Bride by Command (38 page)

“Still, I did say I would choose from six women, and I am a man of my word. Ladies?”

At that, Melusina and Anrid burst giggling from the crowd and took their positions on the dais. Morgana suffered a moment of pure horror. Had this been his plan all along? Was he going to publicly humiliate her? No, there was too much at stake. What was he doing?

Jahn turned and looked at each of the women in turn, then spun about. “Kristo Stoyan, I saw you here a moment ago. Where is your niece? It seems I am a bride short.”

Morgana held her breath as the man Jahn had called by name stepped from the crowd.

“My Lord, my niece is unwell and unable to leave her bed,” Kristo said.

“Impossible. Have her brought here immediately.”

She should not be surprised that Jahn was such a good actor. He showed no fear as he addressed Kristo; he revealed no anger at all, no hint of his knowledge. Yes, he pretended very well.

“Lady Danya is truly unsuitable and unable . . .” Kristo began, but he was interrupted by a weak voice which managed to carry through the crowd.

“I am here.”

The crowd parted once more, and a pale, disheveled woman who looked as if she’d just rolled from her bed was revealed. Deputy Rainer assisted her. It appeared as though without him she would surely drop to the floor, but she moved toward the dais with determination, her eyes unerringly forward.

The woman wore a plain gray dress that had seen better days, and her hair was simply pulled up and back. Her face was ashen, and she seemed decidedly unsteady.

“Lady Danya,” Jahn said with a curt bow. “So happy you could join us.”

Kristo was very obviously
not
happy to see Lady Danya.

 

 

DANYA
walked toward the front of the ballroom, her eyes flitting from the women on the dais to the emperor she had once thought she’d desired above all to an enraged Kristo. She wanted to fly into the man who had stolen her dreams and effectively killed her son—or, rather, the memory of her son as he might’ve been, if he’d lived. But she could barely move, and without Angelo she would be no more than a heap on the floor, so she could only move forward slowly, one small step at a time. She clung to Angelo; he held her firmly.

When she’d awakened in her bed to see the darkness of night beyond her window and Angelo at her side, she’d immediately known what she had to do. After taking the time to comb her hair back and change into one of the simple dresses she’d brought from home—taking the time to tuck Angelo’s handkerchief in her bodice—she’d made her way here, to this fateful place and night. And she’d arrived just in time.

Angelo placed his mouth close to her ear. “Something is going on here. The energy is . . . interesting, and dangerous.”

“Much is going on, I imagine.” She looked at Kristo, the man who had all but killed her hours earlier.

“No, something else,” Angelo said. “Don’t confront Kristo. Not yet.”

“But . . .”

“Not yet, love. Trust me.”

She did. She trusted Angelo Rainer with her secrets, her weaknesses, her very life. “Fine. I suppose I should join the others.”

There had been a time when she’d considered these women to be her rivals, threats who might take from her the extravagant life she’d imagined for herself. A life of privilege, of power. A life where she’d be given all she desired; and, more important, a life where she could escape the mistakes of her past.

Until she’d met Angelo, she had never even considered that she might deserve and want love. He helped her to the raised platform where five other women stood, and he held her hand until she was steady. Only when she nodded her head did he let her go. Rumpled, light-headed, angry to the pit of her soul, she stood there and waited. Kristo, the hooded man who had ruined her heart and ripped apart her soul, looked confused, then relieved. He obviously thought her so foolish as to think she still had a chance to claim the position of empress.

Let him think what he would, for now.

 

 

JAHN
tried to appear nonchalant as he glanced about the ballroom. Those who were with him on this night were in place. When Kristo was denied, what would he do? He, General Merin, and a few others carried lengths of rope with which to bind Kristo’s hands when the time came. Would that be enough to stop Kristo’s destructive power? Morgana said he used his hands to direct his cold ruin, but that didn’t mean binding them would stop it. Who would the man call forth, and how many would come to his aid? Were there traitors among the revelers, or were the revolutionaries awaiting a call from somewhere outside this room? Where was General Hydd, who had suggested Morgana as empress?

