Sworn To Conflict: Courtlight #3 (31 page)

“Will your companions rise, as well?” said Sebastian.

“None of them were of royal blood.”

“I’ll take it that as a no,” murmured Ciardis.

Thanar held out his hands. “I assume you wish to put manacles on me.”

“You assume rightly,” said Vana in a flat and unfriendly tone.

The Daemoni prince was bound, chained, and dragged off to await his fate. Ciardis stepped forward to Sebastian’s side and looked around at the bloody battlefield. The snowy Northern Mountains provided the perfect backdrop to a valley awash with red blood.

A
s she turned from the vista to speak with Sebastian, she looked over and nearly panicked. The prince heir was swaying in the wind – exhaustion written on his face. Hurriedly, Ciardis rushed forward to catch him as he fell to one knee. She grabbed him around the shoulders, slowing his fall and sinking down under his weight.

“Sebastian!! Sebastian!” she called out frantically as she watched him fall unconscious. She had no idea what was going on. No wounds marred his skin and no magical attack was present. His guards immediately mustered and two carried him away from the battlefield while another forcibly grabbed a healer and pulled him along in the Prince Heir’s wake.

His guard took him to his command tent not far in the distance and Ciardis stepped back as the healer went to work, tearing the armor from his sides with the help of the guard and then assessing his condition while he lay unconscious on his bed.

Hovering near the back, Ciardis could see that his skin was a deathly pale and numerous cuts stood out on his face while a mottled purple bruise bloomed all down his right side.

The male bearded healer grunted occasionally but didn’t say anything.

Ciardis rushed forward once, afraid for Sebastian’s life when the healer punctured him with a needle and Sebastian didn’t even respond. It was a big damned needle and should have elicited at least a yelp. A guardsman caught her by the arm and shook his head. “That’s the best healer in the Imperial courts. He knows what he’s doing.”

Ciardis shook her head, frightened. “He’s so pale. How can he still be alive?”

“Hope,” whispered the guard.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside of the tent. Ciardis heard Kane’s voice yelling and she quickly exited the tent to calm him. “I’m fine, Kane. It was the prince that was hurt.”

He nodded stiffly and fell back, “I’ll wait for you here then.”

Ciardis returned to the tent to see that the healer was done tending to Sebastian.

“That’s it?” Ciardis said. “No magic? No casting? You only gave him an injection!”

The bearded man looked over at her in surprise. “Sometimes the best cure is rest. And in the Prince Heir’s case, rest is sorely needed. It was physical and mental exhaustion that caused him to collapse.”

“What about his skin? He’s so pale,” Ciardis said, reaching over to take Sebastian’s hand in hers.

“And cold.”

The healer sighed and answered as if she was an irritation, “I cannot explain why, but the toll of the Prince Heir’s magic is greater on his body than the price a normal mage would pay. He used his gifts in a way not seen in ages. And in doing so caused his body to pay the price, if you will. The response was dramatic and indicative of the dire consequences that may happen to him if he uses too much power too quickly, particularly as his gifts have only recently returned to him.”

He looked down his nose at her, waiting on another outburst.

Ciardis pursed her lips and managed to mutter, “Thank you,” as the healer left.

She held Prince Sebastian’s cold hand and gripped it tightly.

As she watched his eyelids began to flutter as if he were going to wake up. He groaned shortly after, but it took a minute more before she saw the beautiful green eyes framed in his pale face.

Ciardis gave him a trembling smile. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

He smiled back. “Guess the battle’s over, then.”

“You don’t remember? Your memory might be affected. We need to call the healer back.”

She turned abruptly to his guard to have him summon the man back before Sebastian’s chuckle emerged. “I was teasing you.”

He squeezed her hand gently. Nothing else needed to be said.

She gave him a trembling smile and the spell was broken.

To his guards, he said softly, “You may leave.” The three of them filed out without a word.

He tried to sit up and fell back with a curse. She released his hand and hurried to help him by bunching the pillows under his back.

Sebastian cleared his throat and looked up at her. “What happened?”

“You collapsed,” Ciardis said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Sebastian tried to sit up again and she hastily pressed him back down on the bed by his shoulders. “You need to rest. Healer’s orders.”

