Souls of Aredyrah 1 - The Fire and the Light (41 page)

The healer shook his head. “It is just a
matter of time.”

“But the potion the Priestess conjured, it
should have worked.” Whyn rose and reached for the glass decanter
on the table next to the bed. “You are still giving him the potion,
are you not?” He lifted the decanter to his nose and sniffed. The
familiar, but repugnant, odor made his stomach sick. “Gods, we have
been forcing it down his throat for weeks now. Why has it not
worked?”

The healer took the decanter from Whyn’s
shaking hand and set it back on the table. “His soul is in the
hands of the gods now, Lord Prince.”

“Well what about her god!” Whyn snapped.

Two male attendants spoke in hushed whispers,
their eyes watching Whyn cautiously.

The healer’s face grew stern. “Blasphemous
words about our Priestess will not save your father. You must
accept that which is meant to be.”

King Sedric moaned and stirred slightly. Whyn
threw himself back onto the chair by the bed and grabbed his
father’s hand. “Where is Mother? Why is she not here?” he asked the
healer.

“She has been by our lord’s side day and
night. Surely you would not deny her a moment’s rest?”

“No, I would not deny her,” Whyn conceded,
realizing his mother might be a selfish woman, but she always did
her duty by her husband.

For a moment Sedric’s breathing slowed, then
increased its rhythm to shallow, staccato breaths. His eyelids
fluttered as a tremble moved along his body, vibrating the
coverlets that were draped upon him.

Whyn felt the fear of the inevitable clench
his chest. “Fetch Mother immediately!” he ordered the healer. “The
rest of you—out!”

The healer nodded, and he, along with the
attendants, hustled out.

Whyn stared into his father’s skeletal face.
“I am here, Father.”

“Ruairi,” Sedric rasped.

“No, Father. It is Whyn.”

Sedric half-opened his eyes, the once vibrant
spark of them now dulled with pain. “Whyn,” he croaked.

“Yes, Father. Whyn.”

“Ruairi. Is he safe?”

“Of course he is safe.”

Sedric’s drawn features softened as a smile
wavered on his lips. But then his lungs exploded into spasms and
his eyes rolled back in his skull.

The coughing gradually eased. Whyn moistened
a cloth and dabbed the blood that was left on his father’s lips.
“No more talk, Father. You must save your strength.”

“Please, son, let my last words be those of
redemption,” Sedric whispered. He lifted a weak hand and Whyn took
hold of it.

“You need no redemption, Father. The gods
have prepared a special place for you. I only hope that I will be
as great a king as you have been.”

“I have been a good king, but a poor father,”
Sedric said.

“You have been a fine father,” Whyn
insisted.

Sedric turned his fading eyes to him. “No. I
could not save my son.”

“I told you, Ruairi is safe.”

“But you are not. The fire saved Ruairi . . .
but it will not save you.”

“What do you mean it will not save me?”

“The Priestess…” Then Sedric’s eyes grew wide
and staring, and a long last breath hissed from his lungs.

A sob escaped Whyn’s throat. “No, Father! You
cannot leave me. I need you.”

He threw himself across his father’s chest,
crying like a child. “Please stay with me. I do not know what to
do.”

“Lord Prince,” a voice boomed from the
doorway.

Whyn turned his tear-streaked face toward it,
but was too overwhelmed with grief to respond.

“The Priestess will see you now,” the priest
in the doorway said.

Whyn leapt up, his fists shaking. “How dare
you summon me when my father has just passed!” he said. “Leave
me!”

But the priest did not move.

“I said leave me!”

“You will come with me now,” the priest said.
Then he turned to the side and bowed his head to allow the Prince
to exit before him.

Whyn wiped the tears from his face with the
palm of his hand, then gazed down at his father one last time. “I
will be back soon, Father,” he said. “I promise.” He lifted his
head and stormed through the door, brushing past the priest without
a word.

When Whyn reached the temple, the Priestess
was not waiting for him in her usual receiving room, but in her
private chambers. He had never been to her room before; it would
not have been proper. His first instinct was to run in the other
direction, but his body was too weak with anxiety to run, and his
mind was too numb to invent a way out of it.

