Kiss of a Demon King

16

Rydstrom had no idea how long he'd been in and out of consciousness. He cracked open his eyes. He was on the bed in the cell? Pain as he'd never known assailed him, but only above his neck-below it, he couldn't feel anything.

"Bring the Hag!" Sabine ordered someone unseen. "Quickly!"

Who knew how much later, an old woman crept into the cell, carrying a roll of bandages and a dripping bur-lap bag. She sat beside him on the bed, scooping a thick paste of strong-smelling herbs from the bag, stuffing his wound with it. fie perceived nothing.

As "the Hag" worked, Rydstrom watched Sabine pacing with his eyes slitted so she wouldn't know he'd awakened.

"How long will it take for him to regenerate?" Sabine demanded.

"Tw6 days," the old woman answered, "until you can steal his seed."

Sabine didn't seem surprised by the woman's temer­ity.

Another female rushed inside. "The castle's abuzz! I heard you were screaming at Omort." She had black hair and was furiously biting her nails. Her features were similar to Sabine's. Another sibling? "Damn, Abie, do you want to end up like the oracle?" She swept a glance toward the bed. "Oh, your demon! No wonder you got so riled."

Sabine began pacing again. "Give us the cure, Hag. I know you can make it."

"I pledged my covenant." The woman began unroll­ing the bandages. "If I broke it, I'd be killed and you'd be given a new concoction."

"What would it take for you to give it to me?" Sabine asked in a lowered voice.

"One of those who entered into the covenant must release the other. Or die."

"There must be another way."

"You dream, sorceress," the woman muttered. "And dreams belong in slumber."

"I plot. And plots belong in every minute of every day."

The two stared at each other. What was happening here? Rydstrom blinked his drawn lids, and for a split second, the old crone appeared to be a young, elven brunette. What the hell? Sabine didn't seem to have noticed anything.

A choking sound broke from his throat, interrupting the tense moment.

Sabine whirled around to face him, approaching

the bed. "Don't look down, demon." Sabine, in all her fury, had prevented his death. For now. But did she not realize that Omort would return, would come after him again and attack like the coward he was?

She easily read his thoughts. "I will keep you safe. This won't happen again." She brushed his forehead tenderly, then frowned at her hand. She dropped it, hastily glancing around to see if anyone had caught her. "Sleep, demon."

He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. "Don't read my mind," he thought. "Do not..."

"I won't," she said.

"Give me your vow!"

"You have it." She murmured, "Now sleep, demon. And dream. Dream of what you need most."

His eyelids slid shut. And he did.

From a chair beside the fire, Rydstrom gazed at his wife in their bed,- Flickering light shone over her face as she slumbered peacefully. Their beloved son slept in a crib in their chamber.

Outside, an ocean storm boiled, whipping against the castle; inside, they were warm. Rydstrom watched over the two, protecting them.

Nothing had ever felt so good.

The pup sounded hungry, so Rydstrom crossed to the crib. Gently cradling him, he brought him to his mother's breast. Half-asleep, Sabine held their babe lovingly and murmured Rydstrom's name.

My family . . .

His efes flashed open. I need that most. And she is the key to it all-

At once, pain assailed him, agony stabbing at him all over with each breath. My spine's healed. How long had he been out... ?

Sabine swept into the cell just then. She was dressed in a different metal top than before, and her eyes were painted a navy blue. How much time had passed? "I can't stay long, just coming in to check on my colossally stupid demon."

He could tell she was on edge, the affectionate and soft Sabine of before gone. "How long was I out?" he asked with effort. He lay in bed with only one ankle shackled and his arms free, not that he could lift them yet.

"A day. Your body has been mending rapidly. Your spine and neck are already healed, as are your battered lungs if you can speak once more."

When he peered at the bandage wrapped around his torso, she said, "Your skin hasn't closed over the wound yet, but it will soon. You're lucky you weren't harmed worse. Why in the gods' names did you have to taunt Omort like that?"

"Because it felt good ... to finally do so."

"If I hadn't been there, you would've died."

Sabine's power and cunning had been indescribable. She was as powerful in her own right as Omort-more so even, because the sorcerer wanted her.

But did she return his feelings? Had they slept together? More disgusting things had happened within their numbers. Maybe that was why she allied with him.

Or was it because she couldn't quite kill him? With­out Omort's deathlessness, could Sabine defeat him? She might be plotting toward it right at that moment.

What if Rydstrom convinced her that the sword would work? Would she make her move?

The queen on the chessboard, waiting for her moment to strike.

Rydstrom could give it to her. What did he have to lose?

