WinterofThorns (23 page)

The border lord was silent for a moment
then he cleared his throat.

“A year passed. Meiraman wasn’t faring well
in the fight then unexpected help was offered from the king of Ionary. If Papa
would accept King Xavier’s eldest daughter Bertrice’s hand in Joining to Prince
Nolan, Ionary would send its troops to our aid.

“Naturally Duke Windham was offended when
the offer was explained to him but in the end what choice did he have? A Duke’s
youngest daughter compared to a princess? The matter was moot. So Poops was betrothed
to Bertrice.

“I, of course, was still betrothed to Mauve
and forced to pay court to the lumpy chit. Being in her company was a lesson in
humility for she treated me like gum on her shoe and expected me to dance
attendance on her as though I was one of her maids. I despised that woman and
still do to this day. If I’d wound up married to her, I’d have hanged myself.

“As much as I hated Millie’s sister, that’s
how much Poops hated Berty. He wanted Millie but there was a rumor her father
was going to offer her hand to Duke Montyne of Lavenfeld—an old friend of Duke
Windham’s. Poops thought that if he compromised Millie that Joining would never
happen and neither would his. In his feeble mind he thought the solution was to
seduce her.”

He unclenched his hands and lowered his
arms, his gaze somewhere beyond the windscreen of the runabout.

“From the scratches on his hands and face,
Millie fought him with all her strength but in the end he did what he set out
to do. Naturally Papa was enraged. A large sum of money changed hands between
him and Millie’s father, concessions were made, and Millie was shipped off to
the convent in Kildenny. Thankfully it hadn’t been Galrath as Bertrice
suggested. The rape had no effect on her betrothal to Nolan but the woman has
always been a vicious, jealous bitch.

“I was brokenhearted at Millie leaving but
my grief didn’t stop me from beating the hell out of Nolan. I did my damnedest
to kill him and had it not been for my best friend Jaxon, I would have.

“Three months later word was sent to Papa
that the Lady Millicent was with child and one of the nuns who was clairvoyant
told the Mother Superior the child was a boy and would be the only boy child
Prince Nolan would ever have. That put a fly in the ointment. Papa—and more
important our mother—were very much into soothsaying and that type of shit.
They believed the nun and decided the boy had to be claimed as Nolan’s. A hasty
marriage was performed and the very unhappy couple was sent to live with the
bride’s family in Ionary—the better to hide a pregnancy that never would be.”

He turned to look at Seyzon. “Remember me
telling you about Duke Eduard Llewellyn of Athendale? About what he did to my
friend’s bride on their Joining night?”

Seyzon nodded.

“That was Jaxon’s lady, Sofia. Two days
before that ill-fated night, we had the worst snowstorm in fifty years. Drifts
were twenty feet high in Kildenny. The convent sent word they were in dire need
of help. They couldn’t even get out of the keep because the drifts were
covering the doors and windows. Water lines were frozen and they were running
out of fuel for the furnaces.

“I was in Athendale with Jaxon and Nolan
was in Ionary. Kildenny is only thirty miles from Ravenwood, the king’s
residence in the Ionarian capital of Derbenille. Since his future son was in
danger, Nolan was dispatched to the convent.

“Millie had been in labor for over twenty
hours by the time Nolan got there with his men. They dug their way through the
drifts that were by now almost to the convent’s roof. Men aren’t allowed in the
convent but that didn’t matter to Nolan. He bulldozed his way inside and the
second thing that greeted him was a piercing scream—the first being the Mother
Superior laying a curse of his head for invading her convent.

“Despite what he had done to her, Nolan
truly loved Millie and he knew without being told that it was she who was
screaming. He went in search of her and when he got to the bedchamber in which
she lay, a bevy of nuns blocked his entrance. That didn’t faze him. The
screaming had stopped and he feared the worst. He pushed them aside and flung
open the door.

“One of the nuns was holding a tiny wrapped
bundle in her arms. There were tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked up
at Nolan and shook her head. He heard the word stillborn but before he could
react, Millie screamed again and the nuns at her bedside went into action.
There was another babe and it was coming. He watched as the child was thrust
into the world—kicking and screaming to high heaven. As the babe was laid on
Millie’s stomach, the nun who had delivered him asked if he would like to cut
his son’s cord.”

Seyzon sat mesmerized by his uncle story of
how the squalling baby was placed in his mother’s arms. The words of thanks for
a healthy son Prince Nolan spoke that were ignored by the child’s mother. Of
how she kissed the infant’s head then extended him to his father.

“Take him,”
she
told the man who had raped her
. “He is yours and no longer mine. I want no
reminder of you in my life.”

