The Sword Of Angels

14

Mirage had thought she would never be warm again, but in the perfumed water of the luxurious tub, Asher’s frozen prison became just a distant, terrifying memory. Mirage opened her eyes, feeling trails of water drip from her forehead and watching wisps of steam thread through her toes. With a deep, satisfied breath, she smelled the lavender from the exotic salts that had been sprinkled into her bath. Her naked body floated in the clean, warm water, her chin hovering just above the surface. Her wet hair, now brushed free of its tangles and filth, splayed out around her shoulders, dancing on the water. For the first time in days, her skin felt soft. Oil in the water had tinged the bath pink, turning it to silk. Mirage could taste it on her lips. The steam untied the knots in her muscles, and though she had already slept the day away, her eyelids fluttered with exhaustion.

The day had passed in a remarkable blur. It was almost night again, but Mirage had spent the daylight hours in a soft bed with clean sheets and a pillow that cradled her head like a cloud. In a beautiful room with huge, soaring windows, she had eaten fine food brought to her by servants, watching the busy city from her perch in one of the castle’s towers. Though it had been just before dawn when Chane had brought her to Castle Hes, the servants had already been waiting for her. Eager to pamper her, the women had shooed Corvalos Chane away, caring for Mirage as though she were a favourite pet. They brushed her hair and made her bed, and gave her quiet so that she could sleep. The maids watched her anxiously, jumping to please her but never answering her questions. Finally, Mirage had given up, surrendering to them and all their temptations. After eating she slept, and her sleep was dreamless and pleasant, so deep that when she awoke she could not remember where she was until a happy faced girl appeared over her bed. Announcing it was bath time, the girl led Mirage to an adjacent room in the tower, where the steaming bath had already been drawn and a young maid — who could have been a twin of the first — stood ready with a brush. And just as she had surrendered to the food and soft bed, Mirage slipped out of her dressing robe into the warm, silky water.

Now, once again on the verge of sleep, Mirage considered all that had happened. A gilded window at the far side of the chamber told her that the sun was setting. She could see it sending up its dying, purple rays, dipping slowly behind the city’s silhouette. For the moment, her maids had left her, allowing her to relax and enjoy the bath. They were full of questions, Mirage could tell, but they held their tongues and spoke only of the work at hand, marveling at how beautiful Mirage looked and how lovely her hair was once washed. It was all simple, girlish talk, pleasant and diverting, and Mirage was no longer afraid. Surely being in Raxor’s bed would be better than being in Asher’s chains. Would she be his slave, she wondered? They were making her pretty for him, that much she had guessed. Was he a kind man? Would he beat her?

Mirage sank in the tub. She knew almost nothing about King Raxor, only that he was an old man now and that he had ascended to Reec’s throne upon his brother’s death. He had been a war hero once, a long time ago when Reec and Liiria were enemies. Lukien had faced him in battle many times. But Lukien was never one to talk about old battles, and Mirage cursed herself for not listening to him more intently when he did.

‘Has he no wife?’ Mirage asked herself. Kings could have as many wives as they wished, she supposed, and as many harlots to satisfy their lust. The notion made her pensive. She missed home desperately. She missed Minikin more than she ever thought possible.

Soon, though, she heard footsteps approaching. Mirage sat up, ignoring modesty as she peered to see who had come. An older woman appeared, simply garbed in a grey maid’s dress, her hair pinned back in an unflattering bun. Mirage had seen her before, directing the other maids. She held a fresh white robe in her wrinkled hands. A brittle smile cracked her face.

‘It’s time to get you ready,’ she announced.

Mirage looked up uncertainly. ‘For the king?’

‘You’re clean and rested. And King Raxor is expecting you. Come out of the bath. We’ll brush your hair and dress you.’

Even naked, no one could see through Mirage’s magic. Not a hint of her burned skin made it through Kirsil’s mask. It still amazed Mirage, who smiled at the old woman.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘My name is Laurella,’ said the woman, holding out the robe. ‘Come on — out with you now.’