“My dear Prince,” the Priestess’ sultry voice
crooned as she rose from her dressing table bench. Whyn had not
seen her when he first entered; she had been half-hidden by shadows
in the corner of the room. Two young handmaidens could be seen at
her side, their identical heads bowed. The Priestess dismissed them
with a crisp command followed by a flick of her hand. They
scampered out of the room, leaving her alone with Whyn.

“Priestess,” Whyn said. He bowed at the waist
and remained in that position.

She circled him slowly, her long white
dressing gown sweeping the floor around him, but she did not motion
him to rise. “So, your father is dead,” she said.

“Yes, Priestess,” he said to the floor.

“And now you will be King.”

“Yes, Priestess.” Whyn could feel heat
building in his cheeks, but he could not tell if it was from
humiliation, or the blood rushing to his head.

The Priestess tilted his chin up with her
finger. “You may rise,” she said coolly.

He complied and pulled in a deep, but subtle,
breath. He could not allow his body language to reveal his
emotions. That would only serve to give her more power, and she had
enough of that already.

“We have business to attend to, Whyn,” she
said.

“But Father died only moments ago!”

“Do you question my authority?” she
asked.

“No, Priestess. I only thought—”

“You are not here to think. You are here to
obey.”

Whyn felt fury well within his breast.
Perhaps she was the supreme power of the Temple, but he was now
King. What right did she have to talk to him in such a manner? He
tightened his jaw, then said, “I am King of Tearia and as such I
feel we are due mutual respect.”

Her eyes flashed like lightening and she
raised her arms upward, lifting him by an invisible force into the
air. He lingered there for a moment, then she slammed him to the
floor. His cheekbone cracked as it met the tile.

“You are due nothing!” she hissed.

Whyn raised himself onto all fours, then
reached a hand to his throbbing face. He looked up at her with
contempt; there was no way he could disguise it.

“Oh, dear,” she said with feigned sympathy.
“I fear that is going to bruise.”

Whyn staggered to his feet and watched as she
walked to an ornately framed full-length mirror.

“Come,” she ordered.

Whyn did as he was told, his hand still on
his throbbing cheek, and stood before the mirror, watching her pale
eyes stare at his reflection.

“Remove your hand.”

Whyn slowly moved his hand away. His face was
swollen and already bruising. Clearly the bone was fractured.

“Oh, my. And you had such a pretty face.”

Whyn wanted to glare at the callousness of
her remark, but he kept his expression in check. If she was capable
of this, what else was she capable of?

The Priestess smiled, then swept her hand
before his face. In an instant the injury disappeared, leaving his
features as smooth as they had been before. “How did you do that?”
he gasped. He leaned in toward the mirror, running his fingers
along his cheek. It didn’t even hurt.

“I am capable of much more.” She strolled to
a velvet cushioned chaise and draped herself across it. She
gestured to a nearby stool and motioned him to sit.

Whyn walked over stiffly and lowered himself
to the stool.

“Now that we have come to an understanding
regarding the issue of respect,” she said, “we have business to
discuss. It seems your brother has not faded as was expected. He
has, in fact, become the topic of increased discussion as of
late.”

“You mean the Prophecy,” Whyn said.

The Priestess’s distaste was immediately
apparent. “Yes, the Prophecy. But the issue will be solved soon
enough. And you will be the one to solve it.”

“But what can I do? I do not even know where
he is.”

The Priestess plucked a grape from a nearby
bowl of fruit and popped it into her mouth. “Then you must find
him.”

“And do what?”

“What do you think?”

“But he is my brother!”

The Priestess’s eyes flared. “What is your
point?”

“You would ask me to kill my own
brother?”

“Not ask, Whyn—tell. Was it not you who
pledged your full support? Was it not you that said no sacrifice
was too great for Tearia.”

“But the Goddess said he was only to
fade.”

“Do not forget there are other gods who work
against Her.”

