Fortunately, generations of wizards had spent centuries building and strengthening the Great Barrier, and a spell to unravel it was no easy thing to cast. Korban had yet to puzzle out how to do it, though 'twould seem he was close to his goal. Enough so that he thought he needed to allay Ferran's suspicions for but a few weeks more.
They reached the top of the stairway, and Amaris paused to let her guards unlock Marin's door. She carried the child inside.
The nurse looked up from her sewing. At first glance, one might mistake Hetram for a motherly woman in her cheery blue gown, given her ample lap and round, rosy cheeks. But her watery gray eyes were as chilly as a frozen lake, and the line of her mouth was thin and humorless. She had power, too, a sullen snake of magic Amaris could see in her heart, enough that Korban trusted her to control Marin's burgeoning talent.
It was probably no real challenge. In happier days, Marin had tested their mother's patience with her mischievous magic. She'd had particular talent with an invisibility spell; she'd loved nothing better than popping out and startling her unsuspecting mother and sister. Now the child's misery made it hard for her to concentrate enough to work even the simplest magic.
"I'll take her." Hetram stood and reached for Marin.
"Nay, I'll do it." Amaris shouldered past her toward the little girl's narrow cot. She undressed her sister, taking pleasure in the homey task of pulling off Marin's wool kirtle and chemise and slipping a clean white smock over her head. Exhausted by fear and tears, Marin was asleep almost before she finished. Amaris tucked her limp little body into bed, then covered her with the thin blanket she'd been allowed.
Finished, Amaris sat still a moment, brooding as she studied Marin's pale, delicate features in the candlelight. She looks so much like Mother. Tears welled at the thought, and she quickly swiped her hand across her eyes, lest the nurse see her crying.
I will get her out of here, Mama. Somehow. I will not let that monster use her soul to feed that cursed Orb.
Which meant doing what she'd been doing all along: pretend to cooperate with their captors and watch for an opportunity to take her sister and escape. Pray gods the chance presented itself soon. She was running out of time.
And now she had to romance a vampire.
Something popped, and Amaris looked up, alert. But it was only the fire. Her eyes met the suspicious gaze of Marin's warden, who sat with a half-darned sock in her wide lap. Amaris pointedly turned her gaze toward the fire and made no move to leave, despite the woman's evident desire to see the back of her.
Gazing into the leaping flames, Amaris began to plan. She had to buy time, and there was only one way to do it.
She was going to have to make love to the vampire.
THREE
A maris's stomach coiled into a sick ball at the thought of taking Raniero into her bed. She glowered at the fire, impatient with herself. I'm a Blood Rose, curse it. Making love to them is what we were created to do.
When it became obvious the Varil were a threat to the kingdom, the first great wizard king had transformed human champions into a race of vampire knights. To ensure the knights did not likewise become a threat, the king had then transformed his most talented female sorcerers into Blood Roses with the magical power to seduce and tame them.
Though vampires could sire vampire sons with mortal women, Blood Roses were born only to Blood Rose mothers. By law, the king alone could grant a Blood Rose's hand in marriage, and he granted that boon only to those he considered most deserving. Since drinking a Rose's blood made a vampire stronger, his allies had the advantage over any would-be vampire rebels.
Like other Roses, Amaris was well-versed in the Arts of the Rose. Her mother had sent her to one of the best Gardens in the kingdom to learn the traditional skills: how to charm, how to flirt, how to use her mouth and hands to bring her vampire lover pleasure.
Unfortunately, vampires could not be trusted. Her father was proof of that.
And Orel, of course.
For a while she'd actually believed all the silly songs the troubadours sang in the Garden. Songs of gallant vampire warriors romancing their lady Roses, sweeping them away to lives of love and passion.
She should have known it was all utter rot.
As a child, Amaris had watched her father torment her mother until Sava finally had enough and petitioned the king for a divorce. Ferran had been so scandalized that any vampire would beat a Blood Rose, he'd granted it on the spot. The king had even issued a royal order that Tannaz keep his distance on pain of death. The vampire hadn't dared break it.