‘Are you one of Raxor’s women?’

Laurella faintly blushed. ‘I’m one of the king’s maids, child. I’ve been employed at the castle all my life, just like my mother and father before me.’

‘He has other women, the king?’

‘Too many questions,’ Laurella sighed. She lowered the robe, looking sympathetically at Mirage. ‘Child, do not worry. King Raxor is a gentle man.’ Then, glancing over her shoulder, she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘And probably too old to do much with you. If you’re a virgin, I shouldn’t be worrying about losing your prize to him.’

Laurella’s faded blue eyes smiled down at her, encouraging Mirage out of the bathtub. At last, it seemed she had found an ally. Trusting the old woman, Mirage lifted herself up, dripping wet, letting Laurella help her out and into the robe, a garment of such thick fabric Mirage felt lost in it. The whole experience had made her feel small, in fact, like a little girl. Laurella toweled dry her hair until it fell limply across her eyes. She produced a pair of waiting slippers for her feet, then led Mirage out of the bath chamber and into an adjoining dressing room. There, the two younger maids who had tended her earlier urged Mirage into a chair set before a magnificent mirror. Brushes and all colours of waxy rouge and lip polish had been arranged on the vanity table. The girls chirped excitedly as Mirage took her seat.

‘You’re so beautiful!’ said one of them.

‘Beautiful,’ the other quickly agreed. Together they touched her dripping hair, playing with the strands.

‘Child, look here,’ said Laurella. She had walked to the other side of the room, near a small bed beneath a window. She picked up a dress from the bed and showed it to Mirage. ‘This is for you.’

The twins cooed at the garment. It was unlike anything Mirage had ever worn, the kind of dress only princesses put on, with a skirt of emerald ruffles and white silk ties for her waist meant to accentuate her womanhood.

‘You’ll be the prettiest thing in the castle,’ said Laurella. ‘Like it?’

‘It’s very nice,’ said Mirage modestly. She had never been the prettiest thing anywhere.

‘Your skin is so lovely,’ said one of the girls, studying Mirage’s face with envy. ‘Like cream.’

‘Your hair, too,’ said the other, still twirling it between her fingers. They were both younger than Mirage, though not by much. Even so close, it was easy for Kirsil to work her magic on them, and Mirage had no fear at all that they might see through to her burned skin. Laurella came closer, studying Mirage in the mirror.

‘Two hours, then I’ll be back for you,’ said Laurella. ‘Sela and Meleni will take care of you.’ She put her hand on Mirage’s shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze, then turned and left the chamber. Mirage looked blankly at the twin maids.

‘What now?’

‘Sit and be at ease,’ the girl on her left directed. ‘We’ll make you ready for the king.’

By the time two hours had passed, Mirage could not believe her transformation. The two vapid girls had made her into a beautiful lady. In her dress of emerald silk, Mirage twirled along the floor, studying herself in the mirror with amazement. Sela and Meleni nodded, pleased with themselves. Starting with a raw canvas, they had made Mirage into a masterpiece. Mirage stuck her face close to the mirror, studying the exactitude of her makeup and the way it made her shine. She was, in fact, the prettiest thing she had ever seen, reminiscent of her long dead mother. Pleased with their handiwork, the two maids beamed. They had brushed and curled Mirage’s hair, painted her face like artists, and dressed her in the expensive gown. Now the twins looked weary and satisfied. Leaning over the vanity table, Mirage stared down into her cleavage in disbelief. In Grimhold, she had always felt like a child. Now, with her own womanhood staring back at her, her girlish fac?ade fell away.

Then in the mirror Laurella appeared, pushing open the door to the chamber and peering inside hopefully. When she saw Mirage, she brightened at once.

‘Splendid,’ she declared. The compliment made Mirage soar. ‘How do you feel, child?’

She wanted to say that she felt beautiful. Instead Mirage replied, ‘Afraid.’

