Blade Heart

  “Hey, Bullface, you got it up, did ya?”

  Ignoring their lewd remarks, Cara glanced at the man holding her. Perhaps it was the low set of his forehead, the way his thick lips seemed to hang from too big a mouth, or his massive body but he did resemble a bull.

  He must have perceived amusement in her expression because he tugged her sharply towards the back of the room. A general cheer filled the place when the men saw him yank her away.

  “Going for the second round, are you?”

  “Bullface, keep some for your friends, would ya!”

  They roared with laughter. Pints collided, fists banged the table, mouths spat beer and saliva. To add to their refined manners, a big man with a crown of red locks began a drinking song involving a farmer and his sow. Seconds later, they were all singing at the top of their voices and Cara pitied the poor sow.

  On they went across a cold hall displaying all sorts of blunt, sharp and vicious-looking weapons, up a wide flight of stairs, along a narrow corridor, right to a door flanked by two guards.

  Given how the men downstairs had treated him, Cara didn’t think the thug was any kind of leader so she relaxed a little when she saw the men guarding the door. In all likelihood, Bullface followed orders and didn’t have in mind to rape her or beat her to death. At least not yet. He knocked.

  “What!”

  The rough bark could be heard without any problem. Yay, they were off to a good start. As he towed her inside, Cara first noted thick tapestries on the walls, animal skins covering the stone floor, a huge four-poster bed framed with curtains and a large fireplace diffusing warmth. A man wearing a crimson cloak sat at a writing desk.

  Quill pen in hand, he glanced at them. Bullface bowed while he painfully squeezed her shoulder to bring her down. Cara fell to her knees, but the thug still didn’t let go of her.

  “Kneel to the king.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Which king? One of the good guys or one of the bad ones? As the richly dressed man stood up, she recalled Morgan telling her the night before that they had crossed into the kingdom of Agravar. Okay, a bad guy then.

  The powerful man looked down on her. Apart from Morgan, he must have been the most gorgeous man she had seen in either world. Long eyelashes enhancing a rapt gaze that reminded her of a bottomless well, beautiful lips created to be kissed… He motioned her to rise to her feet before addressing her captor.

  “What news do you bring?”

  “We caught her in the Windy Plains. She’s travelling with Dead.”

  “I assume he’s already locked in my dungeon.”

  His tone froze Cara to the marrow. Understanding and compassion didn’t seem to be the king’s forte and she wouldn’t want to be in Bullface’s shoes right now. The thug shuffled and licked his lips.

  “No, my Lord, but Broyl and Ganster must be on their way here with the prisoner.”

  “Why did you leave them to bring her to me?”

  “Dead was protecting her, my lord. I thought…”

  “Have I ever asked you to think?”

  The king moved so fast Cara barely registered the flash of silver in his hand. Bullface yelled and doubled up. Eyes wide, she saw the knife planted in his shoulder, blood seeping through his clothes.

  “Get out of my sight.”

  Pain distorting his bovine features, the thug backed to the door and exited the monarch’s chambers. Left with him, Cara ignored the slow trickle of sweat between her breasts and stared at the fireplace. Trying to escape this man would only lead to her getting hurt…or worse. Biding her time, she remained motionless as he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger.

  “So, who might you be?”

  Well, knock on wood and tap on glass! At last, someone didn’t know her. In this outlandish world, she had come to believe everybody had heard of her. Refreshing as the idea sounded, she knew this king would get answers. Her best bet appeared to be pretending to give them.

  “I’m Lana.”

  “Why are you important to Dead?”

  She hesitated, her mind racing to find a plausible reason. The king rolled the lock of hair behind her ear and came to stand in front of her.

  “Such a pretty face can’t lie.”

  She had witnessed how he dealt with failure. More than anything, his soft manners scared the hell out of her.

  “I’m not important to him. He’s just helping me out.”

  “Is he, now?”