“I need to be with my men,” Sebastian said firmly.

“Not now,” she said just as resolutely. “Just rest. You’ve only been out for a few minutes. The world won’t end if you’re gone for an hour at most.”

“Ciardis, there are orders to be given.”

“Then have one of your men take up the command,” she said in exasperation. “Between the magic you used to impress Barnaren and the physical work of battling the shades you collapsed in exhaustion. You need rest.”

“I wasn’t trying to impress him.”

“You were,” she said, glaring at him, “and it worked, but now the magic has taken its toll.”

He settled back on the pillows with a glare. He wasn’t happy. She glared back. She wasn’t moving.

Finally, Sebastian called out, “Ames!”

“Sir?” said the guard coming in.

“Who is in command?”

“The major, sir,” said the guard with a salute.

“Have him come see me.”

The guard nodded. “He’s outside, sir.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow and said, “Then let him in.”

The next minute the major walked in and sat down to confer with Sebastian on their plan of action. Top priorities were to account for all wounded and dead, set a perimeter, and keep watch over the Daemoni prisoner. Once agreed, the major left with a promise to check back in a few hours.

“Satisfied?” Sebastian said.

“No,” she said with a frown.

He opened his mouth to protest and closed it with audible
click
when she got up and moved so that her body was snuggled next to his and her arms were around his shoulders.

They said nothing for the moment. Ciardis felt the slow rise and fall of Sebastian’s bare chest under her hand. She was trying to avoid touching the angry bruise he had going down his right half.

She said, “I thought you had died, Sebastian. That you had left me alone. That we would never kiss again, never speak again, never touch again.”

He shifted his head slightly underneath her chin so that his head rested on her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for worrying you,” he whispered.

“You should be.”

He laughed gently.

Shifting his head, he said with hope in his voice, “Speaking of kisses...”

She swatted his shoulder. “No.”

“But—”

“No, the healer says you need to rest—”

“But I feel fine,” he whined.

“Go to sleep, Sebastian,” she whispered. “There’s much to do tomorrow.”

“Will you be here?”

“I will.”

As he drifted off she laid a chaste kiss on his hair and a single tear dropped onto his head. Gripping the Prince Heir tightly, she, too, drifted off to sleep.

When she woke it was because of noise outside of the tent.

A guard was whispering, “Prince Heir Sebastian. Lady Weathervane. The major is here to report to you.”

Ciardis shifted, preparing to rise up and tell them that the Prince Heir was still resting.

Sebastian beat her to it. “Come in.”

She still stood up. Sebastian groaned at the removal of her presence from his bed.

The major cleared his throat and entered the room.

He nodded briefly to Ciardis. “Four hours have passed, sire. It is approaching the early evening. We lost two hundred men in the skirmishes, with many more wounded.”

Sebastian nodded and with a wince sat up in the bed. Ciardis moved forward as if to stop him, and he said, “No, I need to see to the wounded, Ciardis.”

“Besides,” Sebastian said casually, “if I collapse again, at least it’ll be in the healer’s tent.”

She didn’t find it amusing.

Leaning forward, he grabbed her hand, ignoring the major. “You need to get your own rest. I’ll come to you later. We have much to discuss.”

She nodded reluctantly. “I’ll be in my tent.”

L
ight had barely fled from the day when Lady Serena appeared again, this time finding Ciardis alone in her tent. She was bent over a notepad, a gift from Kane, and scribbled with her chin in her hand. When Lady Serena came in Ciardis flicked her eyes back to the door, wondering where Kane was. He had refused a replacement, even after everything that had happened, and had escorted her back to her tent that night.

“He’s still there,” Lillian said, dropping the concealment charm on her form.

Ciardis closed her notebook with a snap and slid back on her cot.

“Mother, there’s something that I have been wondering.”

Lillian looked over at her from the door for a moment.

“What is it, Ciardis?”

Ciardis fiddled with the threads of the blanket next to her and looked her mother directly in the eye. “If you killed the empress while pregnant with Caemon and me, how is it Sebastian younger than me?”

Lillian came forward with a small twitch of her lips and Ciardis invited her without words to sit.  Her mother shook her head and smiled quickly to take away the sting of the refusal.

