The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

Then he hit her again.

She fought back, but he was in a frenzy; he was too far gone even to speak in that eloquent, beautiful voice. He grabbed her by the shoulders and wrestled her to the bed, flung her down beside Sanglant. Who did not wake. Who breathed most gently, eyes closed, face peaceful and yet, even in repose, proud and strong.

“Now you will give me what you give him!”

“Won’t!” The word was forced out of her by his weight as he dropped down on top of her, knee pressed against her chest and a hand on either shoulder. His face was bruised and his front teeth chipped; his beauty spoiled.

He let go of one shoulder to grope for his knife. “Or I’ll kill him. I’ll slit his throat while he sleeps here helplessly, and if you burn down this room around us, he’ll be the first to die!”

It was only a bad dream, wasn’t it? She would wake up in an instant and everything would be fine.

The Eika dog whined, claws scrabbling weakly at the floor. Ai, God! Let her keep her wits about her even while terror drowned her. It was so hard not simply to slide away into the frozen tower where she had hidden all those months in Heart’s Rest. But she could not. She must not.

“How can I know you won’t kill him anyway, after you’re done?” she asked hoarsely.

“You can’t know! They’re all asleep, Liath.” His voice gentled. “No one can help you now, and do you dare risk burning down this place knowing the king rests next door, asleep? He’ll not escape in time; he’ll be the second to die. Will his death be on your head, too?” His face twisted again, and the bruise mottled in the inconstant light to become like the mark of the Enemy. “I will have what he has enjoyed! He’s no better than a dog. How could you possibly prefer him to me!”

“I hate you.”

He smiled with the old familiar beauty—not lost after all but merely poisoned. “Hate is only the other face of love, my beauty. You cannot hate what you cannot also love. You cannot possibly imagine how beautiful you looked seated beside the king You looked truly to be a queen, set higher than the rest. I can’t believe you were foolish enough to turn away from the king’s favor for—this—this dog!”

“Jealousy is a sin.” Just yesterday she had been able to hate him with all her passion, but, trapped by him against the bed, all that anger drained away. Numbness oozed from his hand like poison down her arm, invaded her chest, spread with the inevitable doom of a plague brought down by angels upon those who have turned their back on God’s Holy Word.

“Then I will fall forever into the Abyss—but you will be at my side! Forever. We will ride out in the morning, back to Firsebarg. You and I—”

“Princess Sapientia—”

“What do I care for Sapientia? Ah, my beauty, how long I have waited for this. Perhaps the wait truly only makes it sweeter.”

t once she realized how an unnatural quiet had spread like a cloud creeping out from the horizon to blanket the sky. She yawned again, shook it off.

“Sanglant?”

He grunted softly, but only to turn over. He was still fully clothed.

She leaned farther out the window, but only wind crackled in the branches. No sign of life stirred, not hounds sniffing after scraps, not an owl spying for mice, not even servants or rats picking clean platters left half full by drunken nobles. It was as if everyone had fallen abruptly into a profound sleep. The stars shimmered under a veil of haze, sundered from her who was trapped here in the mortal plane.

“Da?” If his soul streamed above her in the River of Heaven, pouring toward the Chamber of Light with the thousands of others released from the flesh, she could not see it.

Nervous, she crossed to the door and peeked out. Four Lions lay slumped, asleep, by the threshold. In the great courtyard, no living thing moved; dust swirled around abandoned tables.

The terror hit so hard that she could barely get the door closed, she began to shake so violently; she could barely hoist the bar and wedge it down in its place, barring them in. She turned to go to the window, but it was too late.

A shadow moved at the open window. A leg thrown over. The glint of gold hair by candlelight. His face, bruised but still beautiful. He set the candle down on the table. The Eika dog whined a warning and he kicked it as he strode past, crossing the chamber to her. He slapped her, hard, before she could even think to defend herself, then shoved her up against the door. With his body pressed against her she could feel his arousal, and, God help her, for an instant a spike of lust coursed through her only because her body was so alive to desire, made so by Sanglant’s presence.

Then he hit her again.

She fought back, but he was in a frenzy; he was too far gone even to speak in that eloquent, beautiful voice. He grabbed her by the shoulders and wrestled her to the bed, flung her down beside Sanglant. Who did not wake. Who breathed most gently, eyes closed, face peaceful and yet, even in repose, proud and strong.

“Now you will give me what you give him!”

“Won’t!” The word was forced out of her by his weight as he dropped down on top of her, knee pressed against her chest and a hand on either shoulder. His face was bruised and his front teeth chipped; his beauty spoiled.

He let go of one shoulder to grope for his knife. “Or I’ll kill him. I’ll slit his throat while he sleeps here helplessly, and if you burn down this room around us, he’ll be the first to die!”

It was only a bad dream, wasn’t it? She would wake up in an instant and everything would be fine.

The Eika dog whined, claws scrabbling weakly at the floor. Ai, God! Let her keep her wits about her even while terror drowned her. It was so hard not simply to slide away into the frozen tower where she had hidden all those months in Heart’s Rest. But she could not. She must not.