At least until he'd fallen in with Korban and grown bold. Bold enough to murder both his former wife and her lover, Marin's father.
And then there was Orel, handsome, seductive--and insanely jealous. Amaris had met him while she was still at the Garden, and had promptly believed herself in love.
Until the day he'd seen her smile at another vampire.
Once back at the house they'd shared, Orel had ranted at Amaris like a madman before knocking her senseless. She'd awakened with him on top of her, beginning a rape. Terrified, enraged, she'd fired a blast of magic into his face. He'd fled, burned and screaming.
That experience had left her determined to never be so vulnerable again. She'd begun combat training with Basir, who was both her mother's lover and a skilled swordsman and sorcerer. After two years of hard work, Basir had pronounced her capable of defending herself.
But Orel's attack had taught her something else as well: vampires could not be trusted. No matter how loving they might act, they were predators, no different from the Varil. Any Rose who let down her guard with one would rue it.
Now Amaris had to lull her captors into believing her cowed and cooperative. She felt confident that given enough time, she'd spot an opportunity to rescue her sister and escape.
But to buy that time, she was going to have to seduce Raniero. So she'd give the vampire her body--but never her trust.
Dawn was breaking when Amaris returned to the cramped chamber she'd been given in one of the castle's towers.
Moving quickly, she swung the door closed and hurried across the room to fling open the wooden shutters. The edge of the sun was just peeking over the horizon, painting streamers of rose and violet across the sky. Beneath them, the Korban Mountains lay in thick black shadow.
There wasn't much time.
Amaris took a deep breath and drew a long, thin dagger from the sheath that hung from her embroidered belt. Concentrating fiercely, she angled the knife point up, so that the rays of the sun poured over it. Gathering her will, she began to chant as the rising sun warmed her face. Magic swirled around her, flowing into the dagger, making the thin blade blaze.
Raniero woke half naked in a bed far more comfortable than the ground he so often slept on as the king's investigator. Blinking, disoriented, he tried to roll off the bed, only to discover two things: he was weak as a babe, and his wrists were chained to the posts of the bed.
Rage lengthening his teeth into fangs, he jerked his head around to stare at his wrists. The manacles that encircled them were covered with magical runes he read with a wizard's ease.
A draining spell. 'Twould sap his strength and magic, keeping him from breaking the chains.
Peering down the length of his body, he saw he wore naught but his breeches. His ankles, too, were chained.
With a growl, he dropped his head back on the feather pillow.
Who the six hells gave a prisoner a feather pillow?
The thought made him scan his cell in narrow-eyed suspicion.
It looked more guest's chamber than prison. The room was clean, with fresh rushes on the floor, and a fire burned in the fireplace, reducing the autumn chill. Two chairs sat before the fire, and there was a small bedside table on which an unlit candle stood beside a golden goblet. No window, but vampire that he was, he was rather glad of that. At least his captors couldn't cook him with the sunrise while he was helplessly chained to the bed.
&n
bsp; What the six hells happened?
The last he remembered, he'd been about to take that vampire's head in an effort to keep the bastard from attacking the Blood Rose who had appeared in the middle of the fight.
The Blood Rose.
Raniero ground his teeth in rage as the truth burst upon him. She'd been working with the vampire. They'd gulled him with their playacting, and he'd swallowed the bait whole.
Fool, fool, fool! And by now his men were likely all dead, bodies devoured by the thrice-damned Varil.
He closed his eyes, sickened. Poor Gvido had so feared those monsters after seeing the aftermath of one of their raids. Raniero had often been woken by the boy's nightmare cries. How he must have suffered, dying at their hands.
And Olrick. He'd planned to retire and spend his last years surrounded by grandchildren while playing slap and tickle with his wife. Raniero would have to tell Gavina he'd gotten her man killed.
And then there were the others: Kellar, Favdo, Jacil, Magar, Brothan, Lor, and Shaco. Good men, brave men, all loyal king's warriors. He would have to tell their wives, children, and parents. And the king, who would be deeply grieved.
At least his majesty would see the families were paid a death pension. They would not be left impoverished.
Just grieving.
