Prince of Magic (8 page)

Since they were little more than a year apart in age, it was only natural that Ariana and her brother Duran had always been close. Still, they were different as night and day. She had been born to magic, like their mother; he had no supernatural talents, like their father.

But it was more than magic—or lack thereof—that made them so dissimilar. Duran was carefree, taking each day as it came without worry. Ariana was a planner, and a worrier. She could not take each day without careful planning of her schedule and her wardrobe. Until Sian had shown up to throw all her plans into disarray, she'd already planned what each day in the following week would bring. Duran simply followed his feet, and went wherever they led him.

There was another way in which they were very much not alike, but Ariana suspected this difference had more to do with gender than anything else. In other words, it wasn't always Duran's
feet
which guided him.

Duran loved women, and they loved him. He had been sent here to keep his sister safe—against her wishes but at the insistence of their parents. His two years here had been spent as more than a brother and a bodyguard. He was a fine sentinel. One of the best. His skills with a sword had improved greatly in his time in the palace. He was also very popular with the maids and laundresses, as well as one particular minister's daughter who was not the perfect angel her father thought her to be.

Sian had insisted that the fewer who knew of the prophesy, the safer she'd be. Word could not reach those she'd be fighting against until she was ready. They could not be forewarned. Anyone who knew of the danger would be in great peril, as those dark forces that threatened Columbyana would not hesitate to do away with anyone who might rouse troops before they were ready to fight.

Ariana wasn't sure she'd ever be ready, but the other argument, the one that put her carefree, life-loving brother in mortal danger, kept her silent. When the time came, he'd learn of the prophesy. Until then, he was better off not knowing anything at all.

She was surprised that he paid her a visit in her quarters, late in the evening. He often worked the evening shift, and if not, then he was always busy with one woman or another, or failing that, a game of cards.

No, she wouldn't put an end to his carefree lifestyle until it was absolutely necessary.

He paced before her fireplace, obviously anxious. Duran did not wear his hair as long as many of the other sen=tinels, but preferred a shorter style. His dark curls didn't even reach his shoulders. She'd always thought it terribly unfair that his hair was so much prettier and more manageable than her own.

Ariana sat in a comfortable chair near the fire and continued to sew while her brother paced and asked cordial questions. Had her day been a pleasant one? Had she been able to walk outdoors to enjoy the nice weather? What had she eaten for supper?

Duran
never
asked such questions.

Ariana stilled her hands and looked up, to find Duran glaring at her. It was also not fair that he was more beautiful than she was. Right now he looked fierce, but he was still beautiful. Was it possible that somehow he knew all her secrets?

"What do you really want?" she asked.

"I have heard rumors," he said, his voice not as genial as it had been moments earlier.

Ariana's heart hitched. "What sort of rumors?" Had someone overheard them speaking of the Prophesy of the Firstborn? Only she, the emperor, and Sian knew. At Sian's insistence, it was a secret. For now.

"Today you spent a significant amount of time in the company of a stranger. A wizard, if what I heard was correct."

"Oh." Ariana returned to her sewing, relieved. The rumors that had her brother fuming were of the ordinary sort. "His name is Sian Chamblyn, so he's not a stranger."

Duran's eyes narrowed. "And what exactly were you doing in his company?"

The overprotective nature of the question was amusing and annoying at the same time. Ariana didn't look up as she answered, "He's tutoring me."

"In what subject are you being tutored?" Duran asked, his teeth clenched.

Ariana put her hands down once again and looked up. At this moment, Duran looked so very much like their father. She had seen this expression of ire and impatience—and yes, love—from Kane Varden more than once.

But Duran was
not
her father. "Sex, of course. Today's lessons were quite ordinary, but I understand tomorrow we're going to study the more deviant aspects of sexual relations. We have been told that in some segments of Level Three there remain a number of potentially pleasurable devices and instruction manuals that describe in great detail…"

Duran turned away from her and stalked toward the door. He mumbled under his breath, and she only made out one word. "Kill."

Ariana dropped her mending to the floor and leapt up, giving chase. She caught Duran by the shirt sleeve as he opened the door. Laughing, she said, "He's teaching me magic, and nothing else."

Duran turned his head and glared down at her. "Why?"

