Forbidden Art

swiftly, and he paused before the gold-trimmed door to catch his breath. It took only a quiet sob from the other side for his rage to return. He swung the door open and darted inside.

  Ignoring the tingling of passing through the unseen seal, Jarrod lunged forward and tore Kinian from Myraza, ripping down the shear fabric of the bed’s canopy in the process. “Are you insane?” He collected himself with effort and returned to the door to close it, brushing against the wooden dresser holding an ornate vanity.

  Jarrod returned his attention to the bed to find Myraza sitting. He bypassed his befuddled father as he strode to her side. “Close your robe, father.” He knelt before her, taking her hand in his. He searched for any sign of injury, but all he received was a lifted expression of joy on the radiant face. “I am sorry I left.”

  Her full lips lifted in a rose arch, a brilliant offset to her pale flesh. “I missed you.”

  The profound innocence made him want to weep. “And I you.” He glanced over his shoulder to find his father holding his robe tight and staring at the floor with remorse weighing at the facial flesh lurking under his dark beard. “From the look of shame, I trust you have regained your senses?”

  “Mostly. Help me up.”

  “Of course.” He kissed Myraza’s hand and moved to his father. “Sorry I threw you, but when I found Deek unconscious I feared the worst.”

  “No need to apologize. I cannot be left alone.” He accepted Jarrod’s arm and stood, not looking at Myraza. “Forgive me if I hurt you, child.”

  Myraza frowned. “It hurt some, but it would be horrible were the curse to spread.”

  Kinian’s head fell. “It would at that.”

  Jarrod waited until they left the room to question him. This served to help him gather his wits. “Do you recall anything?”

  “Nothing. It will not be long.”

  “Then end this now!” Although he whispered, his emotions propelled the words with a harsh edge. “Stop dabbling in the forbidden arts, severe ties with that demon, and set her free. No one deserves to be locked as she is!”

  The king’s face contorted. “I cannot release her and spread this curse!”

  “Those who do not dabble in the dark arts aren’t affected.”

  “We cannot be certain—”

  His fists clenched. “What of me? Am I not proof enough that she is not the cause?” Anger dwindled at the sight of his father holding his temples. “You are slipping again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come.” He began down the stairs.

  “Perhaps when Mazin is no longer a threat…”

  “Then I will go and take his head myself.” It was an empty threat. The man’s power surpassed his worst nightmares.

  “No. Darius has already departed to seek the assistance of Altan Regis.”

  Jarrod grew silent, pondering over the words as they approached the guard. The man saluted, but was visibly pale. “My liege, I—”

  “You saw to my safety by allowing my son passage; you did well.” Kinian nodded and continued walking. “Prince Jarrod has unlimited clearance to the tower regardless of any command I give.”

  Jarrod winked at the shocked knight and caught pace with his father. “Thank you.”

  “It is necessary. Did you draw your sword?”

  “Threatened. I broke the blade in battle. Somehow I doubt he would have been threatened by blunted hilt.” The halls were quiet with the coming of night. Light dwindled creating sifting shadows over the walls. “Altan Regis is a great man, but he is determined to rid the world of the forbidden arts.”

  “Thus why we set him on Mazin.”

  “He will come for you.” Jarrod smiled at a passing maid. She flushed, curtsied, and hurried past them.

  Kinian stared after her. “You should take that one to bed.”

  “Father.”

  “Well, she’s not bride quality, but could be fun.”

  He threw a glare, but sighed on noticing the man’s head bobbing and eyes glazed. Lost. “Yes, father.”

  “You need a wife. At sixteen years of age, you should have already chosen your woman…or three.”

  “I shall consider the matter, father.” On route to the royal chambers, Jarrod listened to the ramblings of the mentally depraved king all the while fretting over the future of the kingdom, but more so over his family, Myraza included.

  5

  Sunlight showered the tower room, flowing from the windows lurking in the peaked ceiling. Jarrod stood behind Myraza, guiding her hand as the charcoal created strokes of black over a blank canvas. The easel rested before her bookshelf crafted from fine white wood. One shelf had been cleared of all scrolls and books to hold a crystal vase supporting a blooming gardenia.

  “See?” He directed another stroke, forming more of the stem over the white surface. “It will darken and soften with how firmly you press.”

  She continued to craft lines, her gaze darting between the canvas and the subject. “And I can put the flower on here? How?”

