Warrior of the Isles (13 page)

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Authors: Debbie Mazzuca

BOOK: Warrior of the Isles
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Evangeline hovered nearby, wringing her hands.
“I think I shall claim you as mine right here, right now.”
Syrena squeezed her eyes shut. There had to be something she could do, but she was powerless against his strength.
Magick.
Think, think
, she commanded her fear-addled brain. In her mind she shouted the first words to come to her, not knowing whether they were right or wrong. A moment later, his weight lifted and a light breeze caressed her face. A relieved sob escaped her bruised throat.
Forcing her eyes open, she scanned the wood for some sign of him. He was nowhere to be found. But before she could revel in her freedom, the fact her magick finally worked, the branches overhead shook. Her gaze followed the path of the leaves fluttering to the ground at her feet, and her relieved smile turned to a frown.
Magnus hung upside down, struggling against the iron chains that bound him. An ominous crack reverberated through the forest as the branch protested his weight.
She turned to Evangeline. Her maid gave an imperceptible shrug of her shoulder then held out her hand. “Come, my lady, he won't remain confined for long.”
She should have known it was her handmaiden's magick that had worked, not her own. She hurried to Evangeline's side, risking one last glance at the king, who attempted to spit the rag from his mouth.
“Matteus, Andras,” he bellowed as they transported to Syrena's chambers.
Standing beside her bed, she hugged Evangeline. “Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you. At first I thought my magick had worked. I wonder—”
She followed Evangeline's pointed stare and looked down. A heated flush suffused her cheeks. Her spell hadn't removed Magnus, it had removed her gown. Once more proving her stepmother right. She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “What am I going to do?”
In the midst of clothing her in sapphire blue robes dotted with crystals, Evangeline said, “You have to come up with a reason not to go through with the betrothal. He's powerful, princess, and his word carries some weight now that he holds all the lands in the Far North.”
Evangeline misunderstood. Syrena referred to Aidan and her brother, but her handmaiden was right. She had to deal with King Magnus, and if he was as powerful as Evangeline insinuated, it did not bode well for her. Tucking an errant curl into place, she took a steadying breath. “I have to confront Morgana. I only wish I understood why she agreed to the match in the first place.”
Evangeline adjusted the crown on Syrena's head. “It's an easy way to have you gone from the Enchanted Isles, but knowing the Queen, I suspect there's something more behind her decision.”
“Of course there is. As Queen of the Far North, I would lose the Sword of Nuada. But still, I find it hard to believe knowing how she feels about men that she would turn me over to someone like Magnus.”
Evangeline gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I'm sorry, princess. I understand how difficult this is for you. Be strong, you cannot let her get away with this. The Fae need you.”
“I don't know. What if my father and the angels were mistaken? I'm no closer to returning my brother to the Isles. In fact, I'm almost certain that after today I never will.” Her chest felt so tight she could barely breathe. How had everything gone so wrong?
“It will all work out,” Evangeline said as though she knew how close Syrena was to breaking down.
“Come with me, please. I can't do this alone.”
Evangeline hesitated then nodded. As they walked from her chambers, they were greeted by the sounds of angry voices reverberating off the vaulted glass ceiling. Syrena groaned.
“This is your home, your kingdom, princess. Fight for it.” The fierceness in Evangeline's tone startled Syrena, but she was right. For now, Lachlan and Aidan would have to wait. She could not let her stepmother usurp her place.
Lifting her chin, she strengthened her resolve, hiding her fear behind a mask of haughty disdain.
Magnus stood in the center of the hall, flanked by two men, her stepmother and her handmaiden Nessa to his right. Arms crossed over his chest, he raked Syrena with a bone-chilling look. One of his companions, a younger version of the king, took a menacing step toward her.
“Hold.” Magnus waved him back.
“She insulted you, brother. She should be made to pay for the slight.”
“She will.” The threat in Magnus's tone was implicit.
She faltered, her foot slipping off the last step.
Morgana came forward, her magenta robes swishing across the marble floor. “Syrena, what is the meaning of this? King Magnus has—”
“I wish to speak with you in private, Morgana. The crystal room, if you please.”
Her stepmother's eyes widened and she exchanged an uncertain look with Nessa. Intent on retaining the façade of cool confidence—despite the frantic beating of her heart—Syrena had no time to wonder at the exchange.
Praying her stepmother would follow, she walked toward the heavy, gilt-framed doors. But Morgana didn't follow her.
Instead she stood in front of Evangeline and waved over three of the royal guards. “See that she remains here until I'm ready to deal with her.”
At Syrena's outraged gasp, Morgana leveled her with an implacable stare. “She has much to answer for.”
Evangeline stared straight ahead as though Morgana's words did not affect her, but Syrena saw her lips pinch and bright spots of color appear on her cheeks.
“What . . . what are you talking about?” She ignored Magnus, who leaned against the white marble column, a look of amusement glinting in his gaze.
Her stepmother waved a dismissive hand. “You seemed anxious to speak with me—shall we?” She whirled on Syrena as soon as the door's closed behind them. “Now what is the meaning of this? You may be a princess, but I am Queen, and I will not be ordered about like that again, do you understand me?” Her eyes flashed, an angry flush working its way up her long, elegant neck.
Syrena fought the urge to flinch in the face of Morgana's wrath. If she had any hope of saving herself from an unwanted marriage and protecting Evangeline, she had to take a stand now. Crossing her arms, she hid her trembling hands from her stepmother. “Have I missed something, Morgana? I didn't realize you were now in possession of the Sword of Nuada.”
