Children of the Sun Read online

  “His magic?”

  “Time,” Ariana answered. “Lyr can freeze time, for a moment or two. He can move through it, but everything else remains stagnant.”

  “A useful gift for a swordsman.”

  “He never employs his magic while fighting. Lyr’s father, Uncle Lucan, forbade it long ago. He said it wasn’t sporting.”

  When fighting evil, one doesn’t have to be sporting.”

  Ariana sighed. “Lyr is, of course, a long journey in the opposite direction from Keelia, halfway across the country of Tryfyn. Must I collect them myself, or should I send couriers to them both with the news?”

  Sian shook his head. “Once the prophesy is revealed to the masses, people will panic. When that happens, the darkness we’re trying to fight will have yet another foothold. It’s possible the enemy doesn’t yet know that you and your cousins are destined to fight them, and that you might even win. If the news spreads to the wrong ears, I’m afraid it will only accelerate the coming battle.” They were not ready. “I’m encouraged to hear of the talents of your cousins.”

  Ariana wrinkled her nose in an almost girlish way. “I will admit, compared to Keelia and Lyr, my own talents are rather puny.”

  “I will teach you what I can,” Sian said solemnly.

  She faced her fate bravely. “Why don’t you retire to your quarters for a while?” she suggested. “After your long journey I’m sure a nap and a bath would be welcomed.”

  His own personal comfort meant little, given the circumstances, but he suspected that Ariana needed some time alone herself. She did not want him to see her dread of what was to come. Perhaps she wished to shed a few tears in private. He could allow her that indulgence, as long as her tears didn’t last too long. They had much work to do.

  And she still did not know the worst of the prophesy.

  ***

  By the time Ariana returned to the workroom, it was well past dark. A fire had been lit in the stone fireplace, and the dancing flames warmed the room nicely. Sian Chamblyn paced in front of that fire.

  He looked somewhat better, after bathing and changing into fresh, clean clothes. Again he wore all black, but at least the trousers and wide-sleeved shirt he wore this evening were clean. He’d loosed the braid and his long black hair fell free. Straight, silky strands moved sensuously as he paced.

  There was so much tension in his long, lean body, she doubted he’d followed her advice about taking a nap.

  The enchanter was not a pretty man, not at all. And yet, there was something fascinating about him. Sian Sayre Chamblyn was all man, and in spite of the too-long nose and the odd purple eyes, he was sensually appealing. If Ariana cared about intriguing men, which she didn’t, she might take a moment longer to admire that fact.

  She entered the room quietly, and he barked at her. “It’s about time.”

  “I apologize for the delay. I wanted to see the emperor before we got started.”

  Sian’s head snapped around and he glared at her.

  “Never fear, wizard, I didn’t ask too many questions about you.” Well, she had, but the emperor had been oddly stubborn, insisting that Sian himself would tell her what she needed to know. “I needed to make sure my patient was situated for the evening. It’s been a trying day for him, and he no longer has the energy to face trying days.”

  “Is there another healer in the palace?” Sian tried to sound cold, but Ariana could tell that he cared about the emperor’s condition. He just didn’t want anyone to know that he cared.

  “No,” she answered. “None of sufficient skill, at least. I’ve sent for my sister Sibyl. She’s only eighteen, but she’s quite talented. It will take her some time to get here, but at least if I have to depart the palace in order to fulfill my part in the prophesy, I won’t be leaving the emperor unattended.”

  “Two healers in the family. How odd.”

  “There are nine of us. Many of us share the same ability.” Some of the Varden children had more than one natural magical talent, and two of the boys had none at all.

  Sian recoiled slightly, and then he shuddered. “Nine children? How awful for you.”

  Ariana smiled. “Thank you. Most people go on and on about how lovely it must be to have such a large family when they find that I have five sisters and three brothers.”

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I love my siblings, but solitude was almost nonexistent when I was growing up. I’ve always favored my privacy.”

  “So have I.”

