Children of the Sun Read online

  This encounter could be over quickly, but he did not want to rush. It might be days before Fynnian delivered another meal, and Ciro did not want this to be done too soon. He wanted to savor what was coming. As the last of his clothing was put aside, he anticipated the taking of the soul that would satisfy him, and the blood that would sustain him.

  Pretty as this slave was, she was not Rayne. Rayne, who was beautiful and pure of body and soul. Rayne, who would be his empress when the time came. He closed his eyes and thought of the woman he wanted most of all, as the slave Elen knelt before him and took him into her mouth.

  A part of Ciro was demon, and he realized that fact too well. But another part remained human, at least for now. He was still a man, and he pictured Rayne as she had been in the garden as the slave used her mouth and her tongue and her hands on him. She no longer trembled or fumbled.

  No, Elen’s previous duties had not been of the outdoor type. She was talented, this one was. If he cared more for the needs of the body than the needs of the demon who resided inside him, he would keep her alive for a while longer. His demon hunger was more powerful than his hunger as a man, and he knew that would not happen.

  Ciro fisted one hand in the slave’s hair, and in his mind it was Rayne’s dark hair he gripped, Rayne’s wide mouth pleasing him, Rayne’s gentle hand working with the mouth. One day it would be his beloved who knelt before him, naked and trembling. It would be Rayne, with her beautiful face and her slender pale hands, and her flawless soul, who became his slave. Rayne would be his wife, his empress, and mother of his son.

  The thought was unexpected, and Ciro realized that it was the Isen Demon who spoke to him as the slave continued at her task. The demon whispered promises, as it sometimes did. There would be a son, the offspring of the demon, and Ciro, and Rayne. All three would be necessary to create the remarkable child who would be both a monster and a man, who would grow to rule this ruined earth and feed upon those who dared to attempt to bring the light back to what had been destroyed.

  His completion was strong and quick. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman kneel before him this way, and the needs of his body were not yet dead. He suspected they might be soon, but not before he made Rayne his bride in every way. Not before he created his son.

  Our son.

  Elen stood, breathing deeply and wiping her mouth. “All I ask is that if I please you when you desire it, you do not hit me.”

  She thought he would be agreeable now, and what man wouldn’t be after such a display of skill?

  Ciro’s answer was to backhand her, so that she flew across the room and landed on her backside, naked and shaking.

  “You do not dictate to me,” he said. “Stand.”

  She scrambled to her feet, shaking and cowering.

  “Lie on the bed.”

  Elen, his slave, took care not to come too near him as she passed by, but she again did as he commanded. She sat on the side of the bed for a moment, and then she reclined on top of the coverlet, legs spread and trembling. One hand caressed the cheek he’d slapped, and a single tear slipped from one fetching blue eye.

  As he approached, it occurred to him that she was a bit too skinny to be truly beautiful. Her previous owner hadn’t fed her properly. Her breasts had not suffered too badly. They were full and taut, the breasts of a young woman who had not yet given birth.

  As he stood over the slave Elen, Ciro wondered if the demon inside him would completely wash away all that was left of his human desires. When Rayne became his bride, when he planted his son inside her, would the experience be a chore, or the pleasure he dreamed of now, when some of the man remained?

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  Elen didn’t know how to respond. She searched her mind for a moment, wondering if he wished to be feared or not. Finally she answered, “Yes, my lord. I am very much afraid of you.”

  “Good,” he said, and the woman on the bed breathed again, assured that she had found the right answer.

  Ciro lay atop Elen and pressed his body to hers. She did not know what to expect, since he was no longer hard and as a man had no more use for the body which was all she had to offer.

  He kissed her throat, and tasted not only the blood beneath but the dimly lit soul. Usually it was here that he asked for permission. It was at this moment, with his mouth on the throat, that he asked, “Will you offer me body and soul?”

  Today, he did not ask. Nor did he hurry. He felt the woman beneath him relax. Elen believed she was safe here. She had accepted him as master, and had agreed to do everything he required of her. She tried to reach between their bodies to caress him, to make him hard again, but he grabbed her wrist and moved her hand aside. “No” he said gruffly, his mouth still against her throat.

  Could he do what needed to be done? Was she his for the taking, without the spoken permission?

  Ciro bit into Elen’s slender throat, and she flinched. “Easy, my lord,” she whispered.

  “Easy,” he replied.

  “Yes.”

  He bit fully into her throat, finding the vein and opening it, taking her blood and her soul into his body. What he took filled and satisfied him in a way the simple orgasm could not. The dim light of her soul filled him, fed him, made him stronger. In the back of his mind he realized that Elen struggled, but she was no match for him. He had surpassed human strength long ago.

  There was much warmth in the taking of blood, and he had come to crave it as much as the soul which would not stay within him long enough before the Isen Demon took it away. They danced together, the soul and the blood, as he took them. He savored the taste of the blood and the remarkable sensation of a soul leaving one body and entering his. It was as if he had been completely empty before, and now... now he was fulfilled. There was power, even in a damaged soul like this one, and now that power belonged to him in all ways.