Raniero's eyes narrowed. His captors would rue this day. Which raised the question: why had they left him alive to seek vengeance?
He considered his prison again. It appeared someone was entertaining fantasies that he could be bought.
The idea was infuriating. But galling as it was, perhaps he should pretend to play along, that he might gain an opportunity to escape.
And make the bastards pay.
A maris paused outside Raniero's cell, ignoring the hot gazes of the four guards. She had dressed as carefully as ever she'd been taught in the Garden. Her gown was white silk, belted with a girdle embroidered with tiny roses, and she'd perfumed her skin with ambergris. A hint of kohl darkened her lids, and she'd rubbed a lemon on her lips to redden them. Her hair had been brushed into a gleaming fall of curls that tumbled to her hips. She carried a silver pitcher filled with honey mead.
Squaring her shoulders and drawing a deep breath, she nodded at the guards. "Unbolt the door."
The oldest of the four, a grizzled warrior with his long beard in braids, curled a scarred lip at her and made no move to obey. She met his gaze and lifted an icy brow, letting power leap in her eyes like a flame. Realizing how close he was to suffering a painful magical jolt for his contempt, he hurried to unbolt the door and give her a carefully respectful bow. Satisfied, she sailed past.
If she could make the guards fear her, they might hesitate at a crucial moment. She could construct an escape from such small strategies.
"I wondered when they'd send you." The vampire spoke from the firelit dimness, his voice rumbling and deep, almost touchable, a velvet seduction that seemed to stroke her skin.
The door swung closed behind Amaris with a bang. The iron bolt scraped home as the guard locked it. She managed not to jump at the harsh sound and lifted her chin. "Perhaps I come of my own accord."
"Do you?"
"Oh, aye." Forcing a smile, Amaris moved toward him, giving her hips the gentle sway she'd been taught. The pressure of her slippers sent a rich, green scent into the air. She'd ordered fresh herbs scattered among the rushes.
As Lady Taria said, You must seduce a man's senses before you touch his body.
Moving with deliberate grace, Amaris picked up the golden goblet on the wooden bedside table and filled it with honey mead. "Do you thirst?"
Dark eyes dropped to her throat. "Oh, aye." His purr made it clear he craved something other than the contents of her pitcher.
Not likely, vampire. Drinking her magical blood would strengthen him, perhaps enough to break his enchanted chains.
She took a slow and deliberate sip from the goblet, by way of demonstrating the drink had not been poisoned. As she swallowed the mead with its rich traces of lemon and berry, she let her gaze rest on his face.
Studying him through lowered lids, she had to admit Korban was right. The vampire was a handsome man. The firelight played over sculpted features: cheekbones carved high enough to leave hollows beneath, a stubbornly jutting warrior's chin, a straight and arrogant nose. His upper lip curved over a plump lower lip that seemed to invite a woman's bite. He wore no beard, though a night's growth shadowed the planes of his cheeks. His hair was dark, shoulder-length, as gleaming and thick as a woman's.
Half unwilling, she let her gaze drift down his body. He wore nothing but breeches so tight, he might as well have been naked. Muscle lay across his broad, bare torso in thick swordsman's slabs, rippling and bunching as he pulled at his chains. His legs were long and brawny, as befit a man who sat a horse so well. She could see his sex bulking heavy beneath the breeches.
It stirred under her gaze.
Fighting the urge to jerk her eyes away, she raised her chin and met his stare. He lifted a thick black brow, his eyes hot and narrow. And deeply cynical. He was no fool, this agent of the wizard king. An ally, then?
His lips parted, and she glimpsed the white gleam of a fang.
No, she'd trust no vampire. If it were only her own life, she might take the risk, but not with Marin's soul at hazard.
Amaris dropped her lashes and met his gaze under their thick fringe. "Would you have mead?"
His lips quirked. "Only if that's all you offer."
"It is." She let her own mouth curl. "For the moment."
There it was again, that cynical curve of the lip. "Mead it is, then."
