  “Lord Mordaen!” One of his advance scouts called for his attention. “Sire, we’ve found something.”

  The bloody body of Darien had stiffened overnight, but it was recognizable in its livery and the face many had come to know over the course of his short life. Mordaen dismounted, leaving his horse there at the road and walking through the grass to the place where the body lay. There he stood over it, staring down with a heart growing heavier as he surveyed the wounds. This was the young man he had entrusted with protecting his daughter and he had tried to the best of his abilities, giving his life in the process. Nothing more could be asked of him.

  “Gather him.” He was still young, yet Darien had earned his place among the honored dead. The body would not be buried on foreign ground, but back in the vaults of Sartol, where he would never be dug up and eaten by dogs, but surrounded by stone until the time when the spirit truly ascended from the flesh to join all creation. The better the body was preserved, the stronger the spirit would be when the time for the next life came. “Quickly. We still have far to go before nightfall.” Though they would most likely be riding through the night in order to make the boundaries of Sartol before the news of what had transpired at the negotiations reached them and possibly weakened the resolve of those he would call up to fight.

  A long cloth was spread on the ground beside the body and the body, the earth upon which it had laid, and its drained blood were gathered up to carry back to Sartol. The cloth was wrapped and tightly secured with ropes before being put onto the horse of one of the other soldiers. Had there been a supply wagon with them, they might have lain him down properly inside, but as it stood they simply did not have what was necessarily and a litter would not have survived the track up the high passes. It would simply have to do. The sun was still high overhead when they started out again, throwing down what little warmth there was to enjoy as the winter crept in. The mountains would already be seeing snow, something Mordaen looked forward to along with seeing his younger children again. It made his heart ache for Jalcina left behind as she was in the hands of someone who could hardly know her true worth. What would she have to endure before being able to slip away? He kicked his horse into a faster trot trying to ride away from those thoughts.

  14

  Jalcina did not see the execution of the man she accused, a man whose name she had known only because her father had spoken of him with derision as a spineless coward. Instead, she had been taken to a room in the palace, a luxurious room, hung with tapestries depicting the history of this conquered kingdom and left there while a doctor was found for her. Sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, the heavy covers not yet brought out since it was still only the edges of summer in the lower lands, the truth of her situations was only beginning to become apparent. If things were going as she thought they would, her Father was going to be leaving for Sartol and beginning preparations for the inevitable war this conqueror would bring them.

  A polite knock at the door, three times rapping against the heavy wood, pierced her thoughts all too easily and she rose to greet the one who came to the door with quiet strength. “Enter,” as if it were truly her quarters.

  A well-dressed man entered with a small bag in his hands and several wraps of cloth laid over his arm.

  “My apologies,” he began. “I have been told I am to treat your wounds. That will require the lady disrobe, please.”

  Jalcina did color slightly before moving past him to lock the door.

  “You would not take advantage of a girl, would you, doctor?” It might have been partially in jest from the set of her lips, but the question was genuine.

  “No, ma’am.” It was said so quickly he might have been stammering. “I would not do such a thing. I only want to treat your wounds as I was asked.” He straightened the linens draped over his arm self-consciously. “If ma’am would.”

  “Oh.” She started to undo the shirt she had been wearing for two straight days. The dirt was deeply ground into the material where she had been forced to lie on her side during the night. The pants were just as damaged, but they hid no bruises. Beneath the shirt, her skin was purpl
ed in places from the ride into the city thrown over the shoulders of a horse and her wrists showed the signs of being bound quite clearly. From the expression on the poor doctor’s face, it was obvious he had never seen such wounds on a woman before. Yet he managed to control his disgust and begin working on her injuries.

  He salved her bruises carefully before binding them in clean clothes. Then he washed the places where the skin had broken at her wrists with a solution he poured from a small bottle, it smelled acrid and burned where it touched. Jalcina snapped her teeth tightly shut again the pain of the liquid mixing with her blood in the broken spaces.