  “How many siblings do you have?”

  “None,” he snapped. “I’m an only child. Now that this useless repartee is done, can we get to work?”

  “Of course.”

  Work, at least for tonight, began with an examination given by the wizard. His disdain for her all-but-useless abilities was evident, as he ascertained everything which she could not do. He made notes on a sheet of paper, perhaps planning for her lessons in the days to come. When the sheet was full, he turned it over and began again, scribbling on the backside and muttering to himself.

  “Shouldn’t our first order of business be to identify that which we will be fighting?” she asked as Sian set the very full sheet of paper aside.

  “That would be helpful. How do you propose we accomplish that?”

  Ariana placed one hand on the table. Her fingers touched the colorful and elaborate inlay. “I have been studying this while you were interrogating me.”

  Sian’s eyebrows arched slightly at the word “interrogating,” but he didn’t respond.

  “It’s difficult to tell until you know what this is, but what we have here on the table is a map.”

  Sian grunted, and the sound seemed to be affirmative. Perhaps he could now see what she had realized as she’d stared at the table. “I understand that at one time Emperor Sebestyen concocted battle plans for his generals using this very table.”

  Sian cocked his head to one side and studied the inlay. Precious and semiprecious stones were set here and there in colorful polished marble. Tryfyn was green stone; the land of the Anwyn was in gray, as was all the unexplored land beyond the known borders. Columbyana was represented in a soft pink, with cities and lakes and rivers marked in other stones of varying colors. It was quite beautiful.

  “Who told you that tale? A smitten sentinel?”

  Ariana smiled. “A smitten grandfather. Maddox Sulyen was once Sebestyen’s Minister of Defense.”

  “Until he joined Arik in the revolution,” Sian said. “Sulyen is your grandfather?”

  “Yes. His fighting days are behind him, of course. He’s well and married and lives near my parents. Before I came here, he told me many secrets about this palace. He told me to look for this table if I had the chance. He found it quite beautiful. A work of art, he said.”

  “It is a fine work of art,” Sian agreed sharply. “How does it help us in our work?”

  “This is the palace.” She pointed to a red gem near the center of the map.

  “I see,” he responded, his voice low as usual.

  “All evening, I have been thinking about what you said. The plague, the emperor’s illness, the... other incidents.” Even though war was coming, according to the wizard, she could not bring herself to speak about a mother killing her children or a husband eating his wife’s heart. “I did of course hear about those incidents when they occurred. The emperor is informed regularly of the happenings in his country, and in the past several months I have been spending more and more time in his company.”

  “As he grows more infirm,” Sian added unnecessarily.

  “Yes.” Ariana pointed to the palace, and then drew her finger out along a thin road that headed almost straight north. “Here is the village where the plague killed everyone and then vanished.” Her finger returned to the gem that indicated the location of the palace where she and Sian now worked. Again, it trailed along a road—south, this time. “It was here that the man murdered his wife so violently.” She did not feel the nee
d to say more as once again her fingertip returned to the palace. “The woman who... the mother...” Again, she traced a road east and stopped. “Here.”

  She had Sian’s full attention. “They are an equal distance from the palace, though in diverse directions.”

  “Yes. All three incidents occurred at about the same time, not long after Prince Ciro disappeared and Emperor Arik fell ill. I’m going to imagine that whatever it is I’m meant to fight, it started somewhere and grew. A darkness creeping, your grandfather called it.”

  “Yes.”

  Ariana again placed her fingertip on the red gem that marked the location of the palace. “I think it started here.”

  ***

  Fynnian sat back in his favorite chair and watched the boy, as he did most evenings. Ciro favored his mother, his long hair fine and pale, his eyes a hypnotic pale blue. There was nothing feminine about the boy, though. He might be young still, but he was a man.

  A man with no soul, but still—a man. A man who would one day rule Columbyana and all the land beyond the country’s borders. Fynnian would be with him when the time came. The boy would be a puppet emperor, just as he was a puppet now.

