Lord

Steaghan was satisfied that there could be no escape for his quarry inside the shrine. When they had realised they were surrounded, the duke’s warriors had drawn their weapons but remained defiantly inside. For, to step out of the entrance would have meant instant death.

While Steaghan gave directions, his men dragged brush and dry branches up to the stairs and piled it around the shrine’s circumference.

The trapped men attempted to shoot arrows out through the open entrance, but to little effect. Steaghan’s warriors surrounding the temple loosed their own arrows in through the entrance in an attempt to bring down anyone unlucky enough to stop a stray arrow.

When sufficient dry material had been heaped up around the temple, it was set alight in an attempt to flush out the quarry. Smoke and cinders poured into the shrine. Eventually, those trapped inside could remain no longer. As each of the duke’s men struggled through the entrance, blinded and choking from the lethal smoke, a score of swords rushed to hack them down.

When Steaghan was convinced that victory was his, he retired from the shrine, leaving his captain to finish off the last of the living and drag out the boy’s corpse from within the temple.

A bejewelled servant poured sparkling wine into two elegantly crafted goblets. Steaghan took one from the silver tray and passed it across to Cyanne.

Taking up the other goblet, he raised it in a toast.

“A drink to King Steaghan, the next King of Arsentieff,” he boasted.

“And his queen?” Cyanne cocked her head to one side, one delicately curved eyebrow arched in query.

“As agreed, my beauty. To my queen.” He stroked her face and down her neck. She had proved elusive, but at last she was his.

“Though you did make it difficult for me, my love, letting the duke escape from my clutches the first time,” he said in a menacing voice. A fearsome scowl emphasised his disapproval.

Cyanne gauged his demeanour. It was all over now, all obstacles to Steaghan’s coronation had been taken care of and she could afford to be cocky.

“Well, you had the boy. The duke was just an incidental detail. An innocent bystander. I didn’t think you needed him.”

“No of course not, my dear. Yet letting him free was the worst thing you could have done - he slipped right back into my fortress and stole the lad straight out from under my nose. Not only was it nearly disastrous, but it was very humiliating!”

“Well, how could I have known your security was so weak that just one man could steal into your fortress and remove your most prized prisoner?” Cyanne bridled. “And didn’t I help lure the boy into the shrine for you, to make amends?”

“Yes, of course,” Steaghan conceded. “And just as well. I was forced to suspect that you had some vested interest in the survival of that meddlesome Sindalaar duke.”

“Do not be foolish,” she scoffed. She sipped her wine for a moment. “Are you sure your men extracted Tasqua from that fire? You promised me he would be safe.”

“I have already told you, he will be traded with the Makors and he will make someone a fine little servant somewhere else.” Steaghan turned away as he uttered his false assurances, in case she read the lie in his eyes. “We agreed. Just so long as he is far enough away from here, he can be no threat to us.”

“A fine little slave, you mean,” she retorted.

Steaghan shrugged. “He is young, he will adjust. And nobody would believe a raggedy little slave boy making outragous claims that he was a king!”

Cyanne concealed her regret. This day a child had lost his freedom and his birthright and a magnificent man had met his end. She knew she would always feel remorse for their betrayal. Still, a glittering crown should be adequate compensation she tried to tell herself.

But was there ever a chance she could have been the Duchess of Cravenghast? Ah, there would have been a fiery union.

She imagined herself as the duke’s wife. Their nights would have been ecstasy, yet the crown of Cravenghast could never match the glorious crown of Arsentieff. Cyanne feared that her grasping ambitions would have soon outgrown Darius’ shabby little dukedom.

She sighed. “Darius was an unusual man, Steaghan. A man whom only fools took lightly.”

“And a man for whom women fell heavily?”

“Oh stop fishing, Steaghan! I am yours now and that is all you need worry about.”

“And has it been a worthwhile trade, my lovely?” He searched her face with jealous eyes. Too many had enjoyed her favours before him. Now she was his and he would keep her on a tight rein.

Before she could reply they were interrupted by Steaghan’s captain who burst rudely into the chamber.

White-faced, Steaghan exploded to his feet. He was about to abuse his officer until the man’s expression warned him that he was the bearer of unwelcome news.

“What is it?”

“My lord. . .”

“Out with it, man!”

“They were not all accounted for.”

“Damn you, man. Be specific!”

“Well, after the smoke had dispersed we hauled the last of the bodies out of the shrine and found there were only nine warriors. The duke’s body was not among them and there was no child.”

Steaghan was both infuriated and terribly afraid. The duke had evaded him once again. They were all supposed to die in the ambush. What manner of man was he dealing with? And how hot would Darius Damelian be for revenge?

By now it was too late to prevent Tasqua from reaching Kazack. Steaghan had relaxed all his patrols and lookouts. The duke and the boy could virtually walk into Kazack unchallenged. And having delivered the boy, the duke would be free to deal with his ambushers.

“We are leaving,” Steaghan decided abruptly. “Come. We have no time to tarry.”

Cyanne felt weak with an overwhelming fear, tinged with exaltation. Darius still lived!

But with this unexpected news came a presentiment of her doom. The Duke of Cravenghast did not suffer traitors and he had proved that no security could keep him in - or out! With a growing dread, it dawned on Cyanne that there was nowhere she could be safe from the duke’s fury.