Prince of Stars, Son of Fate Page 7

  A burst of fury sent magic rushing to Arynne’s fingertips, but before the flames could escape her blood, Olyn’s hand clamped down on Evyd’s arm.

  “Father!” Olyn snarled. “No! That’s not ... no.”

  Evyd whirled about and shoved Olyn. “If you’re not man enough to take what’s rightfully yours, then perhaps I was wrong, and I don’t have a suitable heir.” He stormed out of the room, shouting over his shoulder, “The wedding is at the end of this mooncycle,” as the door slammed behind him.

  Cursing under his breath, Olyn rushed after him.

  Arynne threw her hands in front of her, screaming through clenched teeth. She expelled her pent up magic in a burst of fire. The flames flickered in the air before fading to nothing.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled to calm herself. There was no way he could force Olyn to marry her, let alone ... no. Olyn was a good man, and even Evyd wasn’t that powerful. Still, that he’d suggest Olyn take her forcibly—to her face, no less—removed any doubt she had that he was a monster.

  A monster deserving of death.

  A chill crept through her. She glanced in the direction Olyn and the king had fled. The door stood ajar, but she couldn’t hear either man. Bending down, she slipped the vial from her stocking. She tightened her fingers around it, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She had to do this. It was the only way to save Kay and also to get Olyn out from under his father’s boot-heel.

  Barely daring to breathe, she eased towards the table where the carafe of alcohol sat unguarded. Should she put it in the tumbler with the unfinished alcohol and hope that he returned to swallow the last? Or in the carafe even though she had no way of knowing when he’d pour himself another or if someone might be with him in the room, sharing a drink, when he did? She hesitated, her hand hovering beside the carafe. While it seemed the surer thing, as a servant might throw out the contents of the tumbler before Evyd returned, the idea that another person might likewise be poisoned stayed her hand.

  Perhaps she could only pour part of the vial’s contents into the tumbler, so she’d have some in reserve if somehow the alcohol wasn’t finished. Yes, a back up plan. She liked that.

  She pulled the stopper from the vial. Tilting it over the tumbler, she watched a clear drop hover at the vial’s lip. Was she really about to do this? About to take an action to kill another human being? What would happen if she were caught?

  No one will know you did it. No one will know, and the monster will die.

  Leaning into her resolve, she tipped the vial at a steeper angle. The liquid steamed as it hit the king’s drink.

  “What are you doing?”

  Arynne gasped. The vial slipped from her hand and shattered against the stone tiles of the floor. A cloud of gray smoke rose from the shards of broken glass then dissipated.

  Olyn stared at her from the doorway.

  She squared her shoulders. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing, huh?” He strode towards her, glanced at the mess, then picked up the tumbler. “Then I suppose there’s nothing wrong with me taking a sip of this?” He raised it towards her lips.

  “No!” She swung for the cup, intending to knock it from his hand.

  He jerked it away, holding it over his head. “I’m not an idiot.” He tossed the contents of the glass over the fire. The flames roared with renewed intensity for a moment then quieted. Olyn shook his head. “Arynne, what were you thinking?”

  Her throat tightened and shame ran through her in sickening waves. She’d been ready to commit murder, but to be caught by Olyn—honorable, selfless Olyn who probably hadn’t hurt so much as a springfly in his lifetime—somehow that was too much.

  “It’s the only way to save both you and Kay!” With a muffled sob it escaped her. Her desperation. Her fear for his brother but also for him. In a rush, she explained Friya’s offer, trying to ignore the horror that crept into his eyes as she did. “What Friya suggests is our only chance. I need you to live, but I also need Kay to come home. Your father ... he’s awful. He doesn’t deserve to live, Olyn.”

  Olyn shook his head. “Arynne, that’s not for you to decide.” He stroked her cheek, but she jerked away.

  “How can you protect him? He’s awful, not just to Kay but to you—”

  “He’s my father!” Pain wrinkled Olyn’s eyes.

  “But he treats you terribly. He wanted you to rape me, Olyn! How can you bear that brute of a man any love or loyalty?”

