Prince of Magic (12 page)

She would've killed him if the opportunity had arisen.

Elen was seventeen years old.

When the blood had been drained from her body, Ciro rose off the dead woman and wiped the blood from his mouth. He was getting better at this. In the beginning, he had always made such a mess. Now there was not a drop of blood on the coverlet, and only a small amount had stained his mouth.

He'd call Fynnian to remove the body shortly, but first he needed the Panwyr.

A supply was always stored in the desk by the window, in the drawer to the far right. He reached inside, grabbed a vial, and poured a small amount onto his palm. He held his hand close to his nose and inhaled sharply. Panwyr went up his nostrils and immediately filled his body with a burst of sensation.

He knew the souls he took were not his to keep, and that's why they were never enough. That's why he was always so hungry. For this too-brief moment, he was all-powerful and completed sated. The soul, the blood, and the Panwyr completed him; made him strong and satisfied and, yes, invincible.

The Isen Demon which had taken control of his body and his mind danced around him, black and heavy and powerful. Ciro tasted Elen's soul one more time, and then it was gone, taken into the Isen Demon to join the others.

A part of the demon was always with him, sometimes dominant, sometimes subdued. There were moments when Ciro felt the full force of the demon, but those moments were rare. The Isen Demon was everywhere. It was huge and powerful and not easily contained. The full force of the demon came and went, taking souls and growing stronger and issuing orders only Ciro would hear.

The demon issued orders now, whispering in Ciro's head. Fynnian was not to know that Ciro could now take souls without permission. The old fool thought he was in control, but he was not. He had almost served his purpose, and it was time to draw away.

It was too soon to take a white soul, like Rayne's, but dark souls, damaged souls, they were now his to take, the demon promised. And take he would. This was just the beginning.

Still caught in the Panwyr euphoria, and missing the soul which had been his for too brief a time, Ciro parted the curtains and peeked outside. Rayne continued to work in the garden, oblivious to the fact that he watched.

When he made a son, she would be his mother. Rayne was untainted. Untouched. She was pure, so what better vessel for his child?

Rayne was to be his. She had been promised to him by Fynnian, and by the Isen Demon. One day her soul and his would be joined, before being fed to the demon, but not until she birthed his son.

Our son.

Our son, of course. Until that day she was his. As a man. As the fiend he had become. She
would
love him. She
would
be his companion.

She must be pure when you make our son.

Yes, of course.

Now was not the time to make Rayne his own, not in soul or in body, but Ciro knew without doubt that he didn't have much longer to wait.

Ariana didn't have to call on her empathic powers to know that something had changed while she and Sian had been down in Level Thirteen. For days, he'd been avoiding her. He sent teachers in his stead. Some taught her to fight. Others instructed her on simple magics.

It was as if Sian wanted her to be prepared for anything. One aging soldier showed her how to find drinkable water, and how to recognize edible plants and poisonous ones—something in which she had been well educated, though she listened carefully and did learn a few new tricks. Her lessons on swordplay were held daily, and again, it was an older sentinel who served as her teacher. He did not know why she required such lessons, and he had been a part of palace life long enough to know better than to ask. A palace witch who was talented with the casting of simple spells held one session, and again, while Ariana was already well versed, she did learn something new.

Just as telling as her empathic powers… perhaps more so… she was very aware that the enchanter hadn't looked her directly in the eye since they'd climbed out of Level Thirteen. More accurately, he had not looked her directly in the eye since she'd come out of nothingness to find his hands around her throat.

At least he allowed her to wear skirts as she went about her business. In fact, he had mentioned that she should not call attention to herself by dressing differently, though there would come a time when a different sort of clothing would be required. Odd, since he had been so insistent in the beginning that she wear men's trousers so she'd have freedom of movement and be able to fight. Even when the swordsman gave her lessons, she wore her skirts, and no instructions to the contrary reached her.

After several days of instruction in which he did not participate, Sian sent to her an older woman who was knowledgeable about herbs. The instruction was a waste of time. Ariana knew more about herbs than anyone in Columbyana, most likely. She certainly knew more than the doddering old woman Sian sent to her.