‘Of course you’re afraid.’ Laurella came to stand before her, taking her hands. ‘But I promise you, no harm will come to you. You must believe me. King Raxor is not a brute. Forget what you might have heard about him.’

‘I’ve heard nothing of him,’ said Mirage. ‘Nor has anyone told me anything.’

Sela and Meleni quickly agreed. ‘See Laurella? We told her nothing.’

‘It’s time for her to find out, then,’ said Laurella. ‘Are you ready to go? It’s time.’

Mirage took a breath. ‘Then I’m ready.’ She turned back to the two girls. ‘Thank you for what you’ve done. Will I see you again?’

‘Of course,’ laughed Sela. She added, ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ implying that Mirage wasn’t going anywhere either. Mirage acknowledged her with a little wave, then followed Laurella out of the chamber.

They were in the eastern tower of Castle Hes. According to Sela and Meleni, it was the tower of the king himself, where the royal family resided. Despite their claim that they had told Mirage nothing, the gabby maids had talked incessantly, explaining proudly how they were ‘east tower’ maids, and obviously thought themselves the betters of their west tower sisters. Mirage had seen very little of the eastern tower, but as she stepped out of the dressing chamber she got her first good look at the stunning place. Following Laurella down a wide hall, she marvelled at the paintings hung along the walls, great portraits of dead kings and their ladies, and of violent battles fought on bloodied landscapes. The walls themselves had been papered in velvet, textured gold and scarlet. Brightly polished sconces tossed dancing light across the amber floor. Maids and servants Mirage had yet to meet passed them as they walked, smiling politely or entirely averting their eyes. Self-conscious in her expensive gown, Mirage felt a blush of embarrassment at their deference.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked in a whisper.

Laurella, walking quickly, replied, ‘To the drawing room.’

‘Drawing room? What’s that?’

‘The withdrawing room,’ Laurella explained. ‘Where guests go after a meal. You’ll learn all this in time.’

Mirage wanted to protest, because she had no intention of staying Raxor’s woman that long. ‘Will there be others?’ she asked.

‘Just you, child. Tonight it’s all about you. Come. It’s not much further.’

They passed more of the same elaborate paintings, turning down labyrinthine halls. Luckily, none of Raxor’s family seemed to be at home, or if they were they were otherwise engaged. Mirage put the daunting prospect of meeting them out of her mind. First, she had to meet Raxor, and if he wasn’t pleased with her. .

What? Back to Asher?

‘Here.’

Laurella stopped in front of a pair of lacquered wooden doors. They had passed through a huge dining room to reach the portal, the table set but empty of food. Mirage felt a swell of nervousness.

‘The drawing room?’ she asked. ‘Is he inside?’

‘Child, the king doesn’t wait. You wait for him.’

Opening the doors, Laurella revealed the dark and spacious chamber. Like the halls of the tower, it was decorated with oil paintings and bright tapestries. A fire had been lit in the hearth, and near the hearth two chairs sat, looking like miniature thrones. A small table with finely-turned legs sat beside one of the chairs, sporting a decanter of wine and two pear-shaped, crystal goblets. A musty collection of books lined the wall opposite the hearth, the shelves burdened with trinkets. The chamber smelled of age.

‘Should I sit?’ Mirage asked, stepping inside.

‘There,’ said Laurella, pointing toward one of the chairs. Near it stood a wooden veil painted with vines and roses. Like a signpost, the veil sat atop a pole. Mirage went to the chair and studied the veil.

‘What is it?’

‘To block you from the fire while you sit,’ said Laurella. ‘It will keep your makeup from running.’

Mirage thought the contraption remarkably silly. ‘You mean it will melt?’

‘It’s what fine ladies do, child,’ said Laurella, guiding Mirage into the chair and arranging the veil. ‘You’ll learn these things. I’ll help to teach you.’

‘Laurella, you’ve been kind and I’m grateful. But I don’t intend to be here that long.’

