Prince of Magic (4 page)

A miracle would be nice.

"I'm an enchanter," Sian replied.

"Tricks and illusion," Ariana responded airily. "You might scoff at the power of healing,' but at least my talents provide a substantial difference in the lives of those I assist."

"I do not scoff at the power of healing." There had been times when he would have put aside all the powers of enchantment for such a gift, not that he would admit as much to Ariana. "That power is, however, insufficient when it comes to battle, unless you're present to tend to the wounded."

She tried to appear nonchalant, but the too-firm set of her mouth gave her away. "Perhaps it is a metaphorical battle against evil that your grandfather spoke of. We all must choose good or evil at some point in our lives."

"There's nothing metaphorical about the prophesy," Sian said sharply. "The battle has already begun, and if you open your eyes, you'll see it for yourself. Emperor Arik's illness, Prince Ciro's disappearance, a village two days' ride from Arthes decimated by plague, a perfectly ordinary man killing his wife and then eating her heart, a mother murdering her own children…"

"Enough," Ariana said gently. "I know that things have not been right in the past few months, but that doesn't mean evil has infected the people of Columbyana."

"Doesn't it?"

Ariana pulled a chair—one of the plain, hard ones—to the long table that dominated the room. She sat, and then leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands. She had healer's hands, soft and white and delicate. How had he ever mistaken her, even for a moment, for a concubine? She remained in that position just long enough to take two long breaths, and then she lifted her head and looked at him. She was stronger than she looked. Most women, when informed that it was their duty to fight monsters, might shed a tear or two, or bemoan the inconvenience or the danger. Not Ariana. She did not like the idea, but she was willing to take it on.

"What is my part in this to be?" she asked steadily.

"I do not yet know," Sian responded, not yet ready to tell her all that he knew. "Much of the prophesy is yet to be interpreted." Should he even tell her that she must be a warrior? That in spite of her talents for healing, she would be called to take up the sword? Perhaps not at this time. He could not tell her near everything he knew just yet. "Our first task will be to discover the nature of the evil, so that we can fight it effectively."

"How best to accomplish that?" There was no panic in her voice, no wailing. She got straight to the business at hand, and for that he was grateful.

"I'm not sure." Neither his gift nor hers would be of any help in identifying the source of the darkness. "Tell me about the other two firstborn children of the Fyne women."

"Keelia is a year younger than I," Ariana said. "She's been Queen of the Anwyn for ten years, and she's a very powerful seer, as well as a shape-shifter. She can tell us the source of the evil, I'm sure." Her voice grew slightly lighter as she revealed this belief. "We're weeks away from the Anwyn mountains—the Mountains of the North—and the journey there isn't an easy one, but I know she'll be of great help once we tell her what's going on."

Sian began to relax. At least this cousin would be of some use. "And the other?"

"Lyr Hern. He's twenty-three years old and has just taken his father's place as Prince of Swords. Have you heard of the Circle of Bacwyr?"

"Yes, of course."

"Lyr has his. father's gift for swordplay, as well as inherited magic from Aunt Isadora. Even as a child, watching him practice with his knives and such was like watching a dance."

"His magic?"

"Time," Ariana answered. "Lyr can freeze time, for a moment or two. He can move through it, but everything else remains stagnant."

"A useful gift for a swordsman."

"Oh, he never employs his magic while fighting. Lyr's father, Uncle Lucan, forbade it long ago. He said it wasn't sporting."

"When fighting evil, one doesn't have to be sporting."

Ariana sighed. "Lyr is, of course, a long journey in the other direction from Keelia, halfway across the country of Tryfyn. Must I collect them myself, or should I send couriers to them both with the news?"

Sian shook his head. "Once the prophesy is revealed to the masses, people will panic. When that happens, the darkness we're trying to fight will have yet another foothold. It's possible the enemy doesn't yet know that you and your cousins are destined to fight them, and that you might even win. If the news spreads to the wrong ears, I'm afraid it will only accelerate the coming battle." And they were not ready. "I'm encouraged to hear of the talents of your cousins."