  “I’m sorry.” He saw the pain in her face. “I find warning people just makes them tense up.” As he wrapped her wrists, he was muttering something over the wounds. She could not quite follow the words. For all she knew it was some kind of prayer to speed healing.

  “It’s all right.” She tried to reassure him. He seemed like such a kindly man, who was being as nice to her as he could be. “It only hurt a little.”

  Grey eyes gazed up into hers, grateful for any words she cared to share with him. After all, they were both prisoners, even if they did not acknowledge themselves as such. “You are too kind, ma’am.” He kissed her palms before leaving. “Have a good evening.” Then he passed out of her life, taking with him the strange smell of that burning liquid.

  Having nothing to put on but her dirty shirt, Jalcina slipped it back over her shoulders, sliding her arms through the sleeves but not fastening it shut. It seemed more natural with the bandages around her torso anyway. The fabric wrapped loosely around her, she crawled into the bed to sleep. Despite having slept the night before, her body was still extremely tired and she was asleep nearly as soon as she found a comfortable position to lie in.

  Twilight was making its way through the curtains when she opened her eyes again. Someone had started a fire in the fireplace and lit candles around her bed. Pulling the shirt tighter to her body, Jalcina sat up, eyes straight away scanning for the person who had done this for her. Though she was grateful for the courtesy, part of her was wary, wondering why she, who was no one according to the people in power, was being treated in such a manner. A shiver of fear ran up her back as she thought perhaps they had learned the truth and knew now it was not Mickael who had sent her out, though she was no messenger, and they had detained her Father instead and were treating her as a captured princess. No, she would be rotting in a cell beside her parent if such a thing were to occur. She crawled out of the bed, one hand shakily clutching the light shirt closed against her chest.

  “I cannot believe I did not recognize you when I caught you.” Navar was standing near the door, arms crossed over his chest. “Just as well, Vad’Alvarn got his great play, so he’s pleased enough.” His smile seemed to smooth away her wariness and she stopped to watch him, not quite understanding his words.

  “Vad’Alvarn?” she asked after the name he used since it was new to her ears. “His great play?”

  “Yes, and you played your part beautifully.” A mocking bow was given her direction. “I half thought you would be fool enough to appeal to your Father for help. Such an appeal would have put his head on the block for certain. But no, you showed yourself a truly deceitful woman.” He advanced and she retreated, hand clutching her shirt all the tighter. “And your Father will give Vad’Alvarn his next great war.” A sweet voice, almost a lover’s caress in words, drifted from his lips, lingering over the word war.

  The momentary discomfort of his closeness in such a large room was thrown off by the knowledge her Father would be this Vad’Alvarn’s next opponent. Though the name was foreign, who this man was speaking of became more and more obvious with each word. He was speaking of the conqueror; he was saying her Father was going to meet him in battle. Of course, this meant her Father was indeed alive and not imprisoned as one could hardly lead a battle from within a stone cell. The joy of it must have made its way into her eyes because his next words were cold.

  “It will be a pleasure to grind Sartol down into so much marble dust.” Navar grinned, a cold smile transforming the joy in his face into something far darker. Though he did not step forward, Jalcina took another step back, all too aware she was now hiding in the doorway between the sitting room where he stood and the bedroom where she had been sleeping. She almost retreated further and pulled the door shut between them, but she did not, could not, give into fear. He was not so powerful as to make her cower before him, not a daughter of Sartol.

  “You,” pulling on a reservoir of strength she managed to speak. “Will find that far harder than you imagine.”

  “A challenge is something to be relished,” he countered, leaning back against the wall. His stance said he was fully at ease, but the way his eyes moved across her said otherwise. Did he deem her a threat? Of course not, she was only a woman, a deceitful woman, but still a woman. Hardly worthy of any wariness on his part at all. “You need to wash and dress; your company is expected at table tonight.”

  “Dress in what?” she asked. “I have nothing.”

