WINDWEEPER Read online

  Pure fury shot through Conar. He looked past his man to where Brelan was still standing on the stairs. Brelan glanced his way and for a momentd their glares held one another. A red-hot poker of jealousy plunged into Conar's gut. "Asshole."

  Brelan answered with a single, silent move of his lips. "Prick."

  Conar's lips pulled back from his teeth. Without thinking, he snatched up the mug and drained it in two swallows.

  The Elite's face filled with triumph.

  Conar stood, his mouth pursed into a hard, unforgiving line. He walked to the archway of the dining chamber and watched as Brelan stepped off the stairs.

  "You got something you want to say to me, McGregor?" Brelan challenged.

  The Elite folded his arms and waited for the explosion. These two had never liked one another, but now the enmity brewing between them was palpable. The tension vibrated through the air, the atmosphere like that of a ticking bomb.

  "I want no more of your interference, Saur," Conar told his half-brother. "Keep away from my wife."

  "Do you honestly think I give a damn what you want? You aren't master in this keep. If I want to be with Elizabeth, I will be with her."

  "I'd be careful how intimately you use my wife's name, Saur. I'm not adverse to spilling your blood here and now; and I can promise you I will not mourn your passing!" His hand went to the black crystal dagger at his thigh. "If you seek to make my lady your concern, think again."

  Brelan's lip raised in taunt. "She has always been my concern, McGregor. Long before you ever met her!"

  Conar's gut wrenched at the reminder that Saur courted Liza before she and Conar wed. He could feel hate for this man boiling his blood and glowered malevolently, vindictively. "She is my concern now. She is my wife."

  "For the time being."

  True fury washed over the Serenian prince. He clamped his fingers on the dagger at his side to keep himself from murdering Brelan Saur.

  Brelan nodded at the dagger. "I'm not afraid of you and I'm not afraid of that." His face turned hard. "She has asked that I not cause trouble here, and I made her a promise I intend to keep. But if you want a piece of me, I'll oblige you well away from this keep. And I'll make you a promise, as well. There will come a day, and we both know it, when I will shed that precious blood of yours!"

  "Aye," a voice agreed, "and there will also come a day when you will hold his blood more precious than anything else in this world, Brelan Saur!" Queen Medea, Liza's mother, called from the balcony above. "I can promise you that!"

  Brelan laughed, his stare locking with Conar's. "That will never happen."

  "Aye, it will," Medea warned.

  "Not in this lifetime!"

  "That may well be true, but it will happen just as I say." The Queen came down the stairs. "I would like a word with you, Conar."

  "I am at your service, Majesty," he said, all too aware of Brelan glaring at him.

  Medea came to the last step and stood watching the two men. "Put your dislike aside, gentlemen. What I have to say concerns you both." She folded her slim arms over her ample bosom.

  Conar started to tell her he didn't want his brother there, but her words stopped him.

  "Have you no faith in Anya Elizabeth, Conar? There is only friendship between her and Brelan."

  He let his gaze wander down Saur in insulting fashion. "It's far more than that for him."

  "I've never denied that I love her," Brelan snapped.

  Conar took a step forward, but the Queen placed herself between them. "Not in my keep, ever again!"

  Conar's belly began to burn. He felt anger careening through his system like the advance of molten lava down a volcano. He was aware of his trembling; not enough for Medea or Brelan to notice, but enough for him to feel. His hands were clammy with sweat, his head started to pound, and he felt sick to his stomach.

  He flicked his attention from Brelan and stared at his mother-in-law, taking his frustration out on her. "What is it you want, Lady?" he asked belligerently. "I have better things to do than stand here and chatter!"

  His insulting tone alarmed the Queen. She could sense his tightly-checked rage, could smell the hatred rolling off him, and took a self-protective step backward. She cringed as his eyes leapt back to Brelan. His words further shocked her: "By the gods, I hate you, Saur!"

  "Don't start something, McGregor," Brelan warned, also aware of the suddenly charged emotions hovering around Conar. "She's asked you, and so has Elizabeth."