  Although his features showed feigned surprise, his icy gaze proved he wouldn’t be taken along for the ride. If she wanted to stay alive she’d have to tread very carefully. He pouted his sensual lips.

  “Tell me, Lana… May I call you Lana?”

  A shiver ran down her spine. Caution foremost in her mind, Cara nodded and a charming smile lit his face.

  “Who are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I see.”

  The king of Agravar walked to a tall wardrobe. He produced a wooden box with engravings on the lid and deposited it on his writing desk. With slow and precise movements, he took out a long, metallic needle.

  Cara swallowed. Shirt sticking to her back, she kept a composed face as he closed the short distance between them. Needle in hand, he lifted it to the side of her neck that he had bared. His breath caressed her ear.

  “This is called the needle of truth and you will tell me all I want to know. But don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt a jot.”

  She cried out as he inserted the instrument into her flesh. A bolt of pain ripped her neck and his grin deepened.

  “Well, maybe a tiny jot.”

  Tears in her eyes, she inhaled through clenched teeth as the pain spread around her whole throat, rooting her to the spot as if a spell had been cast. Although she could move, a barrier seemed to be erecting in her mind to take control of her thoughts.

  “Let’s start fresh, shall we? Who are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  This time his surprise looked real. He just stared for so long that Cara figured she had piqued his curiosity. His interest however would have been more useful if directed at someone else. Not what she had hoped to achieve.

  “How come?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Interesting. Where are you from?”

  “New York.”

  “I’ve never heard of this village.” The king shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. Bottomless eyes boring into hers, he continued his interrogation. “Dead isn’t in the business of picking up peasants on the way. Why are you so important to him?”

  “He wanted something from me.”

  “What?”

  “The quartz.”

  A glimmer lit the depths of his gaze. Cara strained her muscles to stop herself from blurting out precious information to the enemy, but the drug had sunk its poison into her. He uncrossed his arms.

  “Did he get it?”

  “Yes, but he had made a mistake. The quartz is just a useless stone.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In my pocket.”

  The king reached out. As he slid his hand into the folds of her cloak, Cara willed herself to snap free of the serum. Sweat broke out on her brow. Straightening up, he noticed her efforts.

  “Don’t try fighting the drug, it makes it worse.”

  Dangling the leather string in front of his eyes, he went to the door. A gust of air blew her hair as he yelled.

  “Get me the wizard. Now!”

  They really had wizards in this place? And magic? Oh, God, why couldn’t she have stayed in New York? Although the pain from the needle had lessened to a dull ache, her mind still felt like it belonged to a stranger. Behind her, she heard him pace the corridor, heels clacking hard on the stone floor.

  “Hurry up!”

  He came back with a man in tow. Short, bald and totally out of breath, the wizard ignored Cara to take the quartz in one hand. He muttered a long list of words in an unknown tongue while the fingers of his othe
r hand hovered over the stone. An orange glow buzzed and died. Shaking his head, the wizard handed the jewellery back to his king.

  “No magic there, my Lord. This isn’t the conduit you’re searching for, it’s just a worthless stone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Right. Leave us.”

  On the first night Cara had spent in her house, Heather had mentioned a conduit. She too had studied the quartz with keen interest.

  Still a little breathless, the wizard bowed, scampered and closed the door behind him. Agravar’s monarch leaned towards Cara. His mouth grazing her cheek, he replaced the quartz in her pocket. A shiver of uneasiness coursed through her as their skin touched and relief filled her when he didn’t linger.

  “As you can see, I’m not a petty thief.”

  Sure. He was liberal and magnanimous. But what if the stone had proved magical or priceless or whatever he was looking for? Wouldn’t he have kept it then? In any case, he still had questions for her.

  “Tell me, Lana, why is Dead still protecting you?”

  “He wants me to meet a friend of his.”

  “Who?”

  “Caius.”

  She wished the drug would wear off. At this rate, she’d soon tell him about her favourite position in bed.