  “Then be glad your new lord is willing to provide. Prepare to wash, clothing will be brought.” His grin returned as she stared him, fearful lack of comprehension in her features. With no more words, he let himself out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. Though she listened, she did not hear the bolt being thrown on the door. Hands worked to lace her shirt closed even as she hatched a plot to sneak out of the apartment, steal a horse, and flee. Even if she had to travel alone, she knew the passes well enough to return home on her own. Well, so long as the snows had not settled into the upper passes yet. If the snows had already settled, then the trek would be almost impossible alone. Still, she had to try. The shirt was tucked into her breeches, boots pulled back on, and hair braided back before she tried the door. It opened easily to her tug and a woman was standing in it, clothes and a dish of soap in her arms.

  “Thank goodness,” she said, bustling forward. “I did not realize until I reached the door I could not quite knock with my hands so full.” She was perhaps the same age as Jalcina, but darker in her complexion probably because of the time she spent in the sun here in the lower lands. Those of the mountains seemed to always be paler than their counterparts.

  “Come on then, Mistress.” It was rather like she was calling a pet of some kind the way she said it. “We’ve got to get you ready before the dinner bell. The King does not appreciate lateness in his halls, not even from his wives.”

  “Wives?” Jalcina started to do as asked, mostly out of habit, only to be brought up short by that word. “I am not wed.”

  “You will be at the end of the night, Mistress.” The woman worked at undoing Jalcina’s braided hair. “You’re quite a mess, no wonder he sent someone to help you. Otherwise, you would still be scrubbing next summer with all this dirt on you.”

  Jalcina was speechless. Was this so common no one even thought it odd this king was marrying a woman at the drop of a scarf? Surely they had to think something of it.

  “Stop it.” She pulled away, fingers trailing through the mass of her hair. “This is foolishness and I will not join in it. You may tell whoever you report to I will have nothing to do with this farce of a wedding.”

  “Mistress…” A warning tone was on the servant’s lips. “You have no such choice in this matter. Either you appear on your own, or he will drag you. You would not be the first.” The woman went from her hair to undoing the buttons on Jalcina’s shirt. Seeing the bandages she only shook her head. “May he have mercy on you, coming to his bed so injured.”

  Jalcina could only shudder at the thought. The war had not even started and already she was being taken as no more than some chattel. Perhaps she would be lucky enough never to see her Father again. He would still care for her as his child, but even he could not abide the taint of her having been used by his enemy. Still, she let the woman draw the shirt from her shoulders.

  “Come, let’s get you into a bath.”
The servant lead the way into a room Jalcina had not yet explored. Jalcina had heard the rumors about the castles in the Plains kingdoms being different from those in the mountains. Those rumors were one of the reasons she begged her Father to come along with his retinue. Now she would see one of those rumored differences: a room where water cascaded down from the walls warm as summer rain. Sticking her hand under it, she stared in wonder, jaw gaping.

  “Unless you plan to wear your boots and pants into the shower, you really should let me help you get them off.” Such amusement in her words as she watched, the dish of soap held carefully in her hands.

  “How?”

  “I do not know.” The woman shrugged and placed the soap dish down on the edge of the tub the water flowed into. “But it does, and it’s good for washing people and laundry. So off with those boots.”

  Finally, she sat down to do as she was asked, allowing her boots to be pulled off one at a time before allowing her breeches to be pulled off as well. Undergarments went last and she stood naked save for her bandages. By then the tub was nearly full and she eased herself into it. It was actually almost like home in how quickly her mind relaxed with her body surrounded by warm water. The ache in her chest dissipated and if it were not for the fact she now knew this was all because she had been chosen to wed a man she had seen only once in her life, perhaps she would have been able to enjoy the sensation. Instead her stomach knotted, all too aware once she was taken from this bath, she would be dressed, taken like a goat to an altar, and given as a sacrifice to a man was unforgiving as any faceless god she had heard of.

  “You will tell me the truth, won’t you?” There was no hope in her voice as she questioned the woman whose name she did not even know, the woman had not even offered her such basic information on herself.

  “Yes, I was told before being sent up to you this was the choice he made. I heard you caught his eye.”