Merin stood in one corner of the room; his brother Savyn was positioned in another. Blane and Iann had the door, and other sentinels whose loyalty was beyond question were posted about the ballroom—and beyond.

When Jahn had found out that two of the potential brides were present—married or not—he’d come up with this new, better plan of attack. It was a plan that did not put Morgana in the middle of the action; it was a plan which would turn Kristo Stoyan’s anger away from her.

He jumped onto the dais and walked behind the six women who were on display. He felt ashamed and equally annoyed that his plan had called them here months ago, when he had not considered them human beings, when he had not thought of them as fine women with feelings, but saw them only as necessary brood cows for the heir he was required to produce.

But he could show no shame now. Melusina and Anrid stood together at one end of the platform, each of them smiling widely and occasionally waving at their new husbands. Their bosoms were not as exposed as he was accustomed to, and yet they were far from prim ladies. “Beautiful as always,” he said, leaning in close. Melusina giggled. “Would you make fine wives?”

“You should know, My Lord, since you recently made us wives of other men,” Anrid said casually.

Jahn waved a hand. “Marriage can be undone as easily as it is done. I probably should’ve wed you two long ago, when I realized a wife would be required.”

“Both of us?” Melusina asked.

“I could not bear to separate you.”

“I rather like my new husband,” Anrid said, as if a ballroom full of people didn’t listen in.

“And I like mine!” Melusina said.

“I’m not sure that we would have you now,” Anrid added with another wave to her husband, who shyly waved back.

“Pity,” Jahn said as he moved down the line. There was a smattering of uncomfortable laughter in the ballroom, where masks had been lowered and the dancing had stilled.

Lady Belavalari—Bela, Merin had called her—looked none too pleased, even though she knew the plan well enough and did not consider herself in danger of being chosen as empress. “You look like a woman who can hold her own in any situation.” He glanced at Merin, who did not smile. At all. “Do you know how to use that sword, Bela?”

“Yes, My Lord, I do,” she answered in a strong and steady voice. “Would you like a demonstration?”

“Not really.” He studied her muddied boots and messy braid. “Interesting,” he muttered as he moved to Lady Leyla.

As Jahn studied the stunning woman who had married Savyn Leone, he did not let on that he knew her secrets. Witch, some called her, and knowing what she could do with a touch, he might call her the same. Then again, what was he to call Morgana if he called this lady a witch? They had both been born with unearthly powers. Did that make them witches or goddesses? Unnatural women or the most natural of females who called power from the earth and the sky?

“You’re a fetching woman,” he said.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she responded meekly.

“The goddesses who are with child as the summer season of the sun begins are likely jealous of such beauty. Would I dare to insult them by taking a wife who would challenge their beauty?”

“I am only a woman, My Lord,” Lady Leyla responded.

Jahn shook his head. “Why do I doubt that simple statement?” Then he moved to his wife. “Lady Morgana. I imagine everyone here knows that you refused my initial invitation to participate in this contest.”

“I did,” she responded.

“Why?”

“I refused because I had heard that you were gluttonous and foolish and irresponsible and likely quite portly. I was also under the impression that you had no chin.”

“Don’t forget stupid. And now that you have met me?”

“You are not portly,” she said simply.

Again there was uncomfortable laughter throughout the room.

“You would be a troublesome empress, I have no doubt.”

“And you would be a difficult husband, to any so unlucky as to be chosen.”

Jahn chanced a quick glance at Kristo, who was red-faced and confused. This was not in his plan, so what would happen next? Whom would he call to his side?

Jahn moved to an unsteady Lady Danya, who looked more dead than alive. Only her eyes revealed life, and they seemed to burn with fever.

“You are a pretty girl, but you have a sharp tongue that has pierced many of the palace residents in weeks past. You ask much and give little. Do you have any redeeming qualities beyond your beauty?”

“No, My Lord,” she said softly, “I do not.”