  As they had in months past, the two men passed the evening in the study of a vast and well-built house which sat upon an isolated part of the northern mountains of Columbyana. A fire burned in the large stone fireplace. Summer was coming, but here in the mountains the nights remained cold. They likely had not seen their last snow.

  During his lifetime, Fynnian had managed to surround himself with many beautiful things. The furnishings were the finest, and exquisite paintings graced the walls. There were not many windows in this part of the house, and the colors in this study were primarily dim. If not for the interference of his daughter, Rayne, the room might be quite gloomy. Instead, it was brightened by a few colorful vases filled with flowers she had grown in her garden and carefully arranged with her own hands, as well as decorative pillows in shades of red and gold.

  Perhaps it was not the Imperial Palace where Ciro had been born and raised, but it was Fynnian’s palace, smaller but certainly adequate for any man, prince or not.

  From the short sofa where he sat, near the fire where he might take in some warmth, Ciro lifted his head and looked Fynnian in the eye. “I’m hungry.” His voice was lifeless. Dead. Hollow, just as the man was hollow.

  “You will be fed soon enough.” The necessary feedings were coming more frequently now, a sign that the boy’s power was growing as it should.

  “You know what I want.” Ciro cocked his head to one side, and his eyes narrowed. Firelight flickered on long flaxen hair, and on a pale cheek, and for a moment it seemed the lifeless eyes glowed red. Another man might be afraid, but Fynnian was not. The transformation was not yet complete, but Ciro was already his. Fynnian had made himself father, mother, friend, and mentor to the lost prince.

  “You cannot have her,” Fynnian responded. “Not yet. Not until we’re finished with all we have to do. You cannot have her in the way that you wish, but... would you like to have a look?”

  “Yes, please,” Ciro whispered.

  Evidence that Ciro’s transformation was not yet complete was clear in that spontaneously spoken “please.” A true beast did not use such a polite word. A soulless fiend took what he wanted without the word “please” passing his lips.

  Fynnian lifted the silver bell which sat on his side table, and rang it briefly. In moments, Rayne appeared. “Yes, Father?”

  “My guest and I would like some tea.”

  Rayne glanced nervously at Ciro, who grinned at her like a man who did not have tea on his mind. “Of course, Father.” She fled from the room as quickly as she could, her skirts swishing, her breath held.

  “More,” Ciro muttered when she was gone.

  “Rayne will soon return with the tea. She’ll stay longer next time.”

  Fynnian was not blind to his daughter’s beauty. The girl looked very much like her mother. Dark hair, dark eyes, innocently beautiful face, body ripe and still untouched. She would make a fine empress when the time came.

  Rayne was as much a prisoner here as Ciro. Neither of them realized they were being held captive. It was an art, one at which Fynnian was quite adept—and well practiced.

  Rayne returned quickly with the tea. As was expected, she served Ciro first, since he was their guest. She did not know he was the Prince of Columbyana, or that he’d been officially missing for months. How could she know? Rayne had been sequestered here in this fine house for her entire life. If she had been given to wandering, she would not have gotten far. They were a long way from any village, and the closest neighbor they’d had in her nineteen years had met with an untimely accident—as did anyone else who came too close. Rayne knew nothing which her father did not tell her.

  She did not like the tall, fair-haired man who had been with them for so long. Fynnian could tell by the way she served the guest so quickly and then moved away that he made her uneasy. He could not blame her. Ciro looked at the woman he lusted after as if he wanted to eat her alive. His hands wandered too close to her body, though he did not touch. He had been told he could not. Not yet.

  When the time was right and Rayne had served her purpose, Ciro could do whatever he wanted to her.

  After Rayne had served Fynnian his tea, she nodded gently. “If you don’t think you’ll need me again this evening, I’ll retire for the night.”

  “So soon?”

  “I don’t enjoy the late-night hours the way you do, Father.”

