WindSeeker (10 page)

eyes. He walked to Conar and reached out an unsure hand.

"Marsh?" Conar asked, again, his voice sweet and silky.

"Aye, Commander?" Marsh didn’t like that tone any better.

"Don’t spill it." Conar smiled.

"Aye, Commander." With a grim, expectant look on his bearded face, Marsh reached for the pot. No

one would put it past the prince to let go of the damned thing at the last moment. He heaved a sigh of

relief when Conar held it long enough for him to get a good grip on the white porcelain handles. He

looked up in relief.

"Thank you, Marsh."

Marsh let out a long breath. "You are welcome, Highness," he said from between clenched teeth,

deliberately adding the title he knew Conar detested.

From his place beside the door, Storm couldn’t stifle a giggle. Marsh’s face went red, from his bright

blond hair to his darker gold beard. His green eyes squinted with exasperation, but his lips twitched as

Conar settled back in bed.

"You find this amusing, Jale?" Conar asked as he pulled the coverlet over his legs.

The smile quickly vanished from Storm’s young face. "No, Highness."

"That’s good, Jale," Conar said with one tawny brow raised. "We wouldn’t want Marsh to think you

were laughing at him, now, would we?"

"No, Commander!" Storm snapped out with military precision. A light knock at the door saved him from

further rebukes. He looked at Conar, who nodded. Storm, with great relief, swung open the door.

Gezelle, a tray of food in her hand, looked closely at the prince, searching for signs of weakness and

illness, and when she was satisfied he was, indeed, well, she advanced into the room.

"Your lady sent up everything you like, Milord."

Conar looked at the tray she placed in his lap and grinned. Crisp bacon, lightly scrambled eggs, toast,

jam, fried potatoes, and a wedge of tangy cheese, made his mouth water. He took up his fork and

crammed a large portion of eggs into his mouth.

"There is apple cider and hot tea," Gezelle told him. "Sadie will bring them up."

Conar’s brow rose. "Sadie’s gonna climb the stairs to bring me juice?"

"We have been worried about you, Milord. I would say most of the staff will be visiting between now

and the time you are up." She smiled at his beaming face, then wiped his chin where a bit of egg had

clung. "And your food is being tasted before you get it."

He bit into a piece of bacon, feeling genuinely pleased. "You’ll make some man a wonderful wife one

day, ’Zelle."

"Some day."

"Don’t you want a husband?" he asked around a mouthful of toast.

"When the time is right." Her gaze slid from his. "When the man is right."

"But, of course, I shall have to approve of the bastard."

Gezelle shook her head. "So you keep telling me, Milord."

" ’Tis the gods’ truth, ’Zelle."

"Aye, Milord." She picked up some discarded clothing, headed for the door, and waited for Storm to

open it.

"And he’d best be good to you, too!" Conar snarled. "Else, you’ll be a widow soon enough!"

Gezelle laughed. "Then, best you find me a rich man, Milord!"

Conar chuckled as Storm shut the door behind her. He looked at the Elite and shrugged. Storm

wouldn’t do; he was married. He turned to Marsh Edan and watched the man as he sat polishing a pair

of Conar’s boots.

Marsh was good-looking. He was tall, six-foot-four or five. He was dark despite his golden hair and

green eyes. There was a strength of purpose in his lean, square, bearded jaw, and Conar knew the man

to be scrupulously honest and very religious. He was third in command behind Thom and Storm in the

Elite and he was definitely a prime consideration in husband hunting.

Gazing intently at the man, Conar folded his arms behind his head and chewed his bacon. When Marsh

happened to glance up and find his prince’s eyes on him, the Elite stilled.

"Marsh?" Conar inquired in a serious voice.

There was a slight hesitation before Marsh answered. "Aye, Commander?"

"Have you a mistress?"

Marsh’s mouth dropped open. There was another one of those odd gleams in his prince’s eye. With a

long, drawn-out breath, Marsh answered. "No, Highness." That gleam sparkled at the unintended insult

and Marsh felt an uneasy tingle down his spine. "Why, Sir?"

Conar’s grin was sly. "Have you thought about Gezelle?"