Ariana wrinkled her nose in an almost girlish way. "I will admit, compared to Keelia and Lyr, my own talents are rather puny."

"I will teach you what I can," Sian said solemnly.

She faced her fate bravely. "Why don't you retire to your quarters for a while? After your long journey I'm sure a nap and a bath would be welcomed."

His own personal comfort meant little, given the circumstances, but he suspected that Ariana needed some time alone herself. She did not want him to see her dread of what was to come. Perhaps she wished to shed a few tears in private. He could allow her that indulgence, as long as her tears didn't last too long. They had much work to do.

And she still did not know the worst of the prophesy.

By the time Ariana returned to the workroom, it was well past dark. A fire had been lit in the stone fireplace, and the dancing flames warmed the room nicely. Sian Chamblyn paced in front of that fire.

He looked somewhat better, after bathing and changing into fresh, clean clothes. Again he wore all black, but at least the trousers and wide-sleeved shirt he wore this evening were clean. He'd loosed the braid, and his long black hair fell free. Straight, silky strands moved sensuously as he paced.

There was so much tension in his long, lean body, she doubted he'd followed her advice about taking a nap.

The enchanter was not a pretty man, not at all. And yet, there was something fascinating about him. Sian Sayre Chamblyn was all man, and in spite of the too-long nose and the odd purple eyes, he was sensually appealing. If Ariana cared about intriguing men, which she didn't, she might take a moment longer to admire that fact.

She entered the room quietly, and he barked at her. "It's about time."

"I apologize for the delay. I wanted to see the emperor once more before we got started."

Sian's head snapped around and he glared at her.

"Never fear, wizard, I didn't ask too many questions about you." Well, she had, but the emperor had been oddly stubborn, insisting that Sian himself would tell her what she needed to know. "I needed to make sure my patient was situated for the evening. It's been a trying day for him, and he no longer has the energy to face trying days."

"Is there another healer in the palace?" Sian tried to sound cold, but Ariana could tell that he cared about the emperor's condition. He just didn't want anyone to know that he cared.

"No," she answered. "None of sufficient skill, at least. I've sent for my sister Sibyl. She's only eighteen, but she's quite talented. It will take her some time to get here, but at least if I have to depart the palace in order to fulfill my part in the prophesy, I won't be leaving the emperor unattended."

"Two healers in the family. How odd."

"There are nine of us. Many of us share the same ability." Some of the Varden children had more than one natural magical talent, and two of the boys had none at all.

Sian recoiled slightly, and then he shuddered. "Nine children? How awful for you."

Ariana smiled. "Thank you. Most people go on and on about how lovely it must be to have such a large family when they find that I have five sisters and three brothers."

"And you don't agree?"

"I love my siblings, but solitude was almost nonexistent when I was growing up. I've always favored my privacy."

"So have I."

"And how many siblings do you have?"

"None," he snapped. "I'm an only child. Now that this useless repartee is done, can we get to work?"

"Of course."

Work, at least for tonight, began with an examination given by the wizard. His disdain for her all-but-useless abilities was evident, as he ascertained everything which she could not do. He made notes on a sheet of paper, perhaps planning for her lessons in the days to come. When the sheet was full, he turned it over and began again, scribbling on the backside and muttering to himself.

"Shouldn't our first order of business be to identify that which we will be fighting?" she asked as Sian set the very full sheet of paper aside.

"That would be helpful. How do you propose we accomplish that?"

Ariana placed one hand on the table. Her fingers touched the colorful and elaborate inlay. "I have been studying this while you were interrogating me."

Sian's eyebrows arched slightly at the word "interrogating," but he didn't respond.

"It's difficult to tell until you know what this is, but what we have here on the table is a map."

Sian grunted, and the sound seemed to be affirmative. Perhaps he could now see what she had discovered as she'd stared at the table. "I understand that at one time Emperor Sebestyen concocted battle plans for his generals using this very table."

