Children of the Sun Read online

  The emperor turned his gaze to the world beyond his window. For twenty-four of the twenty-five years Arik had ruled, Columbyana had been a better place than it had been under Sebestyen or his father or his grandfather. During the past year the country had experienced a decidedly dark turn. Sian carried the explanation for that turn in the inside pocket of his dusty traveling coat.

  The emperor was obviously in no hurry to hear the prophesy. Did he know the news would be bad? Likely so. Prophesies were rarely of the joyful sort. The news that Sian had made the long trip in less than three weeks should also tell the emperor that the news he carried was of great importance. To journey from the southernmost tip of the Eastern Province to Arthes could easily take twice that amount of time if one traveled at a moderately leisurely pace.

  “Before we get down to the business which brought you here, tell me something of yourself, Sian.” Emperor Arik folded his trembling hands on his lap. “Are you married? Do you have children? You’re how old now, twenty-eight?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “Yes, of course. Thirty-four. Imagine that.” He glanced out the window, as if studying the fine, sunny day with some interest. “Surely by now you’ve taken a wife and produced many fine children. Do they have magic, like their father, their grandmother, and their great-grandfather?”

  Sian had not expected to find himself in a position where he had to relive his failures. There were so many of them. “I married many years ago.” Before the emperor could make joyous inquiries, Sian added, “My wife died giving birth. The child also died.”

  “You never remarried?”

  “No,” Sian snapped. “Did you?”

  The force of Arik’s gaze was powerful, ill or not. “No, I did not, as I’m sure you well know. Did you love her so much, then?”

  Sian withdrew the prophesy from his coat and unfolded the paper his grandfather had scribbled upon in his final days. “My lord, the matter which brings me to Arthes is of such importance, I feel we must press forward. Personal conversations must be set aside for another time.”

  “Of course.” Arik gestured, rolling two fingers of his right hand in a manner which very clearly said, Go on, and be quick about it.

  “ ‘A darkness creeps beneath Columbyana and the lands beyond,’ ” Sian read. “ ‘This darkness grows stronger each and every day, infecting those who have an affinity for evil. As it grows stronger, it will also begin to affect those who are of weak mind, and eventually it will grow so strong no one among us will be able to defeat it. If this darkness is allowed to grow to that point, the world is doomed to eternal shadows, where evil will reign.’ ”

  Arik lifted a silencing hand. “What does that mean, a darkness? Is this a person? A group of people? Is it a metaphor or an actual dimness?”

  “I do not know,” Sian admitted. “Prophesy is not one of my gifts.”

  Again, Arik made the gesture that commanded Sian to continue.

  “ ‘Only the firstborn children of three fine women have the power to stop the darkness and restore the world to light.’ ” Sian folded the paper. There was more written in his grandfather’s hand. More detail about the ugliness of the battle and the monsters which would need to be defeated in this war. More promise of death and darkness, along with a few scribbles in the margin which made no sense at all. “Beware Serrazone,” with no hint as to who or what Serrazone might be. “He who walks through fire may show the way.” There were other references to the children of the fine women as soldiers. Warriors. Scrawled along one margin were the words, Those who are called must choose between love and death, between heart and intellect, between victory of the sword and victory of the soul. Some of the scribblings seemed to be nonsense. Others were no more than doodles. Still, Sian was certain they were as important as the carefully worded prophesy which filled the center of the page. He just didn’t know how. Not yet.

  Given Arik’s fragile condition, it was likely best that he not be bombarded with an excess of unpleasant details at this time. “ ‘The firstborn children of three fine women’ isn’t very specific, I’m afraid, but he made it very clear to me that they would be crucial. Grandfather was very ill in his final days. I’m sure if he’d had more time...”

  Arik smiled crookedly, a strange response given the dire prophesy. “Your grandfather was specific enough, Sian.”

  “There are many fine women in Columbyana and beyond, my lord. How will we know where to look for their sons?”