  "Keep my wife's name off your filthy tongue!" Conar hands itched to strangle the life from Saur's body. "It comes far too easily to your lips!"

  The Queen probed the aura surrounding him; a dark scarlet haze of murderous intent haloed his body. Her alarm turned to fear. She tried to enter his thoughts, to read his intentions. He wasn't even looking at her, yet she could tell he was more than aware of her psychic probing. He blocked her out as easily as if she were a novice.

  He turned to her. "Stop that. Don't try it again. If you do, you'll wish you hadn't!"

  Medea's face paled. "What is wrong with you?" When he only glared, she shook her head. "I am not sure we should allow Anya Elizabeth to leave with you, after all."

  A sneer formed on Conar's sensual mouth. He raked her from head to toe with a scathing look of dismissal. "If you try to stop me, Madame, your keep will run red with the blood of your followers! I promise you!"

  Medea gasped. "You're speaking of shedding blood to get what you want?"

  "If that's what it takes, so be it. When I leave Oceania, my lady goes with me, or you'll have to bury me in this land!" He took a step toward her, grinning evilly as she moved back. "And you'll bury more of your men than you'll be able to count!"

  "He's lost what precious little reason he ever had," Brelan said under his breath, confused by the glimmer of madness in his brother's face. Conar had always been a bit irrational, but never had he made such ridiculous threats.

  Conar glanced at his brother. "Not threats, Saur. Promises!" He turned to walk away.

  "I'm not finished with him, Brelan," the Queen whispered. "Get him back."

  "With pleasure." Saur grabbed his brother's arm, spinning him around and pushing him against the balustrade. He didn't give Conar a chance to reach for his dagger before drawing his own.

  Conar felt the blade at his throat.

  "I have things to say to you, Conar," Medea told him, "and you will listen."

  "Do I have a choice?"

  Brelan pressed the sharp blade into the soft flesh just above Conar's Adam's apple. "None."

  Queen Medea sat on a stone bench near the stairs and folded her hands in her lap. She was no longer afraid, but her worries intensified and, until she could get to the bottom of this irrational rage, he would not be taking her daughter anywhere.

  "Brelan is privy to what happened at the Abbey, Conar. He knows about what goes on in that vile place, and he has some knowledge of what must have been done to you there."

  What Conar saw in Brelan's eyes wasn't what he had expected. There was no disquiet, no disgust, no loathing. If anything, there was understanding. Brelan's words were even more of a shock. "I'd have done the same for her, McGregor."

  If Conar had ever had doubts concerning Brelan's affections for his wife, that one statement dispelled them.

  "You both love her and you both want what is best for her," the Queen said, bringing Conar's attention back to her. "As do I. I have gone to the Shadowlands and spoken to the Oracle. What I learned there greatly distresses me."

  "I did what I had to do," Conar defended. "If your gods-be-damned Oracle doesn't approve—"

  "There was never a question of whether she approved, Conar," Medea interrupted. "She would have protected you if she could have, but the gods did not allow it. Even the Great Lady, Herself, could not stop what had to happen, nor could She have retrieved Liza from Tohre's clutches. Your sacrifice was needed for that."

  "It wasn't what happened there that concerns us," Brelan put in. "I
t's this insane anger of yours."

  "Look whose hands are on me! I have a right to be angry."

  "Look at yourself," Medea pointed out. "You are literally quivering with rage and it started before Brelan ever laid hands on you. Where such fury comes from is a mystery to me and I suspect a mystery to you, as well."

  "I can handle it."

  "You could not control it at Boreas when you abused your wife."

  Conar flinched. "That was different. Now…"

  Medea stood and approached the two men, laying a hand on Conar's cheek, stopping his words. "There's something the Oracle thinks you must know, something Anya would never tell you."

  She took a deep breath, glanced at Saur for strength, and then looked back at Conar. "When Grice and Legion got her back, she was carrying Galen's seed. Healer Cayn aborted it."

  Conar's face turned scarlet. "Tohre promised me—"

  "You should know by now you can't trust Kaileel Tohre," Brelan sighed.