  No, Rayne was a morning person, like her mother. “We’ll be fine, dear,” Fynnian said, patting his daughter’s hand gently. “You go on to bed.”

  Rayne said good night, cast a suspicious glance at Ciro and nodded shyly, and fled from the room.

  “She doesn’t like me,” Ciro said when Rayne was gone.

  “She will learn to like you in time.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “Then when she’s served her purpose you can kill her, the way I killed her mother when she grew tiresome.”

  Ciro shrugged slightly, accepting that as a possibility. “It was nice to look upon Rayne for a few moments, but watching her only made my hunger more keen,” he said.

  These days Ciro was always hungry, but that was to be expected as the transformation took place. Fynnian rose from his chair and headed for a small door at the rear of the study. He could not feed the boy as often as he’d like, not without some considerable trouble. Eventually the prince would be able to feed himself, but until then these weekly feasts would suffice.

  Fynnian opened the door, and found the girl waiting. She was thin, young, and frightened. His personal soldiers had delivered her just that morning. She cowered in the small room that was little more than a closet, her dark hair mussed, her face smeared with tears and dirt.

  “Come, child,” he said, offering her his hand and a genuine smile.

  “Why have you brought me here?” she asked. “What do you want with me?”

  “I did not bring you here,” Fynnian said calmly. “You poor child. What happened?”

  The girl stared at him suspiciously. Armed men had kidnapped her; a maid as timid as she had seen to her through the day. Perhaps she thought he was going to save her. Foolish girl.

  “I was traveling to my sister’s house, and—”

  “Traveling all alone, I imagine,” he said.

  “Yes, as I have done many times.” Her voice was quick. “Her house isn’t far from mine, less than half a day’s walk. But this day some... some horrible men snatched me up and I was on the back of a horse for—”

  Still smiling, Fynnian backhanded the girl. The sound of his hand against her check was followed by a surprised gasp. “You talk too much.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the study. Her eyes flitted this way and that, as if she had never seen such elegance in her lifetime. She likely had not, given the state of her dress and her worn walking shoes. Her gaze eventually l
anded on Ciro and stayed there.

  The prince was a handsome fellow; tall and broad-shouldered and pretty of face. The girl was fascinated for a moment. There were no more tears, no demand for explanations. She was enchanted.

  “This is Prince Ciro,” Fynnian said. “Have you heard of him?”

  “Of course I have,” the girl said. Her brow furrowed. “Is that why I was brought here in secret, because he is a prince?”

  “Yes, dear.” Fynnian could almost hear the gears turning in the simple girl’s mind. She was thinking of romance. He reached into her mind and nudged gently, feeding the enchantment. The girl imagined, quite vividly, that the handsome prince had seen her about town and had ordered her delivered to him so that he might slake his lust. She would gladly spread her legs for a man like this one, and it wouldn’t be the first time she had done so.

  She approached the prince almost coyly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” The girl was not beautiful, not like Rayne, but neither was she entirely homely. She knew how to flirt in a crude way. She tossed her mussed dark hair, and smiled—forgetting the tear tracks and smudges of dirt on her face—and thrust out her chest to show off her wares.

  “Would you sit on my knee?” Ciro asked, patting the knee in question.

  “Of course, my lord.” The girl perched prettily on Ciro’s knee, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “What is it you desire of me, Prince Ciro?”

  Ciro had likely never been subtle, and in his new state all semblance of patience and princely comportment had been dismissed. He thrust his hand between the girl’s legs and rubbed hard. Without so much as a word of protest, or a moment of pretending to be a demure lady, she closed her eyes and rocked against that hand. She spread her legs and shifted so that the prince touched her where she wanted to be touched.

  Fynnian watched, a silent observer. Neither of the participants in this groping encounter paid him any mind, so he was free to watch. Not only to watch, but to study Ciro’s moves, the expressions on the boy’s face, the way his breathing changed as the girl moaned and thrust her bosoms close to his face.