“I believe Millie meant to join the convent
but Papa had other plans for her. He wasn’t as wicked a man as most thought
him. He did have a heart. Though the world believed Bertrice to be Nolan’s
mother, he knew she would never give the boy even a smile much less a moment of
love. He intended to see Millicent raise Vindan but she wouldn’t be needed
until the boy was a bit older. So he betrothed her to Baron Daniel Montyne—a
good man who was deeply loved by all who knew him—Joining her to him in
absentia. When they met four months later, Montyne fell in love with her in
much the same way Nolan and I did. I believed she came to love him too. When he
was killed, she was nearly inconsolable and that was when Papa had her sent to
Wicklow. To the rest of the world she would be the young prince’s godmother.”

“But what about me?” Seyzon asked. “I was
the one thought stillborn, wasn’t I?”

“Aye,” Kellan said. “When you were born you
didn’t cry. Didn’t move. The nuns truly thought you were dead so they wrapped
you up and laid you in a basket. The ground was frozen hard so there could be
no burial until the spring thaw. Their intent was to place you in the cryo unit
that had only been used once before. It wasn’t until after Nolan left with
Vindan that they became aware you weren’t not dead. A nun heard you mewling and
ran to investigate. A vow was taken not to tell the world that Millie’s
firstborn was alive.”

“So Montyne claimed me as his son.”

“There are only four other people who know
the truth. Millie, Frederick Arbra who was Montyne’s childhood friend, me and
Archie, Jaxon’s brother.”

“How did you find out?” Seyzon asked.

“I knew the first time I laid eyes on you
at the Pig and Whistle. Shocked the shit out of me, let me tell you!” he
replied. “I’m surprised more people didn’t put two and two together since you
look just like Nolan.” He shrugged. “And me, of course. You get the better part
of your looks from me.”

Seyzon smiled. “I think I got your
propensity for getting into trouble as well.”

“There is a strong possibility that might
be the case.” He frowned. “Have you checked that vid-screen lately?”

Seyzon looked down. “Still in with Vindan.”

“The bastard will have to shit or piss
sooner or later. Keep your eyes on him.”

King Nolan Brell sat
beside his son’s bed quietly talking to him though Vindan was asleep. He loved
his son though he did not particularly like him, had little respect for him,
but the thought of losing him filled Nolan with a grief so wild he was having
trouble drawing a decent breath. He desperately wanted his son to open his
eyes, to acknowledge him in some way. For nearly two hours he’d been perched on
the edge of his chair, waiting, but Vindan lay as still as death.

“Your Grace, may I get you something?”
Commander Vashteel asked.

“Where is his lady-wife?” the king asked.
“Why isn’t she at his side?”

“She is in the tower, Your Grace,” Vashteel
answered. “Prince Vindan had her confined there.”

The king looked around at him. “For what
reason?”

Vashteel shook his head. “No one knows,
Your Grace. He escorted her there himself and has forbidden anyone in the keep
to speak to her.”

“He is abusing her?” the king demanded.

“Oh, no, Your Majesty, not at all!”
Vashteel was quick to reply. “He would not abuse his lady-wife.”

“Then fetch her so we may see ourselves,”
came the order. “Her place is here with him.”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

As the door closed behind Vashteel, the
king got to his feet to stretch. Putting his hands to the small of his back, he
groaned at the tension forming there. He walked stiffly to the window and
looked out. The sky was blanketed in cloud cover so thick the sun was only a
lighter shade of gray. Snow was coming again and he hated snow.

It had been snowing on the night Vindan was
born and it had snowed the next day when he had bundled the babe tightly to
carry him back with him to Ionary and the bitch who was being forced to be his
mother.

“That was a fucking joke,” he mumbled. He
laid his forehead on the cold glass of the windowpane and thought of Bertrice’s
reaction to being presented the infant.

“What am I to do with
that
?” she’d
demanded in that harsh, braying voice that never failed to set his nerves on
edge.

“Raise him. He is your son,” he’d told her.

“He is no son of
mine
! He is your
whore’s brat,” she thrown at him. “Find the little prick a wet nurse. Just get
him out of my sight!”

It hadn’t helped that Vindan was screaming
his little lungs out. He’d often wondered if the babe had somehow known he was
being rejected.

Exhaling loudly, he turned from the window.
He’d been sitting for so long he didn’t realize he needed to piss until the
constriction on his bladder had eased with his walking. He went to the bathing
chamber door and was about to go inside when the door to his son’s bedchamber
opened and a young woman—a very pregnant young woman—entered the room. She was
about to curtsy to him but their eyes met and he watched hers widen and her
lips part.

“Aye, we are your king,” he said with a
flick of his wrist. “Your name is Jana, is it not?