With the herbalist dismissed early, Ariana set out in search of Sian. He was not difficult to find, as he had been spending almost all his time in his quarters. Alone. The sentinels and ministers did not disturb him. She suspected they were afraid of the enchanter, and were well pleased when he was not in their way. Many of the ministers' wives had been known to dote on palace guests, feeding them too often and having silly parties at all times of the day. If that guest was an unmarried man, he would be introduced to the eligible daughters with matchmaking in mind. But they, too, left Sian alone. She suspected he was too dangerous for them, and for their daughters.

It was his eyes. He probably thought it was the odd shade of purple and the unusual shifting patterns there that put people off, that made people jump when they first saw them, but he'd be wrong. Sian Sayre Chamblyn had the eyes of a man who knew darkness. Ariana had quickly grown accustomed to the unusual color and the way they seemed to have a life of their own; she would never grow accustomed to the shadows that lurked there.

She knocked on his door, but as it was the middle of the day, she had no qualms about opening the door when she did not receive an immediate answer to her knock. Sian had told her very little about what he'd discovered in Level Thirteen, always promising "later," after he'd discovered more about the Isen Demon. Well, "later" was today. It was, in fact, right
now
.

The quarters the enchanter had been assigned consisted of one large room which held anything a man might desire. A massive bed. A chest for his clothing—which was apparently all black. A small table, for the meals he took here. A tub, which sat in one corner until it was time for it to be filled by a queue of servants bearing hot water.

Sian sat before a massive desk, which was littered with small books and loose papers. His head snapped around as the door opened. He was surprised to see her. So surprised, it took him a moment to gather his wits and say, "I did not call for you. Get out." With that, he returned to his study.

Ariana considered leaving .the room, but not for long. Superior as he thought himself to be, Sian was here to help her. How could she prepare to fight when she did not know what she was up against?

She ignored his command and walked toward him. "What do you know about the Isen Demon?"

"Not enough," he answered sharply, not even bothering to rise from his hard-backed chair.

"I don't suppose you can flick your talented fingers and make him go away."

She did not realize the possible misunderstanding in the words "talented fingers" until Sian raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. Ariana felt the warmth of a blush on her cheeks. Beyond that, she showed no reaction.

"I have not found a spell to rid us of the demon, no," Sian answered, "but I have many more volumes of palace witches' ledgers still to study."

When Ariana made it clear she was not going away to leave him in peace, Sian grimaced. "I don't suppose you have heard of a crystal dagger?" he asked.

"No. Is there mention of one in the ledgers?"

"The prophesy my grandfather penned mentions such a weapon. He does not give details as to where it can be found or if it will defeat the demon. I thought perhaps you had heard of it."

"No." Ariana stepped closer to the desk, and to Sian. "May I see it?"

"See what?"

"The Prophesy of the Firstborn."

It seemed that Sian paled a little before turning back to his papers. "No. Not at this time."

"Why not? For all I know, you… made it all up."

"I am not in the habit of creating false prophesies for my amusement, or for yours. The prophesy is as I told you."

"But—"

"When the time is right, I will show it to you," he said sharply.

"When will the time be right?"

He sighed and turned to glare up at her as if she were a bothersome child. "When I say the time is right. Don't you have lessons to attend to?"

"No. I'm finished for the day."

"Surely you have something to study."

"Not really. My lessons have not been very challenging in the past few days. I thought you were going to teach me. I thought you were going to increase my magical abilities so I'll be better able to fight."

"I have much to do," Sian explained. "And you are not ready."

He was so dismissive, it would be easiest to turn and leave him alone. She did not.

Sian was an aggravating man, but also a fascinating one. He was powerful magically and physically, handsome in a manly way she had not recognized when she'd first seen him, self-assured… and that was an understatement. His nose was a bit large, but it suited his face somehow. And he tasted wonderful, with lips firm enough and soft enough…

Ariana blinked hard. She had no idea what Sian tasted like! He was so dismissive of her, she would likely never know such a thing, even if she were so inclined. And yet, she did know what he tasted like. Deep inside, she was so certain the memory called up his scent, his taste, the feel of him in her hand.

That unexpected and very real thought must be the result of a dream she had forgotten. She'd been dreaming about Sian, but not remembering the dreams. That was the only explanation. Like it or not, she was attracted to him. Just thinking about how he tasted and felt caused an unexpected reaction at her very core. A warmth. A calling. There had been times in the past two years when she'd considered taking a lover, but no man had ever called to her strongly enough to help her take that step. Sian could, if she allowed it. He could call to her very well.