  When the soul was entirely his Elen stopped struggling. He continued to drink her blood, as it, too, nourished him and he did not wish to waste even a drop. As her soul danced within him, he knew Elen as no one else ever had. She was scared all the time, and had been since the age of fourteen, when she’d caught the eye of a rich man who’d purchased her, the first man who’d owned her body and soul. She’d had more than one disease in her short lifetime, and had serviced more men than she could remember in more ways than Ciro had known possible. She’d done murder, not once, but twice. She’d gotten away with it both times.

  She would’ve killed him if the opportunity had arisen, had been planning his murder as she took him into her mouth.

  Elen was seventeen years old.

  When the blood had been drained from her body, Ciro rose off the dead woman and wiped the blood from his mouth. He was getting better at this. In the beginning, he had always made such a mess. Now there was not a drop of blood on the coverlet, and only a small amount had stained his mouth.

  He’d call Fynnian to remove the body shortly, but first he needed the Panwyr.

  A supply was always stored in the desk by the window, in the drawer to the far right. He reached inside, grabbed a vial, and poured a small amount onto his palm. He held his hand close to his nose and inhaled sharply. Panwyr went up his nostrils—tingling, stinging—and immediately filled his body with a burst of sensation.

  He knew the souls he took were not his to keep, and that’s why they were never enough. That’s why he was always so hungry. For this too-brief moment, he was all-powerful and completed sated. The soul, the blood, and the Panwyr completed him. Together they made him strong and satisfied and, yes, invincible.

  The Isen Demon which had taken control of his body and his mind danced around him, black and heavy and powerful. Ciro tasted Elen’s soul one more time, and then it was gone, taken into the Isen Demon to join the others.

  A part of the demon was always with him, sometimes dominant, sometimes subdued. There were moments when Ciro felt the full force of the demon, but those moments were rare. The Isen Demon
was everywhere. It was huge and powerful and not easily contained. The full force of the demon came and went, taking souls and growing stronger and issuing orders only Ciro would hear.

  The demon issued orders now, whispering in Ciro’s head. Fynnian was not to know that Ciro could now take souls without permission. The old fool thought he was in control, but he was not. He had almost served his purpose, and it was time to draw away.

  It was too soon to take a white soul, like Rayne’s, but dark souls, damaged souls, they were now his to take, the demon promised. And take he would. This was just the beginning.

  Still caught in the Panwyr euphoria, and missing the soul which had been his for too brief a time, Ciro parted the curtains and peeked outside. Rayne continued to work in the garden, oblivious to the fact that he watched.

  When he made a son, she would be his mother. Rayne was untainted. Untouched. She was pure, so what better vessel for his child?

  Rayne was to be his. She had been promised to him by Fynnian, and by the Isen Demon. One day her soul and his would be joined, before being fed to the demon, but not until she birthed his son.

  Our son.

  Our son, of course. Until that day she was his. As a man. As the fiend he had become. She would love him. She would be his companion.

  She must be pure when you make our son.

  Yes, of course.

  Now was not the time to make Rayne his own, not in soul or in body, but Ciro knew without doubt that he didn’t have much longer to wait.

  Chapter Six

  Ariana didn’t have to call on her empathic powers to know that something had changed while she and Sian had been down in Level Thirteen. For days, he’d been avoiding her. He sent teachers in his stead. Some taught her to fight. Others instructed her on simple magics.

  It was as if Sian wanted her to be prepared for anything. One aging soldier showed her how to find drinkable water, and how to recognize edible plants and poisonous ones—something in which she had been well educated, though she listened carefully and did learn a few new tricks. Her lessons on swordplay were held daily, and again, it was an older sentinel who served as her teacher. He had not been told why she required such lessons, and he had been a part of palace life long enough to know better than to ask. A palace witch who was talented with the casting of simple spells held one session, and again, while Ariana was already well versed, she did learn something new.

  Just as telling as her empathic powers—perhaps more so—she was very aware that the enchanter hadn’t looked her directly in the eye since they’d climbed out of Level Thirteen. More accurately, he had not looked her directly in the eye since she’d come out of nothingness to find his hands around her throat.

  At least he allowed her to wear skirts as she went about her business. In fact, he had mentioned that she should not call attention to herself by dressing differently, though there would come a time when a different sort of clothing would be required. Odd, since he had been so insistent in the beginning that she wear men’s trousers so she’d have freedom of movement and be able to fight. Even when the swordsman gave her lessons, she wore her skirts, and no instructions to the contrary reached her.

  After several days of instruction in which he did not participate, Sian sent to her an older woman who was knowledgeable about herbs. The instruction was a waste of time. Ariana knew more about herbs than anyone in Columbyana, most likely. She certainly knew more than the doddering old woman Sian sent to her.

  With the herbalist dismissed early, Ariana set out in search of Sian. He was not difficult to find, as he had been spending almost all his time in his quarters. Alone. The sentinels and ministers did not disturb him. She suspected they were afraid of the enchanter, and were well pleased when he was not in their way. Many of the ministers’ wives had been known to dote on palace guests, feeding them too often and having silly parties at all times of the day. If that guest was an unmarried man, he would be introduced to the eligible daughters with matchmaking in mind. But they, too, left Sian alone. She suspected he was too dangerous for them, and for their daughters.