  “I just ... I just do, and yes, he’s wrong in so many ways, and I would never do half of the things he suggests, but that doesn’t mean I want him dead.” He narrowed his eyes. “And neither should you. You’re not thinking straight. My aunt must’ve gotten into your head somehow, but she’s no more trustworthy than my father.”

  “At least she has a suggestion to fix this that doesn’t mean you or Kay dying!” Arynne snarled, her chest tightening in on itself. Out of contact with the vial, the warmth faded from her blood. The hair on her arms prickled as goose bumps stood out from her skin. “We need a plan, Olyn. One that can save Kay—”

  “Shh!” He put his finger to his lips, crossed to the door, and shut it before returning to her. He sighed. “Father stormed off to his bedchambers, so I don’t think he’ll be coming back here before the brightening, but if there was a servant passing by—keep your voice down, all right?”

  Her ears burned. How could she be so naive? Here she was spouting treason in the middle of the palace—but somehow she couldn’t be afraid, even though she knew she was being foolish. A tight, black ball of anger had taken root in her chest, and all she wanted to do was scream about how a man like Evyd was an acceptable sacrifice to save either of the brothers, let alone both of them.

  “You can’t trust my aunt. She has her own agendas, and they are rarely for the good of any but her.”

  “But she stands to gain nothing from Evyd’s death,” Arynne protested. “She’s not in line for the throne. She says it’s for the good of the kingdom.”

  “For the good of the kingdom or not, it’s still murder. Which I know deep in your heart you understand is wrong.”

  Arynne’s fists clenched, and for a moment she longed to punch Olyn in his smug, self-righteous face. A dark, prickly feeling welled from her chest into her limbs, bringing with it a surge of ice. She forced her mind off this and continued to glare at Olyn.

  “It’s an acceptable wrong.” She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Oh, why was she so cold?

  His brow furrowed. “This isn’t like you, Arynne. What’s going on?”

  “How do you know it isn’t like me?” she snapped. “You barely know me!”

  “Maybe I don’t, but I know my brother.” Olyn’s eyes softened. “Kay loves you, and he wouldn’t love a woman who was a cold-blooded killer.”

  His words hit her like a slap of hot wind coming off the Solean desert. She sank into Evyd’s chair with a whimper.

  He’s right ... this isn’t who I am ... but oh, I need to do it ... Evyd deserves to die ... I need to ... oh, so cold. So cold and dark.

  Olyn knelt before her, his lips a tight line. “Arynne, are you all right?” He took her hands. “You’re shivering.”

  “N ... no, I’m ... I’m ...”

  But she was.

  Fear shot through her. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. Tears streamed from her eyes, but instead of bringing heat, they trickled down her face, cold as mountain streams. “Olyn, w ... what’s h ... happening to me?” she stammered.

  “Let’s get you to your bed.” He pulled her from the chair, gripped her tightly against his chest, and traveled to the hall outside her room. Once there, he yanked the door open without knocking.

  “Oh! Prince Olyn.” Sigid rushed towards them. “What happened?”

  “I think she’s ill.”

  The sensation of being carried caused the room to rock back and forth like Vanya’s barge on the great river. Afraid she’d throw up, Arynne closed her eyes and gripped
Olyn’s shirt.

  “This way. I’ll turn down her bed.”

  Olyn laid her on a soft, cool surface—too cool. She wanted warmth. She needed warmth.

  “I’m c ... cold,” she whispered.

  “I’ve got more blankets!” Sigid exclaimed.

  The weight of heavy woolen blankets pressed down on Arynne’s body but to no avail. Heat fled from her, drifting into the air, leaving her empty and freezing.

  With the last of her strength, Arynne reached out for Kay, searching her mind and soul for their connection. She found it, beating alongside her heart like a second pulse. He was still out there. His love trickled into her, barely tangible but enough to cling to.

  “Something’s wrong ... I need to get Clindt.” Olyn stooped over her, his lips brushing her forehead. “Hold on, Arynne. We’ll get you help. You’re going to be all right.”