  He inhaled the fresh scent of her hair, the smell always resembling that of the gardenia before them. “You create its likeness. The picture becomes an image of the flower.”

  “Like when I call forth a memory?”

  Jarrod grunted and released her. “No.” He retrieved his sword and scabbard from her bed, focusing on driving back the beast within. It taunted, reminding him of how he feared the forbidden arts and therefore should fear the woman he grew to love. Every reminder of her curse tore at him.

  “I am sorry, Jarrod. I know my curse angers you.”

  Her dejected tone drew his attention over his shoulder. She stood with her head lowered and her hands clasped. He closed his eyes. “I am not angry, merely saddened that you live with such. I despise that you are locked in here.”

  “But it is not safe for me to leave.” She covered her face. “I do not want to hurt anyone. Why, Jarrod? Why am I cursed?”

  Her quiet sob brought him to her side. His arms folded around her. “I wish I knew, Myraza. I am sorry I made you cry.” He buried his face in her hair. “Forgive me.”

  “How touching.”

  Jarrod glared at Darius standing in the open doorway. “What are you doing here?” He wore leather armor—black to support his inflated ego. His gloves were tucked into his belt, and hands covered in dried blood.

  He rolled a hand, a smirk fixed. “I could ask the same of you.”

  Myraza turned, pulling from Jarrod’s grasp. “Jarrod is showing me how to place images on canvas.”

  “And your face, I see.” He laughed. “It looks good on you.”

  Jarrod turned her and chuckled at the coating of charcoal grazing her cheeks and nose. “I suppose that I should mention that charcoal is messy. Come. We shall clean while my brother explains why he came.”

  “Quite the welcome home, little brother.”

  “Well, then welcome home. Could you not take time to bathe?”

  “I did, but my hands hold my victory over Mazin.”

  “Disgusting as ever, I see.” He helped Myraza settle before the vanity. “How did you wash without removing the filth from your hands?”

  “Numerous maids. It was quite fun, actually.”

  “I am certain.”

  Myraza giggled at her reflection. “I look funny.”

  After removing a cloth from his doublet, Jarrod knelt beside her and attempted to wipe her face. “Explain, brother.”

  “Is it so wrong for me to wish to see my brother after such a great victory?” Sincerity moved with his words. “I tried waiting.”

  Jarrod snorted. “You never wait.”

  “True. That would be faster with water. May I?”

  “Mind your manners.” He had plenty of other things he could say, but not in front of Myraza.

  Snickering brought his brother to his side. “Always.” He offered a canteen.

  “Thank you.”

  Myraza smiled, flashing white from beneath a blackened face. “What is that?”

>   “A canteen. It holds water so we can carry it with us.” He wet the cloth and began dabbing again. “Much better.”

  Darius watched in silence, his arms folded over his chest. “I visited father.”

  Jarrod remained quiet until the last spec of dirt faded from the smooth flesh. “There. I will come by later tonight with your dinner.”

  She clapped her hands. “And I will have the image done for you!”

  He used the dresser to stand. “I look forward to it.” Taking his brother’s arm, he began walking.

  Darius snapped from his grasp. “No need to be pushy. I still hold to the vow I gave father. I will do nothing if she does nothing.”

  “Right.” He stepped back when Darius turned. “Keep moving.”

  The famous smirk reformed; the one that always made Jarrod tense in anticipation of a rebellious act. “I almost forgot.” He flicked a coin to Myraza. “A gift.”

  Jarrod jumped after it, catching it but stumbling when his feet hit the floor. He bumped the dresser, shaking the vanity. The familiar tingling and warmth of magic moved through his hand and flowed with his blood. Heat filled him and his face flushed, breathing quick. When the coin grew cold, he handed it to Myraza.

  “Thank you, Darius!” Myraza beamed in delight, oblivious to Jarrod’s discomfort.

  Darius’s face blanched. “My pleasure.” He spun and left the room, but waited outside.

  Eyes on the floor and jaw clenched, Jarrod followed. He shut and locked the door. “What was that about a promise?”

  “She is a monster; a curse on this land.”

  His temperature rising, he unbuttoned his doublet and started down the steps. “Not in the least.”

  “Your love for her is impure.”

  “That it is, but so is your desire to drain her of life.”

  Darius grabbed