  "All Kaileel Tohre wanted was you, just as he has always wanted you," the queen explained. "Once he had you, once he had your soul, or thought he was about to take it, he was satisfied to leave Anya with your twin's seed impregnating her as a punishment." She turned her head. "For Galen as well, for daring to want her."

  "Galen is as tight with Tohre as he ever was," Brelan reminded Conar. "Tohre will help Galen try to take her from you again."

  "Galen McGregor will never lay hands to my wife again!" Conar swore. "I will—"

  "Anya will be safer here with me," Medea cut in. "I don't believe I can allow her to leave with you in the frame of mind you are now exhibiting."

  "I can keep my lady safe!"

  "You aren't the most rational of men at the best of times, McGregor," Brelan grunted. "When you're like this, you can't do squat."

  "Shut up!" Conar shouted. "I can protect my wife!"

  "I can not take the chance you might hurt her," the queen stated firmly.

  "You had better have Saur kill me here and now, for I promise, Medea, I will die trying to take her home!" He jerked against Brelan's hold and felt the sting of the dagger slipping across his windpipe. He sucked in his breath, but he tore his thoughts from his physical discomfort. "I have the power to take her!"

  The Queen's gaze was sorrowful as she looked at him. "You are only just realizing that power, Conar. You have no clear-cut idea what it is you have, nor do you know how to use it. If the time came to use it and you faltered, if you let your anger rule your head, both you and Anya could be destroyed in the twinkling of an eye."

  "She is my wife! She belongs with me. I will not let Saur have her!"

  Medea sighed with exasperation. "Anya is yours. Brelan has made no move to usurp that right."

  "Not yet, anyway," Brelan said.

  "Be still, Brelan," Medea told him. "Your mouth makes things worse. Conar, I will have my daughter safe. Your conduct is caused, no doubt, by something Tohre has set into motion. Do you think he will give up when you bring Anya back with you? He will turn his demons against her as well."

  "Have you no faith in me?" Conar roared. He tried to pull free of Brelan's grip; he felt Liza slipping through his fingers once more.

  "Move like that again, McGregor, and you'll sever an artery!" Brelan hissed.

  "Isn't that what you want? My blood?"

  "It would make no difference to me."

  "I have told you it would," the Queen warned. She eased away Brelan's hand from contact with Conar's flesh, and flinched as a thin seepage of blood oozed down her son-in-law's throat.

  "Be good, Coni," Brelan whispered as he held the dagger close to Conar's throat without touching it. "My hand might slip."

  "The Seachance is lying at anchor in the harbor," Medea informed the Prince. "The storm might delay departure for a few days, but when the ship is provisioned, you will be put on board. We will keep Anya safe until you have dealt with Tohre."

  "You can't do that!" Conar yelled.

  "We can, and we will. When you have shown us you can control your temper and Tohre's danger, we will consider whether she may return to you."

  "That could take years!"

  "That is up to the gods to decide. Anya will remain safely within her homeland until we are satisfied she is in no danger in yours."

  Conar's voice went soft as a serpent's hiss. "And if you are never satisfied that I can protect her, you'll just hand her over to Saur. Is that it?"

  Brelan lips stretched into a fine grin. "One can only hope."

  "Quiet, Brelan!" Medea snapped with irritation. "I'll not tell you again to hold your tongue unless you wish to join your brother in the dungeon."

  "Dungeon?" Conar went perfectly still.

  Medea placed a cool hand on Conar's brow. She mumbled strange words and he suddenly felt faint. "What are you doing?" he asked, the world skidding away before his eyes. He slumped against Brelan, who hastily dropped his dagger to keep Conar from falling.

  "Petrov? Kristoffer?" Medea called.

  "Don't touch me!" Conar insisted as the two burly guards marched up to him. He tried to focus on Medea. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "Making sure you cause no trouble."

  Brelan stepped back as the two men took hold of Conar's arms, tightening their grip when he attempted to pull away.

  "Put His Grace in a cell until it is time for his ship to leave," the Queen ordered. "I can not trust him to behave under lock and key in his chambers."

  "Don't you dare!" Conar thundered, struggling weakly against the men who firmly held him between them. The struggle only made his dizziness worse.