Sabine crossed her arms over her metal top. "I sup­pose you feel no need to thank me for saving your life. You're a very ungracious demon, in addition to being colossally stupid."

He'd never been more certain that he was about to die, and she'd prevented it. But . . . "It's because of you and your trickery . . . that I am here in the first place!" Pain erupted from his wound.

"It's because of me that Omort has spared you all these years. Have you never wondered why he hasn't pursued your assassination?"

Rydstrom had wondered, especially since he'd set­tled In New Orleans, staying for months in the same place. He liked his home there. It sufficed until he could reclaim his kingdom. Until he could take back Tornin-and scour it clean. His eyes briefly closed against the memories of what he'd seen last night. "Are you sleeping with Omort?"

"I am not sleeping with him. I'm sleeping with no one. There's an heir to be had, and I'd rather no one question its parentage."

She hadn't denied that she'd ever slept with Omort, but he sensed she hadn't. Or maybe he merely refused to believe it-because that would put her forever out of his future.

"Why did you fight Hettiah?" he asked. Each word was coming more easily now.

"She attacked me. She's been looking for a way to get revenge on me for centuries."

"Why?"

"Probably because I made a wreath out of her intes­tines in front of the entire court. And I've plucked out her organs a few times. And I might have kept them in jars on my bedside table."

"You . . . you do not." And the vampire had said I was killing her?

"Yes, indeed. I'm missing her appendix and spleen." She rose, crossing to the table where a plate of food was laid out. "And on that note, are you hungry?"

He cast an irritated glance at the plate, filled with fruits and vegetables, with no meat to be found. "Now, sorceress, how do you expect me to heal . . . when you feed me twigs?"

Over the last week, Sabine had yet to provide for him meat and demon brew-a potent fermented drink. The Sorceri drank sickeningly sweet wines and bran­dies, calling demon brew a crude concoction. He couldn't stomach their sugary creations.

"I keep forgetting that my pet's a carnivore." She set the plate down. "Here, I'll make you more comfortable." With a wave of her hand, she suddenly made the cell appear to be his old room here.

But this time, she added a sea storm outside. How would she know ... ? "You read my mind, didn't you?"

"I did," she said, her tone absent, although her expression was one of interest.

He'd suspected that she concealed her expressions. In the future, he wouldn't scrutinize her face, he would watch her hands, the tensing of her slim shoulders. "Do you often break your vows?"

"Constantly." She nodded. "I'd go so far as to say uniformly."

The fact that she'd broken her word to him was infu-riating-her lack of shame made it that much worse. "No reservations about being known as a liar?"

"It's not my fault the truth and I are strangers-we were never properly introduced."

"And what did you learn when you hacked into my head?"

She seemed keyed up, listening for something from the outside. Again she didn't look anxious, but she paced. "You used to be lulled to sleep by the sea storms here, and have long missed your room in your tower. You have a contentious relationship with your brother that disturbs you greatly. You resent him for losing your kingdom."

Everyone thought he blamed his brother Cadeon for losing his kingdom. He did partially-was he supposed to act pleased with him? But Cadeon also lied, cheated, and he warred for profit. His life had no meaning.

And yours does . . . ?

She continued, "You've two sisters, Mia and Zoe, who you barely speak to. They have their own lives, and you wonder if maybe you should have involved them more in your quest. You're ashamed because you found yourself envious of a friend of yours who'd finally found his mate. A Lykae. I think his name is Bowen MacRieve?"

Rydstrom met her gaze, though he was discomfited by what she'd seen. Because he was envious, and he con­sidered that a weakness. A good man would be happy for a friend.

But Rydstrom was one of the oldest in the Lore, and over the long years of his life, it seemed that one at a time, each of his comrades had found their females.

All of them had experienced something he could only dream of... something so vital, they'd each begun to pity him for the lack.

His mien was stoic, but she could tell he was unsettled by all that she'd discovered. "Anything else, sorceress?"

"Lots and lots." The demon was a solitary male. He had friends but was too obsessed with his mission to enjoy them. He didn't approve of his disreputable brother or his brother's crew of mercenaries, so he didn't spend unnecessary time with them.

Sabine had taken him from no lover.

"Mainly," she said, "I saw that you are . . . lonely." And his loneliness had called to her-which mystified Sabine, only adding to her general state of vexation. Last night, when she'd imagined the pain Rydstrom would feel to have his arms hacked off, she'd been so consumed with something that she hadn't even heard Hettiah approaching to attack. Feelings made people stupid, vulnerable.