He nodded his head. “Well, you’re honest. That is a fine quality in an empress.” For a moment Jahn held onto her arm, as she seemed to need the support. She swayed and then steadied. “I suspect there is more to you than meets the eye, Lady Danya,” he said softly, this time his words for her alone and not for the amusement of the crowd and the enragement of Kristo Stoyan.

She looked him in the eye and answered just as softly. “Perhaps tonight we will find out if that is true.”

Jahn released Lady Danya when he felt she was able to stand alone, then once again studied the six women before him. He occasionally touched a shoulder or a length of hair. None of them looked him in the eye; they kept their gazes straight ahead. Even Bela, who seemed ready and even anxious for a fight. He was happy to see that Morgana had given in and donned one of the new gowns he’d given her. She had chosen the green frock that complemented her eyes, but he could not afford to comment on that fact.

Finally he stood before the six women with his hands in the air. “I can’t decide. I certainly don’t want to send any one of them home rejected. Perhaps I should marry them all and see who gives me a son first. I can always put the rejects out to pasture when that is done.”

Merin’s Bela placed a hand on the hilt of her sword. Melusina stuck out her tongue, and Morgana’s lips went thin and tight. Jahn was supposed to choose her and allow her to reject him, which would send Kristo into a rage and into action. If the rejection was
his,
no anger would be directed at the woman who carried his child.

“Then again, perhaps I won’t marry any one of them.”

Kristo was backing toward the far side of the room, rather than moving closer to his daughter and his emperor. With any luck, the plan was working. The man who had tried to manipulate both Danya and Morgana would gather whatever assistance he had waiting, and then they would know precisely what they were up against. Kristo and his cohorts would be defeated in short order and then, only then, could Jahn claim Morgana as his own—if she would still have him.

Jahn shrugged his shoulders. “This is all too much for a simple man like me.” He looked at Morgana. “A gluttonous, irreverent simpleton cannot be expected to make such an important choice. This contest was a mistake. It’s over. I will remain unwed.”

Moans and a few squeals broke from the crowd that had gathered to watch the proceedings. And then an unexpected voice rang out in indignation. “There you are! What’s going on here? Where have you been?”

Jahn locked eyes with Almund Ramsden, an angry and rightfully affronted father who had arrived just in time, or so it seemed. Gone was the obedient servant who had willingly—if reluctantly—handed over his daughter many weeks earlier.

The man stalked toward Jahn. “What the hell have you done with my child?”

 

 

KRISTO
turned and made his way to the window of the ballroom, grabbing an oil lamp from a table as he passed. He had not thought it would come to this, but he would not be denied. Not now. The emperor was playing games. He would play as well. He lifted the oil lamp and waved it across the open window three times.

His men, the mercenaries Rikka had hired and the general who would lead them, were watching and waiting. They were itching for a fight—hoping that all would not go well. The army was small, but they would have the element of surprise. Hydd insisted that Emperor Jahn was weak, and he and his men would not be prepared to fight.

Kristo didn’t know what had happened, but this was not how the evening was supposed to play out. The emperor was supposed to choose Morgana and they’d be married immediately. Soon everyone would know about the child the empress carried, and, as Morgana’s father, Kristo would be an important part of palace life. Soon enough the time would come for the emperor to be dispatched.

But the idiot emperor had not chosen Morgana. He had not chosen any of them! Rikka’s plan to connive and cheat herself a place in the palace had failed. Now Kristo would do things his way. The emperor and those closest to him would be killed, and Kristo would claim the throne himself—with the blood of the emperor in his grandchild to soothe those who could not be convinced by force alone. He would have both military strength and an imperial bloodline on his side.

His men were close; it would not take them long to get here.

“My Lord Emperor,” Kristo said as he left the window after signaling his army. It would be best if the emperor was here when the attack took place, lightly guarded and a part of the crowd. Hydd would know what to do. “If you will indulge me, I have some information to share.” He placed himself between Emperor Jahn and Ramsden, a man who had arrived much too late to save his daughter.