Laurella blanched. ‘Ease your tongue. You mustn’t let the master hear you talk that way.’

‘I can’t be his woman,’ Mirage protested. ‘I’m no slave.’

‘Nor am I,’ said Laurella. ‘Now hush yourself. Behave and all will go well. I’ll see you when the king is done.’

‘Wait. .’

Too late. Laurella was already gone, closing the great doors behind her and sealing Mirage into the chamber. Mirage shifted in her plush chair, looking around. There were a thousand mementos to interest her, keepsakes from a long lifetime of battles and politics. Over the hearth stood a portrait of a handsome warrior — perhaps Raxor himself in long ago days. Mirage admired the painting, featuring the soldier on a broad white horse and holding an axe in his hand. A green flag with a snarling lion — the symbol of Reec — unfurled behind him. He was, Mirage admitted, a fetching figure. Her eyes shifted to the books on the shelves, then the carefully preserved trinkets. A golden goblet encrusted with sapphires twinkled by the firelight. Porcelain statues of deities watched her lifelessly from the shelves. Mirage looked away, then glimpsed something interesting on a table near her chair, opposite the wine decanter and glasses. Leaning closer, she noticed it was jewelry, a long necklace with a cameo and a matching silver bracelet. The carefully made cameo featured the profile of a striking young woman, with long hair and graceful curves to her nose and chin.

Curious, she got out of her chair to better inspect the cameo. She picked it up, cradling it carefully in her hands, noticing its lightness and delicacy. The figure of the woman had been expertly carved into some milky, translucent stone, like alabaster.

‘Lovely, isn’t it?’

Startled, Mirage nearly dropped the piece. She hurried to put it back on the table as she turned toward the doors. A man stood blocking the threshold, staring back at her. Tall and barrel-chested, his nearly bald head sprouted stubs of wiry grey hair. A finely tailored jacket fitted his wide frame over a white, ruffled shirt that looked as though it had never been worn before, so crisp were its lines. His eyes, icy green and faded like Laurella’s, fixed on her, unblinking.

‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I didn’t harm it.’

The man cocked his head to study her. He was old, certainly, but hardly enfeebled, with powerful arms that flexed beneath his jacket and a thickly muscled neck. Years of sunlight had roughed his skin. His expression brightened as he watched her, full of wonder. Mirage licked her lips and searched for something to say.

‘Are you King Raxor?’

The man took his time replying, stepping into the room. ‘Remarkable,’ he whispered. Whatever had entranced him escaped Mirage. In his overwhelming presence, she felt unbearably small.

‘I am waiting for King Raxor,’ she said timidly. ‘Are you he?’

‘I am Raxor,’ said the man. ‘And I am pleased to meet you — Mirage.’

Mirage shrank back. ‘You know my name. But then, you know a great deal about me, I’m sure. Your man Corvalos Chane must have told you everything.’

As if finally catching himself, King Raxor shook off his spell. ‘What I know of you I learned from Asher. Everything you told him has been reported to me.’ He smiled. ‘Corvalos Chane was right about you. You are staggeringly lovely.’

The compliment unnerved Mirage. ‘Your maids have been generous to me, my lord. Thank you for that, and for releasing me from Asher. It was your word that got me out of there, no doubt.’

‘And it was my word that put you there in the first place,’ said Raxor.

Mirage nodded, unsure what he meant. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s so.’

‘Please, sit down,’ the king directed. ‘I want to look at you. I was warned, but you are more than I expected.’

Confused, Mirage took her chair again. ‘My lord?’

‘No, nothing,’ said Raxor, waving off his comment. He grinned, admiring her. ‘You’ve gladdened this old man’s heart by coming here.’

His big, royal shadow fell over Mirage as he loomed by her chair. Because he was a king, Mirage held her questions, though he could tell they were on the tip of her tongue.

‘Do not worry,’ he told her. ‘You are thinking I might send you back to Asher. Never mind that. You have already been spared his talents. I would be a beast indeed to send you back there.’ King Raxor went to the decanter of wine on the table near his vacant chair. ‘I want you to be comfortable. My promise is as good as gold. You have nothing to worry about.’