“Then it is the Goddess’s will that I do this
thing?”

“Yes, and mine. You owe me much, Whyn. Do not
forget the role I played in your brother’s disinheritance. Your
parents did not have the courage to do it until I gave you the
information needed to persuade them. No doubt they thought
disinheritance preferable to his death at my hand. Without me, he
might be king-heir still. And what of Cinnia? You said you wanted
her, did you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“That you feared your father would not allow
a union between you because of your brother?”

Whyn swallowed thickly. “Yes, Priestess, I
said those things. But Cinnia said she loved me and wanted me,
too.”

“Of course she did, after I was finished with
her.” The Priestess rose and moved to her dressing table, then
lifted a brush and swept it through her long, white hair. “Cinnia
is such a beautiful child. She did not like it when I showed her
what it felt like to have hands like your brother’s. It was
illusion only. But it could have just as easily been real.”

Whyn rose from the stool and felt his blood
drain to his feet. “You mean she does not love me?”

“Of course she loves you. Never fear. You
have her heart as well as her body.” She curled her lips into a
smile. “But I have the rest of her.”

Whyn’s mind raced as he replayed their
agreement and all the events that had happened since. “Why did you
have me attempt reconciliation with Reiv? And why have me give him
the sword?”

The Priestess threw the brush onto the
dressing table, sending bottled potions skittering across it and
crashing to the floor. “Because I expected him to attack you with
it, fool!” she snapped. “Then the guards could have taken care of
him right then and there. But the cursed boy did not even touch
it.” She ground her teeth. “I always knew he was more trouble than
he was worth. I should have taken care of him sooner. That was my
original plan. His injuries gave me pause, but even as a Jecta he
continues to plague me. If only I’d arranged for him to die from
the fever that took him after the accident.”

She spun to face him. “Enough of what could
have been. We need to discuss what will be. I have received word
that a band of Jecta insurgents has been meeting. Our
interrogations of suspects have turned up nothing, and the cells
are filling. They are plotting against us, Whyn, and must be
stopped. If they gather enough sympathy to their cause, and if talk
continues about the Unnamed One, we will have more on our hands
than we bargained for. I have received a document that may give us
the information we need to defeat them. It may take time to
interpret, so we must gather our forces and make a swift show of
power. Your family may grieve in private tonight. The announcement
of the King’s death and public condolences will begin tomorrow. But
the formalities cannot be allowed to drag on. I have arranged for
your coronation to take place in six days.”

“But burial is always delayed eight days in
order for the soul to—”

“I said six! Then the Purge must begin.”

“Purge?” Whyn felt as though his legs were
about to go out from under him. “Surely you do not mean—”

“That is exactly what I mean. The time has
come for Tearia to be rid of the boils on her backside. It is time
for Tearia to be purified once and for all.”

“Priestess, I do not think I can be a part of
such a plan.” Whyn tensed, prepared for whatever was to come.
Instead she floated toward him and ran her finger slowly down his
neck, stopping at his breastbone.

She planted her palm upon his chest. “You
have left me no doubt as to what must be done now, Whyn. I do not
have time for subtleties. The Purge must begin. And it must begin
with you.”

The hand upon Whyn’s chest suddenly felt like
fire burning through him. He cried out and struggled to retreat,
but it was as though her flesh had melted into his, connecting them
as one. He could not move, his arms, feet, and lips unable to offer
a single defense. She pulled his startled gaze into hers, and her
icy blue eyes turned black as coal. He could feel her hand within
his breast, reaching for his quivering heart. But then he realized
it wasn’t his heart she was reaching for, it was his soul.

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Chapter 25: The Fire and the Light

N
annaven struggled up
the rocky hillside, slipping and sliding over the gravel that
littered the overgrown path. Once she could have run up that trail
without a moment’s hesitation, but that was when she was but a
girl, and many rotations around the sun had passed since then. She
paused and wiped the sweat from her brow, leaning a hand on her
knee to calm her labored breaths. The cave wasn’t much further now.
At least she didn’t think it was.