  Chapter Eight

  Arynne stood beneath the starry sky of the frozen wastes, gaping at the stars above her, bright and beautiful but cold as death, offering no warmth. She reached inward for her own heat but found only emptiness, as frigid as the stars. She shivered.

  A low rumbling spun her about. Turning, she could only gape as a wall of snow rushed down the hillside. It overwhelmed her, crashing upon her, burying her beneath suffocating whiteness. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She could feel nothing but cold. Desperate for air, she flailed madly.

  “Arynne!” someone shook her.

  She awoke with a gasp.

  A wide-eyed Sigid hovered over her. “Are you all right? You were clawing at your blankets like a cat-owl going after a mouse.”

  Arynne swallowed. The pressure against her body was nothing but blankets: layer upon layer of blankets. She could vaguely remember Sigid piling them on top of her in an attempt to combat the cold.

  It hadn’t worked. Even now, Arynne’s arms shook and her teeth chattered.

  “I ... I n ... need fire!” she managed to stammer out. Sigid helped her to her feet and led her into the sitting room where a boisterous fire already roared.

  “Sit here. I’ll make you some tea to warm up your innards.” Sigid’s hand brushed lightly across Arynne’s curls before she left the room.

  Arynne huddled in front of the fire, as close as she could without catching her clothes ablaze. She’d fallen asleep in her dress, fur-lined cloak, and double-layer of stockings and still she shivered as if she stood naked in a blizzard.

  What is wrong with me? I have fire magic. Why can’t I make myself warm? Anger and frustration welled up within her until tears spurted from her eyes.

  With her magic, she reached out. The tongues of fire responded to her, bending towards her and growing stronger and brighter. She drew in their heat, and for a moment, her blood warmed. Before she could savor it, however, the flames quailed back and the heat dissipated from her veins. She shivered once more.

  A door opened. “Here.” Sigid brought her a cup of tea. “I used the hot water from the bathtub so I didn’t have to go all the way down to the kitchens ... speaking of which, a bath might do you good.”

  “Th ... thank you.” Arynne cradled the vessel within her hands. The wooden cup felt cool to the touch in spite of the hot liquid inside. She inhaled the steam, but it couldn’t get into her core. Her insides were ice. Her chest hurt, pierced by sharp, needling pains with every breath.

  Sipping the drink likewise had no effect on her chilled state.

  Sigid clicked her tongue. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

  As the maid hurried off, Sol flew from his perch and rubbed up against Arynne’s side. She ruffled her fingers through his fur but found no warmth or comfort.

  A knock sounded from the door. Sigid answered it.

  “Is she asleep?” Olyn’s voice was soft, worried.

  “Not anymore. She rested for a bit, but then was up again ... I don’t think she’s feeling better, though.”

  “I brought Clindt.”

  Arynne tried to stand to greet them, but her knees knocked together. The tremors sent her tea splashing over her hands. It singed hot for a split second, then a faint sheen of ice formed across her hand, like white mold against her dark skin. She gasped in horror and dropped the cup which bounced off the hearth with a loud crack and splash. Sol gave a terrified hoot and dove under the couch.

  “Are you all right?” Olyn flew across the room, Sigid and Clindt right behind him. They surrounded her.

  Arynne gaped down at her frosted skin.

  Clindt’s eyebrows shot up. “What ... how?” He reached for her hand. “If I may?”

  She allowed him to take her by the wrist. His fingers traced her skin, brushing away ice crystals like scales.

  “It’s so warm in this room,” Sigid said. “How did that happen?”

  “It d ... doesn’t feel warm.” Arynne clenched her jaw.

  “Sigid, blankets please.” Clindt slipped his arm around Arynne’s shoulders and eased her onto the couch. Kneeling before her, he pressed his fingers against the side of her neck then rested his hand against her forehead.

  Olyn hovered over them, his face drawn. “Do you know what’s wrong?”

  Clindt shook his head, eyes narrowing as if he were staring intently not at her but into her. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Her lifeforce... it’s completely changed colors.”

  Just returning with an armful of blankets, Sigid furrowed her brow. Easing closer to Olyn, she whispered behind her hand. “Is he ... all here?”