  It was his eyes. He probably thought it was the odd shade of purple and the unusual shifting patterns there that put people off, that made people jump when they first saw them, but he’d be wrong. Sian Sayre Chamblyn had the eyes of a man who knew darkness. Ariana had quickly grown accustomed to the unusual color and the way they seemed to have a life of their own; she would never grow accustomed to the shadows that lurked there.

  She knocked, but as it was the middle of the day, she had no qualms about opening the door when she did not receive an immediate answer. Sian had told her very little about what he’d discovered in Level Thirteen, always promising “later,” after he’d discovered more about the Isen Demon. Well, “later” was today. It was, in fact, right now.

  The quarters the enchanter had been assigned consisted of one large room which held anything a man might desire. A massive bed. A chest for his clothing—which was apparently all black. A small table, for the meals he took here. A tub, which sat in one corner until it was time for it to be filled by a queue of servants bearing hot water.

  Sian sat before a massive desk, which was littered with small books and loose papers. His head snapped around as the door opened. He was surprised to see her. So surprised, it took him a moment to gather his wits and say, “I did not call for you. Get out.” With that, he returned to his study.

  Ariana considered leaving the room, but not for long. Superior as he thought himself to be, Sian was here to help her. How could she prepare to fight when she did not know what she was up against?

  She ignored his command and walked toward him. “What do you know about the Isen Demon?”

  “Not enough,” he answered sharply, not even bothering to rise from his hard-backed chair.

  “I don’t suppose you can flick your talented fingers and make him go away.”

  She did not realize the possible misunderstanding in the words “talented fingers” until Sian raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. Ariana felt the warmth of a blush on her cheeks. Beyond that, she did not react.

  “I have not found a spell to rid us of the demon, no,” Sian answered, “but I have many more volumes of palace witches’ ledgers still to study.”

  When Ariana made it clear she was not going away to leave him in peace, Sian grimaced. “I don’t suppose you have heard of a crystal dagger?” he asked.

  “No. Is there mention of one in the ledgers?”

  “The prophesy my grandfather penned mentions such a weapon. He does not give details as to where it can be found or if it will defeat the demon. I thought perhaps you had heard of it.”

  “No.” Ariana stepped closer to the desk, and to Sian. “May I see it?”

  “See what?”

  “The Prophesy of the Firstborn.”

  It seemed that Sian paled a little before turning back to his papers. “Not at this time.”

  “Why not? For all I know, you made it all up.”

  “I am not in the habit of creating false prophesies for my amusement, or for yours. The prophesy is as I told you.”

  “But—”

  “When the time is right, I will show it to you,” he said sharply.

  “When will the time be right?”

  He sighed and turned to glare up at her as if she were a bothersome child. “When I say the time is right. Don’t you have lessons to attend to?”

  “I’m finished for the day.”

  “Surely you have something to study.”

  “Not really. My lessons have not been very challenging in the past few days. I thought you were going to teach me. I thought you were going to increase my magical abilities so I’ll be better able to fight.”

  “I have much to do,” Sian explained. “And you are not ready.”

  He was so dismissive, it would be easiest to turn and leave him alone. She did not.

  Sian was an aggravating man, but also a fascinating one. He was powerful magically and phy
sically, handsome in a manly way she had not recognized when she’d first seen him, self-assured... and that was an understatement. His nose was a bit large, but it suited his face somehow. And he tasted wonderful, with lips firm enough yet soft enough...

  Ariana blinked hard. She had no idea what Sian tasted like! He was so dismissive of her, she would likely never know such a thing, even if she were so inclined. Yet somehow she did know what he tasted like. Deep inside, the memory called up his scent, his taste, the feel of him in her hand.

  That unexpected and very real thought must be the result of a dream she had forgotten. She’d been dreaming about Sian, but not remembering the dreams after she woke. That was the only explanation. Like it or not, she was attracted to him. Just thinking about how he tasted and felt caused an unexpected reaction at her very core. A warmth. A calling. There had been times in the past two years when she’d considered taking a lover, but no man had ever called to her strongly enough to help her take that step. Sian could, if she allowed it. He could call to her very well.

  Suddenly she felt a little dizzy, and to steady herself she gripped the back of Sian’s chair. “What happened in Level Thirteen?”

  “I told you what happened.”

  “You told me a fragment of a dark spirit entered my body and conversed with you, telling you about the Isen Demon.”

  “Yes.”

  “What else happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  What she remembered, what she knew... it was too distinctive to be a remnant of a dream. “Then why do I know the taste of your mouth?” Why do I want you the way a woman wants a lover?

  For a moment, Sian didn’t answer. He was very still and quiet, and then he turned to look up at her. She searched his shadowed eyes for an answer, and found none.

  ***

  How could he possibly explain this one away?

  Sian was surprised that Ariana remembered anything of the kiss, but then she had been present, in a way. Diella had been in control, but Ariana had not been entirely absent.