She simply stared at him and he wondered if
perhaps she was mentally challenged and that was why his son had sent her to
the tower. Not being of an adequate mind would be reason enough to lock her
away. As pretty as she was—and she was very pretty—her paleness wasn’t the
least bit attractive. There was no color whatsoever in her cheeks and even her
lips were pallid. Her gaping mouth, wide eyes and silence irritated him and he
growled.

“See to your husband while we piss.” He
closed the bathing chamber door behind him.

Jana was so stunned she could only stare at
the door to the bathing chamber. The man inside looked nothing like Vindan but
the resemblance to Seyzon was so strong there could be only one explanation. He
was Seyzon’s biological father. There could be no doubt.

“Mother of the gods,” she whispered,
putting a hand to her lips. Her eyes strayed to the bed. For a moment she
couldn’t move but her husband lay so still, she grew concerned and took
hesitant steps toward him.

He is so pale,
she thought. Was he ill? Gravely so? Was that why his father had
deigned to come to see him? She hated Vindan but she didn’t wish him dead. Not
only because it would be morally wrong to do so but because her fate was tied
to Vindan Brell.

A strange sound in the bathing chamber—a
sizzling, sparking sound—made her look that way. She saw a brief, bright pulse
of light under the door and frowned. What was the man doing in there?

“Jana?”

She whipped her head around. Vindan was
looking at her with bloodshot eyes and an expression that frightened her. His
hand fluttered on the mattress and she took it in hers.

“I am dying,” he told her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You are
not dying.”

“Not even the TAOS unit could cure me,
dearling,” he said weakly. “The healer has exhausted all options. I can hear
the wings of the Gatherer coming for me. That is why they sent for my father.”

“Nonsense,” she said, stroking his hand.
She brought it to her cheek, alarmed at how cold his flesh was. “Your father
has come.”

His brows drew together. “He’s here?”

“In the bathing chamber.”

“That confirms what I already know. I am
not long for this world.”

The door to the bathing chamber opened and
the king strode out, flexing his shoulders as though the clothing in which he
was attired were too tight. She noted that he walked exactly as Seyzon did—with
the same stride that bordered on being a strut. His eyes settled on hers and
there was a sparkle in them that had not been there when first she looked into
them.

“So you decided to wake up, did you, brat?”
he asked. He reached into the pocket of his pants and seemed to have some
difficulty getting his hand out again. When he did, there was a small purple
flask in his grip. “This is from the Burgon, himself. He swears it will cure
you.” He unscrewed the cap on the flask and extended it to Jana. “Here, give it
to him.”

She took the flask, hesitated a second or
two, and then held it to her husband’s lips. From the pinched look that
overtook Vindan’s face whatever was in the flask had a horrendous taste to it.

The king laughed and Jana could have sworn
there was wicked glee in the sound. “Not prime Chrystallusian brandy, son, but
it will keep you from death’s door.”

“By the gods that was awful,” Vindan
proclaimed, his lips twisted with distaste.

“Aye, well, what does it matter if it
works, eh?” his father asked.

Jana felt the older man’s steady gaze on
her and looked up into blue eyes that were identical to Seyzon’s. They were the
same color as Vindan’s but the shape and tilt of them was not. The king’s eyes
were carbon copies of Seyzon’s.

“Might I have a private word with you,
milady?” the king inquired.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said. She had
difficulty withdrawing her hand from Vindan’s for he didn’t seem to want to let
her go. She tried to reassure him with a smile.

The king walked to the bedchamber door,
opened it and stepped into the corridor. When she joined him, he closed the
door, took her upper arm in a light grip and ushered her a few feet from the
door.

“We don’t have much time,” he told her.
“Tell me that was your hairbrush I found in the bathing chamber.”

She blinked. “Excuse me, Your Grace?”

“Woman, answer me!” he said. “Is that your
hairbrush?”

“I would think so,” she said.

“Well, it better be for it is being
analyzed and entered into my ship’s computer. I’d hate like hell to have some
other women snatched up instead of you.”

“Snatched up?” she repeated. “I don’t
understand.”

“I don’t have time to explain it to you,”
he said then put his free hand to his ear. “Are you locked on her, Arch?”

“Arch?” she echoed, looking around for
whomever it was he was addressing but found no one near them.

“It’s her? Excellent! Will you be able to
bring her up when the time comes?”

“Your Grace, who are you talking to?” she
asked, fearful of the man’s sanity.

“Good. That’s all I needed to know.”

She gaped at him as he lowered his hand
then flinched as he pulled her back toward Vindan’s bedchamber.

“Don’t let on what I asked you,” he
whispered.

Believing the man deranged, she could only
shake her head. She let him lead her back into Vindan’s room and was relieved
when he let go of her arm.

“How are you feeling, brat?” he asked
Vindan.

“Better,” Vindan said. There was a hint of
color to his lips and his gaze wasn’t as bleak or dull as it had been when
first she’d looked into his eyes. “What was in the flask?”