Sian cocked his head to one side and studied the inlay. Precious and semiprecious stones were set here and there in colorful polished marble. Tryfyn was green stone; the land of the Anwyn was in gray, as was all the unexplored land beyond the known borders. Columbyana was represented in a soft pink, with cities and lakes and rivers marked in other stones of varying colors. It was quite beautiful.

"Who told you that tale? A smitten sentinel?"

Ariana smiled. "A smitten grandfather. Maddox Sulyen was once Sebestyen's Minister of Defense."

"Until he joined Arik in the revolution," Sian said. "Sulyen is your grandfather?"

"Yes. His fighting days are behind him, of course. He's well and married and lives near my parents. Before I came here, he told me many secrets about this palace. He told me to look for this table if I had the chance. He found it quite beautiful. A work of art, he said."

"It is a fine work of art," Sian agreed sharply. "How does it help us in our work?"

"This is the palace." She pointed to a red gem near the center of the map.

"I see," he responded, his voice low as usual.

"All evening, I have been thinking about what you said. The plague, the emperor's illness, the… other incidents." Even though war was coming, according to the wizard, she could not bring herself to speak about a mother killing her children or a husband eating his wife's heart. "I did of course hear about those incidents when they occurred. The emperor is informed regularly of the happenings in his country, and in the past several months I have been spending more and more time in his company."

"As he grows more infirm," Sian added unnecessarily.

"Yes." Ariana pointed to the palace, and then drew her finger out along a thin road that headed almost straight north. "Here is the village where the plague killed everyone and then vanished." Her finger returned to the gem that indicated the location of the palace where she and Sian now worked. Again, it trailed along a road—south, this time. "It was here that the man murdered his wife so violently." She did not feel the need to say more as once again her fingertip returned to the palace. "The woman who… the mother…" Again, she traced a road east and stopped. "Here."

She had Sian's full attention. "They are an equal distance from the palace, though in diverse directions."

"Yes. And all three incidents occurred at about the same time, not long after Prince Ciro disappeared and Emperor Arik fell ill. I'm going to imagine that whatever it is I'm meant to fight, it started somewhere and grew. A darkness creeping, your grandfather called it."

"Yes."

Ariana once again placed her fingertip on the red gem that marked the location of the palace. "I think it started here."

Fynnian sat back in his favorite chair and watched the boy, as he did most evenings. Ciro favored his mother, his long hair fine and pale, his eyes a hypnotic pale blue. There was nothing feminine about the boy, though. He might be young still, but he was a man.

A man with no soul, but still—a man. A man who would one day rule Columbyana and all the land beyond the country's borders. Fynnian would be with him when the time came. The boy would be a puppet emperor, just as he was a puppet now.

As they had in months past, the two men passed the evening in the study of a vast and well-built house which sat upon an isolated part of the northern mountains of Columbyana. A fire burned in the large stone fireplace. Summer was coming, but here in the mountains the nights remained cool.

During his lifetime, Fynnian had managed to surround himself with many beautiful things. The furnishings were the finest, and exquisite paintings graced the walls. There were not many windows in this part of the house, and the colors in this study were primarily dim. If not for the interference of his daughter, Rayne, the room might be quite gloomy. Instead, it was brightened by a few colorful vases filled with flowers she had grown in her garden and carefully arranged with her own hands, as well as decorative pillows in shades of red and gold.

Perhaps it was not the Imperial Palace where Ciro had been born and raised, but it was Fynnian's palace… smaller but certainly adequate for any man, prince or not.

From the short sofa where he sat, near the fire where he might take in some warmth, Ciro lifted his head and looked Fynnian in the eye. "I'm hungry." His voice was lifeless. Dead. Hollow, just as the man was hollow.

"You will be fed soon enough." The necessary feedings were coming more frequently now, a sign that the boy's power was growing as it should.

"You know what I want." Ciro cocked his head to one side, and his eyes narrowed. Firelight flickered on long flaxen hair, and on a pale cheek, and for a moment it seemed the lifeless eyes glowed red. Another man might be afraid, but Fynnian was not. The transformation was not yet complete, but Ciro was already his. Fynnian had made himself father, mother, friend, and mentor to the lost prince.