  Medea glanced up the stairs at her husband. "Have your men find his men, Shaz, and jail them."

  Shaz nodded, unable to speak. Here was his warrior-wife of legend whom he'd been warned about many years before; he knew better than to go against her wishes.

  "Keep him well apart from his men," she told her guards. "I want no conspiracy brewing."

  Conar snarled as the men pulled him away. He limply craned his head over his shoulder and glared at the Queen. "You will regret this! You can't keep her away from me!" He managed to free one arm and sent a rock-hard fist into one guard as he kicked out at the other. "Get your gods-be-damned hands off me."

  "Shackle him, Petrov," the Queen ordered, surprised by Conar's sudden capability. So strong, already, without a clue how to control it. She reached inside her skirt pocket and withdrew a vial of greenish fluid. "Place this potion on the closings of the shackles. It will ensure him not being able to use his powers to escape."

  "Damn you," Conar moaned. He tried to gather his wits into a cohesive line of power, but after his ferocious outburst, he found he couldn't. He tried to kick out, but the a guard grabbed his legs, swinging him off the floor; he was left dangling between them. He was so furious he could think of no curse to hurl at the woman as he was carried out of the hall.

  Brelan smiled as Grice and Chand joined him at the foot of the stairs. "What a glorious sight!"

  "Don't say that!" Medea hissed.

  Brelan's smile disappeared. "I only meant—"

  "Oh, do be quiet, Saur! You have no idea what things you've set into motion with your silly, childish taunts!"

  "I can't help it if I don't like the man."

  The queen stared at him as he joined her sons at the stairs. Once again she saw the future as though she were looking through a pane of glass. She became witness to the final confrontation between Brelan Saur and Conar McGregor. It would be the turning point in their lifelong struggle. She flinched; her sorceress' vision leapt beyond what she had seen taking place between the them to the actual place where it was to occur. Her heart ached. Nothing she could do would ever change what the gods had in store for them.

  "Despite what you say you feel about your brother, you will be his greatest ally one day," she called softly, drawing Saur's immediate attention.

  "I know that will never happen, Majesty."

  Later that evening, when
she and her husband were alone, she wept against Shaz's shoulder. He held her as she poured out her fears.

  "His love will cost him dearly, Shaz. Brelan Saur will pay a high price." Her voice broke as she saw an unalterable future. "It will cost him his life."

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  The intense chill of the stone floor woke him from his enforced sleep. He opened his eyes to stare at the moisture-dripping wall across from him and shuddered as a large rat scampered down the slick surface.

  His cell was five feet in diameter, windowless in the damp dungeon of Seadrift Keep. The only light was a torch outside the barred door.

  The stench of rotting hay and ages-old excrement and urine made his nostrils quiver and his eyes sting. Absently, he wondered who had been the cell's last inhabitant, and how long ago. Not that it mattered in the least, he thought dismally.

  They must have looked long and hard to find just the right cell for his imprisonment. This one was, by far, the worst he had ever seen.

  Not that he had seen many; imprisonment was something he had encountered only a few times. The cells at the Abbey were harsh, but they were, for the most part, cleaner than this. His one and only encounter with a civilian jail—long ago and thanks to Teal du Mer—had been a helluva sight better than this. This was a nightmare.

  He growled with contempt, pulled against his bonds, flinching at the pain. He glared at the chains that secured him to the thick wall. His hands, manacled beside his head, had gone numb; his wrists were raw from trying to pull free when he'd first been cast into this dismal, dank tomb.

  The bands gouging into his flesh set his teeth on edge; a trickle of pain spread down his arms when he tried to flex his fingers. His feet barely touched the floor, but that was just as well, for he heard the rodents.

  Water dripped down his back. He cringed, craning his neck to look at the ceiling. Squinting in the semi-darkness, he could just make out a rivulet of shiny wetness tracking down the wall. From the smell, and thickness of it, it must have come from a privy. He wrinkled his nose with distaste and pulled fiercely on his chains. He howled with frustration, slumping into the bands around his wrists, flinching as the lacerated flesh pulled taut.