* * *

Conar had been ordered to stay in bed for the remainder of the week. He was not a happy invalid and,

when he was finally allowed to leave his chambers, he was trailed everywhere by at least two of his Elite

and several others who just
happened
to be lurking about.

Usually Marsh and Storm were his bird-dogs, but sometimes it was Marsh and Thom. Occasionally, it

was all three. Conar would eye them with annoyance, order them to leave him alone, but they stuck to

him like tar, so he finally gave up complaining to his father and Legion about their presence and, if not

accepting it, at least adjusted to it.

It was on the sixth day after the incident in the garden that Conar was allowed outside. He had asked to

be allowed to go to the Temple to give thanks for his life, and Cayn had granted his permission. The King

agreed, as well, with one provision: he must not go alone. His shadows would be following at a discreet,

but within arrow-range, distance.

"Better now, Your Grace?" James Brigman asked as Conar came into the altar room. The thin priest

with the tonsure had come twice to visit his prince while Conar was convalescing.

"I think so." He glanced back at Marsh and Thom, who had paused at the door. "I’d feel better if I

wasn’t followed about like a child."

James smiled. "But those who love you would not." He unfolded a small oblong of material and extended

it toward his prince.

Conar accepted the prayer stole that was required, thanking James as the priest bowed and left him

alone to pray.

After kissing the fringed hem of the pale blue stole where the Great God’s name was stitched in gold

thread, Conar draped it around his neck. He glanced about, saw he was alone, then knelt before the

Altar of Alel, bowing his head as he brought his fingers to his heart in respect.

Closing his eyes, he began to recite the prayers of thanks that were Alel’s due for having given his life

back to him. He could feel his men’s eyes on him as they stood in the doorway, but he tried to blot out

their presence and concentrate on his prayers.

"You may leave," a voice broke the silence.

Conar opened his eyes, looked up at the face of his god, and sighed.

"With all due respect, Your Holiness, we are to stay with His Grace," Thom said, his voice tight with

anger. "The King has ordered us to—"

"You may not be here!" the voice barked. "This is a holy place. You are not permitted within this room."

Conar craned his neck to look behind him at the commotion in the doorway.

"His Majesty has ordered us to guard the prince," Marsh snapped, not about to be intimidated by the

man who was trying to make them leave.

"He needs no protection within the walls of this Temple!"

"We are to guard him!"

Kaileel Tohre raised one long, taloned finger and pointed it at the majestic statue of the Great God Alel

standing behind the altar. "Prince Conar is guarded by Alel, Himself!" He glared at Thom Loure. "Leave,

else I will have my guards remove you!"

Conar saw Thom look around the priest to him and he nodded his acceptance.

"Are you sure, Commander?" Thom asked.

Conar glanced at Kaileel and then turned, locking his gaze with Thom’s. "I’ll be all right, Thommy." He

didn’t look back at Tohre as he spoke again. "No one would dare harm me here, would they, Tohre?"

Tohre glared back at Conar then turned his icy glower to the Elite. "You heard him! Go!"

Conar faced the altar, deliberately closing his eyes, continuing his prayers. As he finished his last words,

he felt a movement close behind. His hand eased down to the dagger at his bandaged thigh.

"Do you really think I would harm you, Conar?"

Without looking at the man, Conar got up from the floor and took the stole from his neck. He kissed its

hem and laid it on the altar. As he turned to leave, he swept over Kaileel Tohre with a piercing look of

contempt. Tohre’s hated voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Alel kept His promise to you. You must now keep yours to Him."

Conar didn’t turn. "What the hell do you want, Tohre?"

Kaileel glided silently forward until he was only a few inches behind Conar. " ’Tis not what I want, sweet

prince, but what He wants of you."

Conar took a step back, his mouth lifted in a sneer. "And you presume to know what Alel wants? The

Great God would never lower Himself to consult with the likes of you."

"Do not speak to me in that disrespectful tone. You have been told before not to do that." He took a

step closer, surprised when Conar held his ground. "I would have thought you had learned your lesson in

how to behave. Perhaps you need a reminder."