  Arik shook a too-thin finger at Sian. “You see the prophesy, but I hear it. I imagine your grandfather heard it, too, in his own way, so he can be excused for making a mistake.”

  Sian’s spine went rigid. A mistake from his grandfather? Unheard of.

  “F-Y-N-E,” Arik spelled slowly. “Fyne. I suspect the prophesy refers to the firstborn children of three Fyne women. I didn’t hear the word ‘sons,’ though you used that word.”

  “As these children are meant to be soldiers in the coming war, I assumed it to be so.”

  “If sons were required, I believe your grandfather would’ve made that plain. No, his one mistake was in the misspelling of Fyne.”

  While Sian hated to admit that his grandfather might’ve made a mistake, given the old man’s physical condition in his final days, it was certainly possible. “Do you know where these Fyne women and their children can be found?”

  For the first time, Arik’s smile seemed real, and familiar. He looked not quite so ill, not quite so old. This was the man Sian remembered. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  ***

  Ariana ran down the hallway, her breath catching in her chest, her skirt held off the floor so it would not impede her progress. Something was wrong. She would not be called to the emperor so soon after her last visit if he had not taken a turn for the worse.

  She wanted desperately to save him. Everything inside her told her that was impossible, and still... that was what she wanted. Not only had she come to care for the man, much as she cared for her own father, but she felt a responsibility to the country she called home. Under Arik, Columbyana had known many years of peace, with nothing more than infrequent local skirmishes and Tryfyn criminals who crossed the border to call his soldiers to battle. When he was gone, what would follow? Prince Ciro would not be a good ruler, as his father had been, and if Ciro was not found, anything was possible. War was not only possible, it was likely.

  She had to keep Arik alive. He should have many years left! What could’ve happened so soon after her visit to require her presence? He’d been doing well, considering his condition. The wizard was surely to blame. The purple-eyed, beak-nosed man in black who’d made such a show of opening and closing the doors. He must’ve done something to the emperor. If only she’d seen the danger coming. If only she had known.

  As she approached, waiting sentinels opened the door to Emperor Arik’s chamber. Ariana did not slow down, but burst into the room, breathless and scared, and more than a little determined.

  The man in black stood near the window beside the emperor, who looked no worse than he had when she’d left him. In fact, there was new color to the emperor’s cheeks, and he smiled up at the man with the odd purple eyes. She could not forget the man’s eyes, even now. The color itself was unusual enough, but it was the way the colors shifted constantly that had made her heart skip a beat when she’d first seen him. His eyes looked like dark skies on a stormy day, with clouds drifting and ominous rain threatening.

  Ariana came to a quick halt in the center of the room. Both men looked at her, and then, the emperor gestured to his sentinels, ordering silently that the doors be closed behind Ariana.

  The wizard—for what else could he be, given those eyes and his trick with the doors?—lifted imperious eyebrows. “Her?” He sounded surprised and more than a little disappointed.

  “Yes, her,” the emperor responded calmly. “Sian Sayre Chamblyn, may I introduce Miss Ariana Kane Varden, firstborn child of the witch Sophie Fyne Varden, and a Fyne witch no matter wh
ich name she chooses to call her own.”

  Chamblyn looked down at the seated emperor. “But... she’s a healer, and not a particularly good one at that.”

  Ariana stepped toward the men. “I beg your pardon...”

  “Apologies,” Chamblyn said in an offhand way that conveyed no real regret. “I should have said not a particularly powerful one. I’m sure you’re adequately trained with potions and such.”

  He spoke of her in such a dismissive way, an uncustomary ire rose up and threatened to choke Ariana. How dare this dirty, arrogant, hawk-nosed, purple-eyed wizard insult her. How dare he dismiss her as if she were insignificant? “I’ll have you know...”

  Without even looking at her, Chamblyn lifted his hand and twitched his fingers, and with that simple move he stole Ariana’s voice. She continued to try to speak, but no sound came from her mouth. She stalked toward the offensive wizard, and he lifted his hand again.