“If you had paid the least bit of attention to all those protocol history lessons that I gave you during your training, you would know,” she said, gripping Ciardis’s hand.

“I listened,” muttered Ciardis, shifting around uncomfortably.

“Uh-huh. Well, the answer to your question is that the emperor is twice a widower. His first wife was murdered, and the second, Sebastian’s mother, died of the plague.”

Ciardis frowned. “But—”

Lillian put a gentle finger to her lips. “I didn’t come here to speak of the past. Not tonight, daughter.”

She dropped her finger and gathered her shawl around her, moving to the tent’s entrance.

“Then why did you come?”

“I had hoped you would come with me to visit with your brother,” she murmured.

Surprise and shame filtered through Ciardis. With all that had happened since she had returned to camp that day, she had pushed Caemon from her mind.

“I would like that,” she said quickly while standing.

She threw on a cloak and ducked outside the tent.

Kane looked Ciardis questioningly. Inga flashed white teeth next to him. Ciardis guessed she shouldn’t be surprised now. Where Kane went, so did Inga. And vice versa.

Her eyes widened when she looked around and saw four other frost giants posted at strategic points within running distance of her tent.

“Can’t be too careful,” said Kane.

“Especially not with you,” said Inga. “You trip, you fall in muck. You run, you end up in danger. You walk, you get held at knifepoint. You—”

“I get it, Inga,” Ciardis said hastily. “I’m clumsy.”

The frost giantess looked at her. “No, you’re an idiot. But you’re my idiot, so I tolerate it.”

“Thanks,” Ciardis muttered.

She looked over at Kane with pleading eyes, mostly to get him to save her from Inga’s tirade. He took the cue with a wink and stood. “So where are you off to?”

“To see Caemon in the healer’s camp,” Ciardis said.

“Then I will be happy to accompany you, my lady,” Kane said with a swift bow. He winced coming back up.

“Another idiot,” Inga said chidingly. “You know that wound in your stomach hasn’t healed yet. Why would you bend, straining the stiches in the process?”

Kane had the grace to look embarrassed. “I forgot.”

Inga snorted and Ciardis heard a distinct chuckle from the newly veiled Lady Serena behind her.

“Let’s go,” announced Ciardis. Inga gestured two of her frost giantesses forward. They carried lit torches in front of the group. Kane and Inga moved to the benches that lined the front row of the main healer’s tent and gestured for rest of the party to leave them there. They would wait outside. Serena and Ciardis walked in through the white fabric and gossamer layers that kept snow and ice from drifting into the tent even when the door was open. It only took a moment for Ciardis to locate Caemon in the well-lit room.

Only three beds were occupied, and only one had a bandage-wrapped individual lying on it. Ciardis and Serena hurried over. Carefully Lady Serena looked around while Ciardis knelt next to her convalescent brother’s side. She gently took his bandaged hand in hers and whispered in his ear, “Caemon?” Tears almost choked her voice. She felt despair at seeing him like this. Wondering if he would ever be well.

Serena must have decided it was safe because she knelt down, as well, and dropped the concealment from her features. Lady Lillian Weathervane knelt across the bed from her daughter and looked carefully down at her son, her black curls falling in her face in a familiar tumble.  Ciardis realized that except for the color, her mother’s hair was just like her own.

She reached across the bed to grab Lillian’s free hand and squeezed it. Her mother returned the squeeze and looked up from her son’s face.

“Do not worry, my beautiful daughter. Caemon will live. Caemon will thrive. He has to. He’s a Weathervane,” she whispered softly.

“He looks as if he’s dying, Mother.”

At that moment a quiet cough interrupted the two female Weathervanes and they looked down in surprise at the boy whose hands they clasped. His eyes were open and his mouth twitched into a smile upon seeing the two of them staring down at him.

“Was...wa...” Caemon tried to speak.

Ciardis understood immediately. She stood up and rushed to back of the tent to fill a small cup with cold water.

Coming back to Caemon, she leaned over him and carefully let a small amount fall into his mouth while Lillian gently lifted his head. He must have been parched, because he drank the entire cup in small sips.