‘I want to believe you, my lord,’ said Mirage carefully. She watched as he poured her some wine, than handed her the heavy crystal glass.

‘You will be well taken care of here for as long as you stay,’ replied the king. He poured himself a glass then lifted his goblet to toast her. Mirage touched his glass reluctantly with her own, watching him sip but not tasting the wine herself.

‘And how long will that be, my lord?’ she asked. ‘I’m confused, you see. I was captured by your man Corvalos Chane. Then I was imprisoned and mistreated. And now. .’ She shrugged. ‘Now, my lord, I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m here with you. No one has explained it to me, except to say that I am to be yours.’

Raxor put down his glass. She expected her words to anger him, but his expression remained gentle, as though she were a little bird he didn’t want to frighten off.

‘Corvalos Chane isn’t the same as Asher,’ he said. ‘I trust Chane and always have. I do not trust Asher. There was no way you could have been left in his care and lived. I know that he frightened you, and I am sorry for that. In time, perhaps, you will see the necessity of what happened to you. Do you know why Chane was in Liiria?’

‘I think so,’ said Mirage. ‘He’s a spy. He was watching to see what happened there.’

‘I have many spies in Liiria, girl. Not all all of them are as good as Chane, however. He was watching to see what your friend, Baron Glass, did in Liiria, and what he might be planning for Reec. Don’t pretend not to know what I’m talking about. You are an old friend of Baron Glass. Asher told me that much already. He also told me that you have more knowledge of the baron and his armour than you’ve yet been willing to reveal.’

Mirage looked down into her wine. ‘I have my secrets, my lord. Things have passed between us that I cannot reveal, not even to you.’

‘Glass is called the Black Baron here. Did you know that?’

‘I have heard that, yes,’ said Mirage. Asher had called Glass that many times.

The king dragged the chair away from the heath so that it faced Mirage, then sat down with his glass of wine. ‘You are a gift to me, Mirage. I know you don’t understand that yet, but that is why you were spared from Asher’s prison. Corvalos Chane saw something in you.’

‘Something that his king would enjoy, you mean,’ bristled Mirage. ‘Am I your type, my lord? Is that why I’m to be your concubine?’

‘Corvalos looks out for my needs. And you are very lovely, Mirage, a great prize. No doubt he thought you would fill an emptiness in my life.’

‘My lord, you are the King of Reec. Surely you can have any woman you desire. What is special about me?’

The king nodded toward the jewelry on the table. ‘That cameo — pick it up.’

Mirage did as he asked. The piece felt heavy in her small hand. ‘It’s very lovely. Who is this woman? Someone special to you?’

‘Special? Yes indeed, pretty Mirage. That was made for my wife, Helea, when she was about your age. That’s her image in the stone.’ Raxor chuckled. ‘Haven’t you guessed yet? When you turn sideways, you look just like that cameo.’

Mirage looked hard at the image. ‘You mean I look like your wife?’

‘My dead wife,’ Raxor corrected. ‘And you are the perfect picture of her, almost her twin. There are paintings of her all over this castle. That’s how Corvalos Chane knew how much you look like her. It’s why he brought you to me.’ The king relaxed in his tall chair. ‘I am an old man. I’ve lived a very long time, and Helea was the love of my life. When she died I died with her. But I’m still alive, and that is the hell of it, you see.’

‘No, my lord, I don’t see,’ argued Mirage, alarmed by the turn of the conversation. ‘I am not your wife, and I am sure I could never replace her.’

‘Corvalos Chane thinks otherwise. You’re a gift to mend my broken heart, Mirage, so that I can be strong again, a leader. Reec needs a leader. The world around us is caving in, and I can’t do anything to stop it. Your friend, Baron Glass — he has yet to threaten Reec directly, but he will in time. No doubt he and his bitch-queen Jazana Carr have already laid designs on my country.’