"You no longer have a hold on me, Tohre." Conar felt his stomach lurch, but he closed the distance

between them until he was almost nose to nose with the man. "You will never have a hold on me again."

Kaileel stiffened. He could smell the warm scent of cinnamon oil wafting from the prince’s body and his

nostrils quivered with delight. He ached to put a hand on the young man’s freshly-shaven cheek, to touch

his smooth lips, but he forced himself to stillness.

"I wouldn’t be so sure, Conar," Tohre answered, his gaze going down Conar’s tall frame.

"Screw yourself," Conar said sweetly and started to walk away.

"I will not allow you to ignore me!"

Conar turned. His face burned with loathing. "Leave me alone, Tohre. I mean it."

"The obligation must be met, Conar. Your duty is to perform what is expected of you."

"I have no obligation beyond what I, myself, feel."

"Alel spoke to me in my bedchamber at the Great Abbey. You remember my bedchamber, do you not,

Conar?"

Conar clenched his jaw and spoke through grinding teeth. "Damn you to the Abyss, Kaileel. I’ll not play

these vile games with you!"

"The Brotherhood plays no games with you. They are deadly serious in what they do." His voice

lowered. "In what they want from you."

"I know that well enough, but what they want and what they are going to get are altogether different!"

"Be warned, Conar. You will pay for the insults you fling at us!"

"There’s nothing you or the rest of them can do to me anymore, Kaileel."

"They will take your woman, your handmaiden, from you. She’ll be given to another!"

"What the hell does Gezelle have to do with this?"

Kaileel came to him, his grin a lethal sneer of revenge. "Despite the times you have lain with that whoring

bitch, she is not your woman, Conar, although she would surely like to be. I speak of the handmaiden

given to you at the Joining."

Conar flinched, his mouth opening in a shocked gasp of outrage. When he spoke, his voice was a

slender thread of sound. "Such lies are dangerous even for you, Kaileel. I would be very careful what I

said if I were you."

Kaileel Tohre laughed, making the hair on Conar’s neck stand up. "No lie, sweet child. Raphian, our

Supreme Entity, has chosen her for another."

"Go to Hell!" Conar shouted, and turned to leave, but Tohre grabbed his arm, spinning him around.

"If the obligation is not met, if you do not give her up, I can promise that your punishment will be more

severe than you will be able to bear! Alel, Himself, has warned you of that!" He shook Conar. "You will

be disciplined horribly, Conar. Is that what you want?"

The young Prince looked with a sneer at the taloned hand that gripped him. "Let go," he said quietly,

steel in his words.

"You were predestined to join with us, Conar. You were a Chosen. You disregarded the calling;

abandoned your training." He jerked on Conar’s arm. "You took unclean female flesh to you, but all that

can be overlooked. You can come back to us and we will forgive you!"

"Let go, Kaileel." The steel-tipped voice became deadly and flat with uncoiling rage.

"If you do not come back to us of your own free will, terrible things will happen to you, Conar!" There

was pleading in the man’s pale eyes. "I don’t want to see you hurt!"

"I…said…let…go."

"You will do as you are told or suffer the consequences!"

Conar calmly covered Tohre’s fingers with his own. "Either take your hand off me or I will break it off at

the wrist!" He pried the priest’s fingers from his arm, cruelly bending back the thin, taloned fingers until

the High Priest moaned and snatched away his hand.

"You will regret defying us, Conar. You defy the Power of the Domination. You learned nothing as a

child."

Conar’s mouth twisted with hate. "I’m not six years old anymore. I’m not at your mercy in that vile

Chamber of Dreams. I’m a man, despite what you and the others tried to do to me!"

"I loved you!" Kaileel shouted. "I love you still! Why can’t you understand that?" He felt his grip on the

situation rapidly falling away.

"Love me?" Conar scoffed. "Do you call what you did to me, love? You tortured me; you beat me; you

raped
me, Kaileel! I was too young to know what it was you did, but I was not too young to feel the

pain you took pleasure in inflicting. I still bear the scars of your
love
!"

"It is our way. You know that! It is the way we have always—"