Amaris stepped closer and bent over him. He lifted his head and let her press the goblet to his lips. She tipped it, and he swallowed with obvious thirst. The strong cords of his throat rippled up and down. His lids lowered, and for a moment sensual pleasure lay stark on his face. She watched, half bespelled, as he drained the cup.
"You were thirsty." Her voice sounded so hoarse, she silently cursed the desire it revealed.
He lay back, rolling brawny shoulders on his pillow. "A prisoner never knows when his needs will be met. Best to take advantage of any"--his lids dropped again--"opportunities."
"Far be it for me to leave you wanting." Despite the sophisticated quip, she could feel heat blooming across her face.
Blood Roses do not blush like virgins, curse it.
Raniero again drained the goblet the Blood Rose held to his lips. Even as he drank, he cursed himself. Her scent flooded his head, far more intoxicating than the mead. Ambergris, woman, magic--and blood. His fangs ached savagely.
Damn her to the six hells. If he could but drink from her--not much more than a goblet's worth--the magic of her blood would strengthen him enough to shatter the enchantment that held him. He could take care of the guards in the hall and be gone before his foes knew what he was about.
Which was why she'd never allow him to taste that long white throat.
Unless . . .
Raniero considered her through narrowed eyes as he drank in her scent. There was more than a little desire wafting from that long, elegant body. And other emotions too: fear, rage . . . And was that despair?
No, surely not. Why would she fear him, when he was so thoroughly bound and drained by his chains?
Unless it was someone else she feared . . .
FOUR
The idea of her fear was enraging. Even knowing Amaris was a traitor to her own people, Raniero could feel the tugging need to protect her. That compulsion was part of a Blood Rose's seductive magic, and he could no more fight it than he could refuse to breathe.
To most vampires, the hand of a Rose was a much desired prize, since her blood would strengthen both one's magic and one's might. Many were the drunken dreams he'd heard vampire courtiers spew of "A Rose and a fief."
Raniero wanted only the fief. He'd get his sons on mortals, thank you. Lusty peasant wenches spun far simpler schemes.
His stepmoth
er had been one of those scheming Roses. She'd wanted her own son to inherit, so she'd told his father Raniero had tried to force himself on her. Raniero, who'd been all of sixteen, protested his innocence, but Fulk had believed Eiriene. He'd beaten his son near to death and left him outside the castle walls. Luckily, Raniero had been able to find shelter with the neighboring lord who'd fostered him when he'd been a boy. Landless, homeless, he'd fought to earn a place at King Ferran's court.
But he'd never forgotten the way a Rose could twist a man's mind.
That this Rose was scheming, he did not doubt. But what, and why?
In any case, it appeared Ferran's suspicions about Korban were confirmed. Why else would Raniero's party be attacked the moment they crossed onto Korban's land? And by a vampire and two Varil raiders, yet.
Why had his captors allowed Raniero to live, while slaying his men? Korban apparently thought he could buy Raniero's cooperation. And he thought he could do it with the bribe of a Blood Rose.
Whatever spies Korban obviously had at Ferran's palace--and he had at least one, if he'd known Raniero was coming--they weren't as good as he thought. Raniero's wariness of Roses was well-known.
But if Korban and his Rose knew it not, perhaps Raniero could pretend to yield to her wiles. Discover the wizard's plans, and find a way to foil them. It was certain outright struggle would do him no good, not in these chains.
"More?" the Rose asked, candlelight painting dancing gold highlights over the tattoo blooming on her cheek.
"Actually, there's something else I crave," he said, deliberately staring at the plump and tempting curve of her lips. "A taste of you."
Green eyes widened, and that luscious mouth parted. "Oh." A pretty blush brightened her high cheeks.
Red God's Balls, she did flustered innocence better than any sheltered virgin he'd ever met.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, she leaned down. He watched the hesitant movement. Ridiculously, his heart began to hammer. The scent of mingled fear and desire strengthened.
Why does she fear me?
The Rose's lips touched his, only the merest brush at first, warm breath tasting of honey mead and a hint of lemon. She kept her eyes open, almost as though she didn't trust him enough to close them. He forced relaxation into every hungry muscle and let her lead the way, keeping his mouth soft beneath hers.