  “Why?”

  “To discuss a prophecy.”

  He raised an eyebrow while he touched his chin. His gaze strayed to the window and he appeared deep in thought.

  “This can only mean the old man has deciphered the prophecy. But why does Dead want you to be present?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t make sense unless he…”

  The king’s full attention rushed back to her. A smirk lifting his upper lip, his face took on an expression of ‘this-is-too-good-it-can’t-be’.

  “Are you lovers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love him?”

  To her surprise, she barely hesitated.

  “I do.”

  “Does he love you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Intense satisfaction lit his beautiful features. Cara bit her lip. She had no idea why he suddenly looked so happy, but it couldn’t be good news. She watched him rub his hands like a pirate in front of treasure.

  “This is unbelievable. Dead has feelings for someone, imagine that. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  He extracted the needle from her neck with a sharp tug. Cara winced at the rush of pain. She moved her head left and right while he put the instrument of torture back inside the wooden box and let out a pent-up sigh.

  Wondering if the poison contained everlasting magic, she realised the barrier constraining her mind had vanished. The moment of truth was over and she felt free. But what were his intentions now?

  “You’ve been a good girl, Lana. You’ve told me everything you know and I’m in the mood to show some leniency.”

  Actually she hadn’t. Although she would have been compelled to inform him if he had asked, Morgan’s name remained a secret buried in her heart. Glad of this precious gift, she nevertheless tensed when the king turned to her. Out of the blue, she recalled the moment in the cave when the stranger had told her the king of Agravar’s name—Devlyn.

  “I had in mind to lock you up in the dungeon, but you have just changed my perspective.”

  Cara didn’t care for his new giddy tone. All in all, she much preferred his cold, hard gaze and commanding voice. And when he started laughing softly, a stab of fear penetrated her belly.

  “You see, Lana, you are now my honoured guest. Someone so valuable to Dead cannot be treated like a common criminal. Which is why”—he suddenly grabbed her arm and pushed her towards the four-poster bed—“you’re going to take your clothes off and jump onto that bed.”

  Eyes widening, Cara understood why he had seemed so happy to learn she and Morgan were lovers. A feeling of dread rising up her throat, she shook her head.

  “You can’t do that. He’ll be…”

  She might be at a loss for words, but the king wasn’t. His smile changing to a vicious sneer, he ended her sentence.

  “Devastated? I hope so.”

  In that fleeting second, she hated him. Looking at his perfect face twisted her guts to the point of making her feel nauseated. Yet his face wasn’t the main problem any longer. As if imbued with urgency, he had already dropped his crimson cloak and was pulling at the waistband of his pants.

  “I said… Take your clothes off.”

  “I won’t.”

  He struck her. Her head flew to the side, but she managed to remain standing. Cheek burning with pain, Cara shot him a murderous glance. He smiled again.

  “Don’t give me that look. And hurry up.”

  “Why?”

  She hadn’t meant to ask, but the natural question had slipped past her lips. A twinkle in his calculating eyes, the king of Agravar put his hands on her breasts and leaned in to whisper against her inflamed cheek.

  “Because Morgan is coming.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  He knew. This loathsome piece of royalty was well aware of Morgan’s real name. As he licked her throat, Cara had a second to assume an expression of lack of understanding.

  “Who’s Morgan?”

  Removing his hands from her breasts, he drew back to look at her. “Dead. He deludes himself thinking he leads the resistance, but I will crush him like the slimy bug he is. He and the Amazon queen have been a thorn in my side for far too long. They will soon learn I am the master of the Four Kingdoms.”

  After the wizard and his magic there was now an Amazon queen, probably fighting battles with a troop of female warriors in tow. Incongruous and definitely peculiar, this world nonetheless excited Cara—even more so with each passing day. Taking advantage of his ranting speech, she casually enquired, “Have you ever met the Amazon queen?”