"Because he knows much of magic that I don't, that's why." She reached past her brother, and pushed the door shut. "I promise you, I'm as pure and untouched as I was when Sian Chamblyn arrived here this morning."

Duran leaned against the door and crossed his arms defiantly. His expression and the set of his tense neck spoke of withheld suspicions.

"I was only teasing you because I'm twenty-six years old and you have no business quizzing me as if I were still twelve and you were Poppy."

"I am here to protect you," he said in a low, serious voice.

"I do not need your protection," she insisted. Not yet, in any case.

"Poppy will kill me if anything happens to you."

"Unlikely. And if he were to try, Mama would stop him. Probably."

Duran didn't look as if he were inclined to engage in sibling banter at the moment.

"I'm fine, truly," she said seriously. "You know how desperately I want to hone my skills. The enchanter who tutored me today will help me to reach my goals in that area of my life."

"If he tries anything untoward—"

"I will alert you immediately so that you may administer proper punishment."

Duran's eyes were narrowed, his mouth tight and thinner than usual. "You make light of my concern."

Ariana laid her hand on Duran's arm. "Of course not," she said gently. "I just want to make sure you understand there is no need for concern."

She felt and saw him relax, gradually but unmistakably, and then he said, "If you do need me, you know where I can be found."

"Of course."

Duty to family done for now, Duran left Ariana alone with her sewing. She sighed in relief when he was gone, and when she sat down in her chair once again and lifted from the floor the garment she'd been mending, she held it up to fully survey her work.

Trousers. Roughly made, dark and plain, but soon to be well fitted. If Duran had realized just what type of clothing she was altering, his meddlesome questions would've continued for quite some time.

Good heavens. Sian kept his eyes anywhere but on Ariana as they made their way down to Level Twelve. She preceded him, and he found it best to look over her head, or at the stone walls that surrounded them.

He had never imagined that a woman wearing trousers would look just so. A woman's rear end simply did not fill a pair of trousers like a man's did. There was a roundness to her hips and backside, a tempting curve that could undo the staunchest of men.

There had been many tales over the years of women who disguised themselves as men in order to travel where they should not, or fight, or deceive. He'd always found them amusing stories, and wondered if they were perhaps based in truth.

If the tales were true, the women in question had not been built anything like Ariana Varden. No one would ever mistake that backside for male.

She was actually excited about their foray into Level Thirteen. Her hair was loose and wild, her cheeks overly pink, her lips… well, there was no reason to study her lips. They had nothing to do with this excursion. She'd donned an ornately decorated vest over a plain white shirt, perhaps in an effort to disguise her breasts. The plan had failed… but again, her breasts had nothing to do with this search for the source of the evil which threatened the entire country, and even the world.

Sian bit back a vile word. The firstborn Fyne could not have been a man, a soldier, a brute who would welcome a battle with evil. Oh, no, instead it had to be this slip of a girl who had no business fighting monsters.

Level Twelve was dimly lit and somber, home to murderers and thieves and a handful of apparently lax guards. Heavy wooden doors with small grates built into them lined the stone hallway. Sian ignored the prison cells, shutting out the whispers and shouts from beyond the heavy doors and following Ariana down a long hall. There was a chill in this place, a chill he didn't like at all.

She seemed to know where she was going.

"Here." She stopped at the edge of a worn, stained carpet that was oddly placed on the prison hallway floor.

"Pardon me." A young guard stepped forward. He and a cohort had been conversing with animation at the opposite end of the hallway, until they'd seen the visitors to Level Twelve. "This is no place for…" He looked Ariana up and down, taking in the vest, the trousers, the serviceable boots. "Who are you?"

"Ariana Varden, healer to the emperor," she said confidently. "What lies beneath this rug?"

The guard looked taken aback. "Nothing."

Ariana sighed, and lifted one hand as she turned to face Sian. "There is definitely something here. It's… dark." Fear touched her eyes, but Sian did not see panic.

"Is it safe?" he asked simply.

"I think so."

"Stand back," Sian ordered. With a wag of his hand, the guard obeyed the command. When no one stood upon the nasty rug, Sian once again waved his fingers. The rug rolled up as if guided by invisible hands. The guards were now visibly afraid.

Ariana was amused. "You are such a show-off," she whispered.

He did not respond, which was just as well. This was no time for teasing. Beneath the rug was a trap door built into the floor, a portal aged by time and neglect.