“I will have . . .” Her stepmother raised her chin and eyed Syrena with what appeared to be interest. “It is unlike you to show backbone, Syrena. Is it because I agreed to your betrothal with King Magnus?”
“I will not marry him, Morgana. You had no right to make the arrangement behind my back.”
“
I
went behind
your
back? No, that would be what you have done. And as far as your marriage is concerned, it was an alliance your father negotiated just days before his death. I don't understand why you're so upset, you must have known. I knew, as did Bana and Erwn, although I can tell you neither of them was pleased with your father's decision.”
“My father and the angels bequeathed the sword to me with all that encompasses. So it matters not what arrangements he made prior to his death.”
Her stepmother appeared unruffled, but Syrena noted the tell-a-tale twitch in her eye, her long fingernails curling into her palms. “Maybe not, but you lack the level of magick required to lead, Syrena. You are too young, too inexperienced to rule on your own, and you know it as well as I. That's why we decided we would rule together.”
“We did, but as you seem intent on ruling without me, I consider the arrangement null and void from this point on.”
“You think to overthrow me, usurp my position as Queen?” Drawing herself to her full height, Morgana made Syrena feel small and inept. Reminding her just what she was up against. Many of the Fae already had aligned themselves with her stepmother. Before she managed a response, Morgana tapped a finger to her painted lips. “Perhaps there is something you should see before you give me your answer.”
With a flick of her wrist, the black scrying mirror appeared in her stepmother's hand. “I think it best if you sit for this, my dear.” A feral smile curled her lips, and she nudged Syrena toward the white velvet chaise.
Syrena sat on the edge of the divan, tension coiling low in her belly. Sweeping her gown from beneath her, Morgana took her place beside Syrena, holding the mirror in the palm of her hands. “Look.”
She forced her gaze to the black agate. Tendrils of gray smoke slithered over its polished surface. When the mist lifted, her brother and Aidan came into sharp relief. “Oh,” she gasped, touching Aidan's bruised face.
“Tsk, tsk, a Mortal? Really, Syrena, what would the Fae think?”
She jerked her hand away. She should have known what Morgana was up to.
“I . . .” When Aidan came to his feet, she saw her deer, lying on the forest floor in a pool of blood, a dagger protruding from her chest. She clapped a hand over her mouth, holding back the nauseous waves that leapt to her throat. He'd killed her deer. He'd killed that poor, helpless creature, and all because of her. She closed her eyes to shut out the sickening sight.
“He killed the animal, but does he mean to kill your brother as well?” Morgana trilled.
The question ripped through the heavy weight of Syrena's grief, and her eyes shot open.
Lachlan was bent over, clutching his stomach. “A shame, he only hit him.” Her stepmother's pitiless laugh filled her with revulsion.
“You knew. You knew all along.”
Morgana arched a brow then shrugged. “No, not all along.” She patted Syrena's knee as though nothing were amiss. “Now shall I tell you what they are saying about you? I'm adept at reading lips, you know.” She didn't wait for a response from Syrena, as if she would be able to give one.
“Hmm, oh my, the man, Aidan, isn't it? Well, I'm afraid now that he knows your true identity, he doesn't want anything to do with you, nor, it seems, does your brother. They really do despise you. I suppose that will make it rather difficult to bring your brother back to the Isles. That was your plan, wasn't it?”
Morgana smiled pleasantly, as though she hadn't just crushed Syrena's hopes and dreams. Torn her heart from her chest and ground it beneath the heel of her purple slippers. Syrena pressed her palm to her mouth to contain her anguished sob, but it was as useless as trying to contain the tears that spilled from her eyes.
“There, there.” Her stepmother patted her shoulder awkwardly. “It must be clear to you now, Syrena, that you need me and, I suppose, I need you. So let's put this unpleasantness behind us and rule as we agreed.” She sighed. “Enough, you'll make yourself sick. You must learn to control your emotions, child. Men are not worth the pain they cause. I thought you'd learned that lesson with your father.”
Laying the scrying mirror on the chaise, Morgana rose to her feet, tugging Syrena along with her. “Dry your eyes, we have much to do. Our first order of business is to get rid of his majesty. I suppose it was unfair of me to push for the marriage, but really, you left me no choice going behind my back as you did. Well, that's over with now, isn't it?” She pressed a cool kiss to Syrena's cheek. “We'll get back to how we once were, mother and daughter. Oh, the plans I have for us.”
Syrena stood in stunned silence while Morgana dried her tears and straightened her crown. “There, you are somewhat presentable. Now, leave the talking to me.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her, and she barely managed to swallow it before Morgana dragged her from the room to face Magnus. Her mind bombarded with visions of her deer, Aidan, and Lachlan, she didn't hear a word her stepmother said to him.
Magnus loomed over her, startling her from her stupor, his gaze as threatening as the anger that radiated from him. “One day you'll pay for this. You all will.”
He stormed from the palace, his men trailing behind him. The doors shuddered and all held their breath, prepared for them to fall from their moorings.
“Syrena, pull yourself together. You can retire to your chambers after we deal with your handmaiden.”
“What are you talking about, Morgana? Evangeline has done nothing wrong.”
“Most would disagree. She's being charged with the murder of your father.”
“No!” Syrena cried out.
Morgana merely raised a hand to silence her, and continued, “She has been in your uncle's employ since the day she arrived. The evidence is conclusive. It's my belief King Rohan wanted your father dead to further his ambitions. The trial is set for—”
“No, it can't be true.” She pushed aside the guards. “Evangeline?”
“Of course it isn't, my lady. The accusations are false.”

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