‘No,’ said Mirage. ‘That’s not true. I know Thorin Glass, my lord. All he ever wanted was to go back to Liiria.’

‘As a conqueror? You were at the great library. You saw what Baron Glass and his armies did to it, and to the rest of Koth. And Jazana Carr has an appetite like a dragon. To think she is satisfied is foolish. She has her greedy eyes on Reec, have no doubt of it.’

‘That’s why you have your armies stationed on the border,’ Mirage surmised. ‘I saw them when Chane brought me across.’

‘Sooner or later they will come, and we must be ready for them. I must be ready for them. But I am old and weak and my heart is broken. I have spent my life in war, and I haven’t the stomach or steel for it any longer. That is what my advisors fear, Mirage — that I will not be ready to defend Reec when the time comes. Corvalos Chane most of all fears this, for he knows my heart like no one else.’

‘And that’s why he brought me to you,’ said Mirage, finally understanding. ‘To replace your wife.’

‘To make an old man feel young again, yes.’ King Raxor slumped, forgetting his wine, ignoring everything but his comely guest. ‘You do make me feel. . something. Memories, perhaps. Better days. My wife was much like you, Mirage. Even your voice reminds me of her. Do you sing?’

‘No, my lord,’ replied Mirage. All she wanted was to leave.

‘That is a pity. Helea had a nightingale’s voice.’

‘I have a voice like a rusty hinge, my lord. I could never replace your wife.’

She expected Raxor to agree with her. He did not.

‘Baron Glass was an enemy of mine for many years. Do you know your history, Mirage, of the days before the peace?’

‘When the river Kryss divided the nations. I know of it.’

‘I was War Minister in those days, when Baron Glass was powerful in Liiria. He was a great fighter before losing his arm. I faced him many times, and the Bronze Knight as well.’

Mirage grimaced at Lukien’s name. ‘Yes, my lord. Those must have been difficult days.’

‘You told nothing of the Bronze Knight to Asher.’

‘He did not ask me, King Raxor.’

‘No.’ Raxor steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘But the stories go that Lukien went to Jador, and that he came back with you to Liiria. Chane saw Lukien at the library. Many thought you were his woman. Were you?’

The question broke Mirage’s heart. She had wanted so badly to be Lukien’s woman. She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘And Baron Glass — he has no claim to you either?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then you have no man?’

Seeing where the talk was heading, Mirage said, ‘I have no man, but I cannot be your woman, my lord, whatever that might mean. Your wife is dead, and I’m sorry for that. But I can’t replace her.’

‘I will not make you my concubine, Mirage, if that’s what you fear. I won’t force myself into your bed. But I do desire you to stay.’

‘Desire, my lord? Or do you order it?’

‘It’s too dangerous for you in Liiria. War is coming, and Hes might be the safest place in the world for you. You say Baron Glass has no claim on you?’

Mirage hesitated, careful with her answer. ‘He has. . feelings for me.’

Raxor frowned. ‘Oh.’ He looked away thoughtfully. ‘But he does not know you’re here.’

‘But if he learned I was your prisoner. .’ Mirage let the implication hang there. ‘He has a temper like thunder.’

‘I should not be surprised,’ mused the king. ‘You are too lovely for men to ignore. But I will not send you off to him.’

‘Because I remind you of your wife? My lord, please. . that is no reason at all to keep me.’

‘I will keep you here because I wish it, because it gives me joy to look at you. And because you have secrets yet to tell me, girl. Asher is right about you — you have too much knowledge in your pretty head to simply let you leave.’ Raxor got out of his chair, then dropped to one knee before Mirage. He took her hand, stroking it and smiling. ‘Let me be kind to you. Maybe then you will trust me, and you will see that you are only protecting a madman.’

‘My lord, I cannot love you, not ever, not the way you want.’ Mirage pulled back her hand. ‘If you truly want to be kind to me, then let me go.’

The old king looked at her, rebuffed and saddened. He got slowly to his feet.