  “Don’t make me freeze you. I understand it’s very uncomfortable.”

  Ariana wanted to say, “You wouldn’t dare.” But she couldn’t.

  She came to a halt, and Chamblyn returned his attention to the emperor—who had been watching the exchange with no small amusement.

  “We are talking about war, my lord. Not a war like the one in which you and my father fought together, but a struggle between light and dark. There will be monsters in this coming war. The blood of innocents will be shed before it’s done, not the blood of soldiers and rebels who chose the life of combat, as you and my father did so long ago.”

  Ariana stopped trying to regain her voice and listened as the wizard raised his hand again and pointed at her. She wondered... what would he do to her this time? He merely pointed at her, without so much as looking her way. “She will be eaten alive if you send her into this battle. Perhaps figuratively, perhaps literally. In either case, she will die a very ugly death, and I wish no part in sending her there. Only the strongest of wizards and witches have a chance of stopping this darkness before it claims the world we live in.”

  “She has potential,” the emperor said. “If you teach her—”

  “I am no tutor,” Chamblyn snapped, interrupting the ruler of Columbyana with his sharp voice.

  “You could be,” Arik argued.

  Chamblyn sighed, and raked a hand through long, black hair that had come loose from his braid to brush his face. “Let me take her place,” he said more calmly. “I have the skills she does not, and I’m willing to fight in her stead.”

  Arik looked Ariana’s way, and she was taken aback by the depth of sadness on his face. He’d had no reason to be happy of late, but she had never seen him look so completely disconsolate, as if the wizard had robbed the emperor of his last hope. “You read the prophesy, Sian. It doesn’t work that way, and you know it well.”

  Chamblyn studied Ariana from head to toe with that annoyingly dismissive gaze. His purple eyes—heavens, she had never known such eyes were possible—seemed to glow from within. They danced and the color shifted from dark to light and back again. Set above a nose that was too sharp and too long, and above cheeks that were too lean, the eyes were captivating... and the only truly beautiful feature on a masculine and somehow bleak face.

  “My grandfather made a mistake in the spelling of one word. Perhaps those who are required are not firstborn children, but firstborn sons. Did Sophie Fyne have a son?”

  “Duran Varden,” Emperor Arik answered. “He’s a sentinel, one of my best. When Ariana came to serve me, her parents would not allow her to travel alone or stay here without family nearby, so he accompanied her.”

  The wizard seemed, to relax. “What are his magical gifts?”

  Arik shrugged. “Like his father, he has none. He’s a fine soldier, however. Quite the swordsman.”

  Chamblyn began to pace. “Magical powers will be necessary for this fight.” He stopped pacing and waved his hand carelessly in Ariana’s direction. “Perhaps we should ask the healer what she thinks.”

  “I...” Ariana touched her throat as the word left her mouth. The wizard had returned her voice to her as quickly as he had taken it. “If this man wishes to sacrifice himself to monsters in my stead, I won’t stand in his way.” She looked bravely into his odd eyes.

  Unexpectedly, he smiled at her. She did not find him at all attractive, but he had a nice smile nonetheless. It transformed his face in a way she had not expected.

  Ariana dismissed the wizard and his smile, much as he had dismissed her, and turned to the emperor. “My lord, perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me what’s happened to make this man speak of monsters and war and the death of innocents.”

  “Of course.”

  Ariana moved closer so that the emperor would not have to raise his voice when he grew weary. She suspected this would take some time, and he did tire easily these days. He took her hand, and in a lowered voice began. “ ‘A darkness creeps beneath Columbyana and the lands beyond...’ ”

  Chapter Two

  Three Fyne women. It did make some sense, he supposed, especially as the Fyne women Arik was acquainted with were powerful witches. That did not mean, however, that their firstborn children were equally powerful, or that those children would be adequate in battle against the darkness that was rising. If only the firstborn son had some sort of power inherited from his mother, perhaps Sian could convince himself that this woman before him wasn’t meant to sacrifice herself to save others.