  Clindt grimaced. “Different menders see human lifeforce in different ways. To me they manifest as rivers of colored light following through a person’s body. When I performed the heartbonding ceremony, I got a good look at Arynne’s, and it was flame colored, an ever-shifting, furious mix of yellows, oranges, and reds.”

  “And now?” Olyn swallowed.

  “Gray, cold, like tainted snow.”

  Arynne’s insides flipped. Her gaze darted from Clindt to Olyn and back again.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Sigid said.

  “It isn’t.” Clindt gripped Arynne by either shoulder. “Did this just start?”

  With all her might she stopped her teeth from chattering and forced out words. “I ... I think so. I mean ... I’ve always been cold here, but it’s been growing worse and worse.”

  “So it’s possible it could’ve been building for some time with you just dismissing it as being a little chilled?” He tilted his head.

  She tried to think back, to remember the last time she’d been truly warm. All she could remember was the brief dream where she was in Kay’s arms, and that wasn’t even real. It had been so long. “I’m always cold here,” she whispered.

  Clindt took a blanket from Sigid and wrapped it about Arynne. “Is there any way you could’ve come in contact with dark spirits?”

  Sigid gasped.

  Olyn’s eyes widened. “Dark spirits? In the light of the Starspire?”

  “The ... the grimowls,” Arynne reminded him. “They attacked me in the garden a few brightenings after I arrived.”

  “No. I remember that, but it can’t have been the point of infection.” Clindt shook his head. “That was before the heartbonding ceremony, and you didn’t have a trace of dark magic in you at the ceremony. I would’ve noticed.”

  Arynne recoiled. “I have dark magic ... inside of me?”

  Clindt settled on the couch beside her. “Dark magic is a corrupting force. It takes the good versions of magic and twists them to their opposite intent. Sometimes in useful ways, if insidious ones. For instance, if, as a mender, I were to draw off dark magic rather than the light magic provided by the star spirits, my powers would cease to heal and instead harm those I used them on. I’d lose my abilities as a healer, but I’d be a dangerous weapon.” He rubbed her back through the blankets. The motion brought her some warmth, though it quickly faded. “Your natural magic is heat and warmth, and it seems somehow dark power is syphoning it away from you, leaving you incapable of k
eeping yourself warm.”

  Arynne gripped the edges of her blanket, pulling it closer about her throat. “So I’ll just keep being cold?” To never be warm again ... she couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

  Clindt’s gaze dropped to his lap, and her heart fell into her stomach.

  “Or is it worse than that?” she whispered.

  “Clindt, we can help her get better, right? You can heal her?” Olyn’s voice took on a desperate edge.

  Clindt let out a long breath. “I don’t know. Assuming that it’s been growing worse over time and just now got bad enough for us to notice, it’s safe to assume it will keep getting worse, and ... I don’t want to scare you.”

  “I’m a big girl.” She scowled.

  “I’m not.” Sigid whimpered. “You have to help her, Lord Clindt.”

  “Just Clindt, please.” Clindt closed his eyes. “We need to find a counter for it. I can fight it some with my mending energy, and just practical things to keep her warm—hot tea, blankets, warm baths—will also help, but every dark magic has a counter, an antidote if you will. Something that can power her own magic to defend itself. Arynne, over the last several moonnotches, you say you’ve always been cold, but is that completely true? Has there ever been an instance when you felt heat, where something pushed the cold away, if only for a moment?”

  Kay. A pang of longing cut through her heart. Even in a dream, Kay kept me warm, but if he returns to the Starspire, Evyd will kill him. I can’t risk that. He can’t know. With all her strength, she pushed the heartbond into the far reaches of her mind, determined not to send any worry or pain through to Kay.

  “No, but I’m strong. I can fight this.” She set her mouth firm.

  “Of course.” A faint smile crossed Clindt’s lips. “If anyone can, you can, but you won’t face this alone. I’m here to help.”

  “And so am I!” Olyn quickly added.

  “And me!” Sigid chirped, still sounding terrified.