And more, she'd been embarrassed by what Rydstrom had seen at court. She'd never forget the revolted look on his face when he'd surveyed what used to be his.

For some reason, she didn't want him to think that just because she lived here, she was like them.

Just because I don't flinch doesn't mean I'm blind.

"You had no right to be in my head!" He twisted in the bed, his lips thinned in obvious pain. "And then you made me dream of..."

"Dream of what, Rydstrom?" She'd missed it. "I bade you to dream of what you needed most. I'd meant heal­ing. Did your mind supply other particulars?"

His expression grew closed. "It's none of your con-cern."

She let that drop. For now. "I've also seen that you want to take me over to your side. That would be quite a coup. One thing though-I'm not likely to align myself against the most powerful sorcerer ever to live."

"I saw your power. You're stronger than he is."

"Don't play to my considerable vanity, demon." She examined her nails. "It will gain you nothing." "Ally with me and seek asylum within our army."

"Asylum? Where? In your castle? Oh, I forgot, you haven't one. At least with Omort, I'm kept protected from your kind."

"Become my kind, and no one will ever hurt you again."

She sat at the foot of the bed. "That's the difference between me and you. I won't try to convert you. Do I like that you never lie and esteem things like valor? Of course not. But I don't try to rid you of those traits. Why does your kind forever seek to change ours?" That was'what she hated most about them-not their odd,

counter-intuitive beliefs per se, but that they would force them on others.

"Because we live more contented lives. We have loy­alty, fidelity, honor-"

"All three are overrated. The only chance you have to demonstrate any of them is to deny yourself some-thing or someone that you desire."

"Then in the same vein, what about your loyalty to Omort? Have you been tempted to align with his

enemies?"

"Never," she lied. She was constantly tempted to betray him. Even more so now that he was cracking under the pressure of the uprising rebels, the vampires waiting at the castle walls to strike at sundown, the taunting of a foolish Valkyrie.

The idea of Sabine with a demon.... But in truth, Sabine could have been steadfast to Omort. She recalled when he'd first come to find her. He'd seemed gallant as he'd saved her and Lanthe from an attack by ignorant humans. When he'd brought them to live in a plane with no humans or Vrekeners, the sisters had finally felt safe, protected in Tornin. Until the first time Omort had laid his hand on

Sabine's thigh.

Of course, they hadn't believed he was their half brother simply because he'd said so. But they had known that their mother, Elisabet, had committed some sin that made the noble family of Deie Sorceri disown her. Some transgression had made her feel so unworthy that Sabine and Lanthe's worthless father had seemed a good catch.

From Omort they'd learned that Elisabet had been the Vessel of her own time-and she'd given birth to an ultimate evil-him. . . .

Rydstrom interrupted her thoughts. "Omort can't fight off" the alliance the Valkyrie Nïx is forming. Not

alone."

"Ah, yes, your Vertas. That's what Nïx called it."

"You're talking to her?"

"Corresponding more like. She's utterly unhinged, by the way. You'd trust a madwoman to lead your army?"

"There's a method to her madness," he said dryly, but she caught the undertone of respect in his voice.

Luckily, Sabine didn't want his respect, so she wasn't jealous of the Valkyrie. She could earn his respect any time she wanted-if she wanted.

"Besides, Omort won't be alone, demon. You saw members of his army." Members that they would be los­ing if Omort didn't get control of himself soon. "This Accession should be a good one."

"And it doesn't bother you that we'll be on opposing

sides."

"You act as though we haven't always been." "Maybe so, but we will not be any longer." "Then you'll have to join the Pravus, because I plan to be on the winning side." Yet for the first time, she won­dered. Omort was proving useless against the threats sur­rounding them. Without him at the helm, the army was rife with rumor and instability. Already covenants were breaking as smaller factions defected from the Pravus.

This evening, with the coming dusk, Sabine and Lanthe would have to risk their lives in battle because

he couldn't rise to the challenge. "Demon, you have to understand-Omort truly can't be killed. There's simply no way to defeat him."

"What if there were?"

"And still, you believe in Groot's sword." She gave him an indulgent expression. "It's a fable, Rydstrom. Even if it would work, and even if you were free, you'd never get close enough to Omort to use it."

"It will work. Nïx has vowed that it will. She is never wrong."

"She must be . . ." Sabine trailed off when a yell sounded from outside. Soon the din of bridled horses and marching soldiers followed.

Sunset. The vampires were attacking. "I have to leave. I won't return for some time."

"Why? Where are you going?"

To try to shore up the cracks in my brother's sanity. And if unsuccessful. . . "To the battlefield."