“Who knows?” his father replied. “The
Burgon wouldn’t say but he swore by it.”

“Then thank him for me, Papa,” Vindan said.
“I will be eternally grateful to him.”

“As well you should be,” the king muttered.
He slapped his palms together—making Jana and his son jump—then grinned. “Well,
we’ve matters of state to see to.” He turned and headed for the door. “Papers
to draw up and sign.” He locked eyes with Jana. “Pardons to give.”

“Pardons?” Vindan questioned. “What pardons,
Papa?”

“You don’t worry about that,” the king
said. “Just lie there and get better. Let your lady-wife take care of you. Sit,
Lady Jana. Sit. Take a load off that shapely little ass. We are sure you are
all too happy to be out of the tower.”

“Aye, Your Grace, I am,” she said, casting
Vindan a knowing glance.

“Does it seem as though he’s acting a bit
strangely to you?” Vindan asked after the king left them. He was trying to push
himself up in the bed but was too weak.

Jana helped him to sit up. “I wouldn’t know.
I had not met him until today.”

“His behavior is out of character for him.”
He put a shaky hand to his forehead. “He actually smiled at me. I can’t ever
remember him smiling at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“As though he is the happiest man on the
face of the earth,” Vindan answered.

* * * * *

Kellan Brell was whistling as he skipped
down the stairs and headed for the throne room he hadn’t been in since he was a
boy. He’d always liked Wicklow Castle and would have enjoyed taking up
residence there had his father allowed it. The castle had belonged to Queen
Martha, Kellan’s mother. Instead, his father had given the castle to Nolan
who—in turn—gave it to his favorite son.

“Well only son that he knew of,” Kellan
said with a laugh. “Wish I could see your face when you wake up on my ship, you
thieving bastard!”

He’d transported down right behind his twin
who had sprayed urine all over the wall as a hand came down hard on his
shoulder. The startled prick had barely gotten his head around far enough to
see who had touched him when Kellan drove the vac-syringe of pairilis into
Nolan’s neck. Within seconds, Kellan had lowered his brother to the floor and
began stripping him. Once he’d hurriedly exchanged clothes with Nolan, he was
about to give the order for Welling to retrieve him when he’d seen the
hairbrush lying on the vanity. The dark-burgundy hair certainly wasn’t
Vindan’s. He prayed it belonged to the Lady Jana. It had taken him only an
extra heartbeat to stuff the brush in Nolan’s pocket before contacting Welling.

“He’s all yours and look in his pocket. I
think we need to analyze the DNA you’ll find on the brush. It may belong to
Zonny’s lady. If you can lock onto her from it then enter the data into the
computer.”

Passing servants and staff who bowed or
curtsied deeply to him, his cheeks were beginning to ache from the broad smile
he could not hide. He knew there were those who looked at him strangely but he
didn’t care. He was their king and they dared not think too hard or long on his
behavior.

Entering the throne room, he stopped as his
gaze fell on the gilded seat at the north end of the room. The plush green
velvet vibrant against the gold leaf. He did not have time to look his fill
before the Castilian of Wicklow was at his elbow.

“Shall I convene the Council for you, Your
Majesty?” the man asked.

Kellan reached out to drape a comradely arm
around the speaker. “Aye, Silus, do that for your king, willya?”

“With the greatest of pleasure, Your
Majesty,” Silus Murphy replied.

“I’ll just take a seat up there while I
await the Council,” Kellan stated.

Silus inclined his head then turned to be
about the business he and the border lord had planned well in advance of the
young prince taking ill from the drug the Castilian had dropped into his wine
several days earlier.

Slowly walking the length of the throne
room, Kellan kept his eyes on the prize. That ornate chair held nearly as much
authority as the men who had plopped their asses on it. Far older even than
Kellan’s maternal grandfather had been when his grandfather sat the throne, the
fancy seat had been crafted of the finest oak and carefully hand painted by a
master artist. It was an ugly piece of furniture—as had been many a man who’d
perched upon it—but it was a seat of power and he who sat upon it wielded that
power.

Reaching the dais upon which the throne
sat, he leisurely climbed the six steps carpeted in a deep, rich red wool edged
in gold. He reached out to run his fingers over the carved arm, trailing them
up the thickly padded arm and—walking behind the throne—along the arch of the
back and down the opposite arm before taking his seat. His hands resting on the
chair arms, he raised his head and looked to the south where two members of the
Council had just entered the room. He said nothing as the men came forward,
went to one knee with their right fists doubled over their hearts.

“Your Majesty!” they said in union.

Still he said nothing. He motioned them to
rise then waited for the other six members to arrive. Normally the men would
have been in their own keeps but they had been summoned the day before in
anticipation of meeting with their king. They no doubt feared grave news was
about to be imparted.