  “So, what kind of wizard are you?” The Fyne witch Ariana—Varden, she preferred to be called—paced in the large Level Five room Arik had assigned them for their lessons. This had once been a suite for guests or family members, if he remembered correctly, but lately it had been used as some sort of meeting room. A long table, dark wood with a decorative inlay on top, had been placed in the center of the room. The large fireplace was dormant on this warm day, and a wide window allowed sunlight to illuminate the room. The rest of the room was ordinary. There were chairs, a mixture of comfortable and austere, and tables, some useful and others decorative. There were mismatched framed pictures on the walls, carried here from different parts of the palace where they were no longer wanted. Some were of long-ago imperial residents, others were landscapes that had lost favor from their original wall-spaces. Much of the spacious room was empty. In the coming days of training, he and Ariana were to have anything they asked for.

  A miracle would be nice.

  “I’m an enchanter,” Sian replied.

  “Tricks and illusion,” Ariana responded airily. “You might scoff at the power of healing, but at least my talents provide a substantial difference in the lives of those I assist.”

  “I do not scoff at the power of healing.” There had been times when he would have put aside all the powers of enchantment for such a gift, not that he would admit as much to Ariana. “That power is, however, insufficient when it comes to battle, unless you’re present to tend to the wounded.”

  She tried to appear nonchalant, but the too-firm set of her mouth gave her away. “Perhaps it is a metaphorical battle against evil that your grandfather spoke of. We all must choose good or evil at some point in our lives.”

  “There’s nothing metaphorical about the prophesy,” Sian said sharply. “The battle has already begun, and if you open your eyes, you’ll see it for yourself. Emperor Arik’s illness, Prince Ciro’s disappearance, a village two days’ ride from Arthes decimated by plague, a perfectly ordinary man killing his wife and then eating her heart, a mother murdering her own children...”

  “Enough,” Ariana said gently. “I know that things have not been right in the past few months, but that doesn’t mean evil has infected the people of Columbyana.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  Ariana pulled a chair—one of the plain, hard ones—to the long table that dominated the room. She sat, and then leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands. She had healer’s hands, soft and white and delicate. How had he ever mistake
n her, even for a moment, for a concubine? She remained in that position just long enough to take two long breaths, and then she lifted her head and looked at him. She was stronger than she appeared to be. Most women, when informed that it was their duty to fight monsters, might shed a tear or two, or bemoan the inconvenience or the danger. Not Ariana. She did not like the idea, but she was willing to take it on.

  “What is my part in this to be?” she asked steadily.

  “I do not yet know,” Sian responded, not yet ready to tell her all that he knew. “Much of the prophesy is yet to be interpreted.” Should he even tell her that she must be a warrior? That in spite of her talents for healing, she would be called to take up the sword? Perhaps not at this time. He could not tell her near everything he knew just yet. “Our first task will be to discover the nature of the evil, so that we can fight it effectively.”

  “How might we accomplish that?” There was no panic in her voice, no wailing. She got straight to the business at hand, and for that he was grateful.

  “I’m not sure.” Neither his gift nor hers would be of any help in identifying the source of the darkness. “Tell me about the other two firstborn children of the Fyne women.”

  “Keelia is a year younger than I,” Ariana said. “She’s been Queen of the Anwyn for ten years, and she’s a very powerful seer, as well as a shape-shifter. She can tell us the source of the evil, I’m sure.” Her voice grew slightly lighter as she revealed this belief. “We’re weeks away from the Anwyn mountains—the Mountains of the North—and the journey there isn’t an easy one, but I know she’ll be of great help once we tell her what’s going on.”

  Sian began to relax. At least this cousin would be of some use. “And the other?”

  “Lyr Hern. He’s twenty-three years old and has just taken his father’s place as Prince of Swords. Have you heard of the Circle of Bacwyr?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Lyr has his father’s gift for swordplay, as well as inherited magic from Aunt Isadora. Even as a child, watching him practice with his knives and such was like watching a dance.”