  “I’ve fought her on several occasions and mark my words, I’ll kill her next time. That bitch will die by my hand. When that happens, the kingdom of Moonstill and its treasures shall be mine.”

  “What about the…?”

  He hit her across the same cheek, so hard that she fell on all fours. Pain exploded in her face and arms, blurring her vision.

  “Let’s not forget the matter at hand, Lana. All things considered, I rather like you in this position.”

  Trying to get some air into her lungs, she rasped when he jerked the bottom of her cloak sideways and gripped the waistband of her outfit. As he pulled on it like a maniac, she shot her leg backward.

  He howled. Using hands and knees, she scrambled to her feet and lunged at the door. Cara had no plan besides getting the hell out of his chambers, but she didn’t care. Then she cried out as her head banged against the door and her back screamed with pain. She had unleashed his wrath—he’d probably beat her to death.

  She felt herself being whirled around. Iron fingers pinning her to the wooden panel, eyes seething with rage, the king spat at her, “How dare you raise a hand to me?”

  He brought a fist up, knuckles whitening. Cara tensed but an insistent knock and a voice behind her interrupted the situation.

  “My Lord, we’re under attack.”

  As much a warrior as Morgan, the king got his act together instantly. Lowering his fist, he threw her to one side. She landed on her butt by the writing desk’s chair as he flung the door open.

  “Is it Dead?”

  “No, my Lord. The Amazons.”

  “Damn bitches!”

  Something in his tone made Cara quickly grab the back of the chair to help her get up. Without a glance at her, the king barked orders to his men.

  “Bullface, don’t let her out of your sight. Your life depends on it.” Then he snapped his fingers to both guards outside. “You two, come with me.”

  Devlyn stormed out as the familiar thug entered the room but kept watching his master’s departure. Fear increased her strength tenfold and she smashed the
chair into the back of his head. His body hit the floor with a dull thud and a little blood pooled around his hair. Kneeling at his side, Cara seized the dagger he carried at his belt.

  The cutthroat whined. Right, he wasn’t as stone cold unconscious as she had hoped, but he’d be out long enough for her to escape. In spite of the pain biting her limbs and cheek, she left the king’s chambers to retrace the direction she had come. There might be a back way out of this cursed place, but she couldn’t waste precious time looking for a dead end.

  Get out, get out, get out. The words resounded in her mind as clear as if she had pronounced them. She ran along the empty corridor to the top of the staircase. The sound of a violent clash of swords assailed her. Crouching, she observed the armoury hall. About half the men who had been sitting around the table earlier were now fighting for their lives.

  All dressed in tight dark red outfits, hair tied up or flapping with their every move, a troop of Amazons stood up to them. Parrying, lunging, riposting, they looked totally awesome. Yells of suffering and victory ricocheted across the hall while combatants fell or kept going.

  One of the Amazons impaled her opponent, lithe and deadly, her flaming red hair flying as she made swipes with her sword. Her shout of triumph rebounded on the stone walls—“For Palance and Moonstill!” Feminine voices rose to the call as she pounced on another soldier and slit his throat.

  Mouth agape, Cara couldn’t stop staring at the red-haired woman who must be the queen. Beautiful, graceful yet formidable, the Amazon fascinated her. Like watching a dancer intermingled with a fighter. Crouched in the shadows of the staircase, Cara watched the death ballet reddening the floor of the hall. She hadn’t known women could battle this way and fresh excitement sped up her pulse.

  In the midst of this clattering, ear-piercing bloodbath, her eyes were suddenly attracted to the back of the armoury. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognised the two men parrying like wild tigers.

  The king of Agravar brought his sword down. Morgan leapt back, avoiding the slicing blade by an inch. Unfazed, he attacked even faster, forcing the monarch to concede ground. Both men appeared of equal strength and skills and Cara’s insides knotted. Morgan had to defeat his enemy because Morgan had to live.