‘War is coming,’ he said softly. ‘I will be ready for it. And you will help me be ready. You will make a man of me, Mirage. You can keep your body from me, I don’t need it. Just your beauty is enough for me.’

‘No, my lord,’ Mirage protested. She rose to face him. ‘I won’t have it. I won’t be your slave or your salvation. I’m a free woman and not the chattel of any man, even a king.’

‘You are my guest, Mirage,’ said Raxor evenly. ‘For as long as I wish it.’

The king turned to go. Helpless, Mirage chased after him.

‘No, King Raxor,’ she pleaded, grabbing hold of his arm. ‘You must know this is wrong. Your wife is dead. Would she want you to do this?’

‘My wife loved Reec, and she knew my duty to it. If it meant helping me protect our country, she would understand.’

‘Well then,’ said Mirage indignantly, ‘she was as mad as you are.’

Raxor smiled, reaching out to brush her check. ‘Even when you’re angry you look like her. Rest now, child. I will see you soon.’

Then, as quickly as he’d come to her, King Raxor left Mirage. Stunned, unsure where to go, she simply stared.

‘Madness! Is all of Reec filled with madman?’

Mirage went back to her chair, first taking the cameo from the table. As she sat she held the image of Raxor’s dead wife. She saw the resemblance between them now and it frightened her.

‘Kirsil,’ she whispered, summoning her Akari. ‘I think we’re in trouble.’

Not far from the drawing room, in a hallway separate from the dining area, Corvalos Chane stood alone, waiting for his master to return. He remained very still, ignoring the servants who had long ago learned to ignore him in kind. As the king’s man, he was accustomed to being in the east tower, though not a drop of noble blood flowed through his veins. In his worn leather trousers and soldier’s jerkin, he looked completely out of place among the castle’s art and finery, keeping mostly to a shadowed corner.

Corvalos Chane had much on his mind. More than anything, he wanted his master to be pleased. He had taken on the impossible task of resurrecting Raxor’s broken spirit, trying to heal his king and make him ready for battle. Reec needed Raxor, and all the history and glory he represented. When the Diamond Queen at last marched her armies across their border, it would be Raxor that would turn them back. No one else was up to the task.

In the quiet of the hallway, Corvalos Chane thought about the girl, too, and how frightened she had looked when he’d rescued her. She was a jewel, that one, worthy of his king, but she had also set the spy’s heart fluttering. Chane had not been with a women since he could remember. Until now, their allure held little temptation for him. Mirage was different, though. She was beautiful in a way that other women were not. She was a mystery, and that intrigued him.

Chane straightened when he heard the familiar sound of Raxor approaching, the distinct din of his heavy boots clicking on the polished floor. Raxor appeared quickly, his face shining in the hall’s candlelight. He was a big man still, as tall as Chane himself and almost twice as wide, and when he grinned he lit the room. Corvalos Chane smiled back at his beloved king.

‘My lord is pleased,’ said the spy.

King Raxor put his giant hand on Chane’s cheek, patting it. ‘I’m grateful, Corvalos. I didn’t believe you at first, but she is everything you promised. She is so beautiful it takes my breath away.’

‘She is Lady Helea’s spitting image, my lord, is she not?’

‘Aye, she could be her daughter. And fiery!’

Chane shrugged. ‘I did warn you.’

‘Ah, she is afraid, that’s all.’ Raxor twisted a stout golden ring on his finger, the way he always did when worried. ‘She won’t be harmed. I promised her that, though I don’t know if she believes me.’

‘Give her time, my lord,’ Chane advised. ‘She will learn to love you.’

Raxor looked at his trusted friend. ‘That is too much to hope. Her heart belongs to another, I can tell. Perhaps Baron Glass himself.’

‘It doesn’t matter. She is here with you, and not with Baron Glass.’

‘Indeed,’ said Raxor. ‘And I will keep her for myself, no matter what storms the Black Baron might bring us.’