Chapter 15

"You are going to die this day."

Amyr had heard Ryanwin say this every day before he stepped into the arena. But today she seemed to be gleeful in her announcement. Still he did not look at her as the guards worked to remove the shackles from his wrists and ankles. Amyr did not care if he lived or died, preferred to die but his body would not allow him. Whatever she sent against him, man or beast, he would defeat it and return to his cell until his master came to feed from him.

"You have nothing to say, Calabrian?" She did not even know his name, had never cared enough to ask. To her he was a source of nourishment and income, no better than a mindless beast in her eyes.

Amyr did not intend to die that day, so he ignored her. After the last shackle had been removed, he rolled his shoulders before doing the exercises that would stretch his muscles. He hadn't fought in several days so he was stiff, and he was eager to enter the arena even if it meant he must suffer her feeding from him after his victory.

"You are so confident. Would you still be so confident if I tell you that Mordrad has come with his witches?"

Amyr jerked his head up to look at her face in silent question. He had doubted Quynn's ability to find a way to release him, hadn't dared to think about her grand plan to free him from his captivity. Many days had passed since he had seen her and Ryanwin had taken her stable of fighters to another planet. Quynn was probably glad to be rid of him, but if she did try to save him, she would not succeed. Ryanwin had made the conditions of his release clear, even if she had lied. Mordrad would have to find a champion would could kill Amyr and if that is what Mordrad had done, Amyr did not feel like dying.

She laughed and licked her lips. "He has brought a fighter that Mordrad is sure can defeat you. I hope that he does because I tire of you. The challenger excites me in ways that you have failed to do." The direction of her gaze left him no doubt as to her meaning.

For that reason alone he would deny her the pleasure Mordrad's fighter would give her. Quynn was deluding herself if she thought she could best Ryanwin, whether her champion defeated him or not.

His guards prodded him forward at the edge of their spears as well as threatening him with the control device for his slave collar. When they reached the doors to the arena, Amyr waited impatiently for the guards to remove the collar. He was eager to face a formidable opponent, and he knew that the alien lord would not bring a challenge unless he was reasonably sure that he would win. Amyr would enjoy proving him wrong.

The heavy doors to the arena swung open and Amyr walked out into the sandy pit ringed by seating for hundreds of spectators. By the drone of voices, he knew before looking up that the arena was filled to capacity, that people would be standing in the aisles to watch the fight. They were shouting bets on the outcome and Amyr could hear that they wagered on him.

The battered sword he was allowed to use was planted in the ground at the center, so without looking for Ryanwin and her guests, he strode across the expanse, and when he seized the hilt, he reveled in the cheers of the crowd as he raised the sword high in salute to his master. Despite her disgust with him, the populace adored him as the people of Calabria never had.

He turned to face the wide doors on the other side of the arena to wait as the guards took the handles and slowly opened the doors. Amyr was expecting a beast captured on another planet, or even the dragon it was rumored that Mordrad's summoner could call upon. The crowd had quieted as well, anticipating an exciting fight with a champion worthy to challenge Amyr. But instead of a monster, a man stepped through the doors and as the crowd groaned in disappointment, expecting Amyr to make short work of a two-legged creature, Amyr's breath caught in his throat and his heart seemed to stop beating.

The man who approached him wore the traditional garb of a Calabrian imperial warrior, but he was no stranger to Amyr. He had changed in the years since he had last seen him, but there was no mistaking his identity. Taeron of house Maxwell seemed taller, his face hard and emotionless as he came closer, eyes intent upon Amyr. Amyr knew him, and he knew one thing for certain; he had never bested Taeron in the past, but he would not, could not fall to him now. Today Taeron was in his arena, right where he wanted him, and Amyr planned to make him pay for what he had done to him.

Taeron came to a stop a sword's length from Amyr. His indigo gaze, so much like the man Amyr considered his second father, took in his appearance, from his unkept, filthy hair and raggedly cropped beard, over his grimey flesh down to his bare feet. When he raised his eyes to meet Amyr's gaze, Amyr felt shame to the tips of his toes as Taeron bowed low. "My prince."

Amyr's blood ran hot and cold with fury at the greeting. "Would you raise your sword to me? To me? You have pledged your life to me!" He did not care who heard his words.

Taeron straightened. "I have pledged to protect you." His eyes flicked to the weapon in Amyr's hand and Amyr could see his contempt for the serviceable steel before Taeron hand reached into his robe and he withdrew a sword that made Amyr gasp with outrage. Taeron held before him the sword of the crowned prince of Calabria.

"My sword!" he choked out although anger was making it hard for him to speak. "What are you doing with my sword, you bastard?"

"I was given the sword by your own mother." Taeron readied to fight him by raising the sword with two hands over his head, his body turned slightly. Since it was the stance a child learned on his first day at Edgeland Fortress, Amyr knew that Taeron was mocking him. "I have come to return the sword to you, my lord prince, but not as you would wish."

And with those words, he lunged to attack and Amyr barely had time to raise his own sword to parry. He was no fool, and he had trained with Taeron enough to know that he used only a fraction of his strength in the attack. Even so, Amyr was startled by the force of the blows that met his blade. For several moments their blades clashed again and again, almost as if they were in the practice yard under the watchful eyes of their trainers. Where Taeron had excelled, Amyr had been berated for his laziness, his sloppy execution, his lack of drive.

Amyr would not, could not let this fight continue to the usual conclusion that left the imperial trainers shaking their heads in disgust over his failure. He had Taeron to blame for what had happened to him. Taeron had all but thrust Quynn into the garden so that she could see him with another woman. Taeron had undermined his authority with the troops his father had put under his command. Taeron had no right to be alive after what had happened on Teralon! He had no right to wield his sword!

His fury drove him and for several moments he was able to beat back his former guard and he was filled with elation to know that he was stronger, that his years fighting in this pit had made him the better fighter. But that elation was short-lived because Taeron suddenly feinted and with the speed of wind, he slipped under Amyr's guard to score his flesh with the tip of the imperial sword. Amyr had no time to worry about the wound because suddenly Taeron was moving again, nicking Amyr with the sword repeatedly as he danced around him with the practiced skill of a master swordsman. When Amyr swiped out his sword, Taeron dodged it, and when he thrust forward, he easily avoided the tip of his sword by flipping backwards. The crowd soon turned on Amyr, cheering his opponent's acrobatics and jeering Amyr's clumsy attempts to protect himself. Many would lose large sums on his failure today, so they would only be mollified to see him die a horrific death.

There was no doubt that Taeron toyed with Amyr, but he did not finish the fight even as Amyr staggered, then fell to his knees. He was out of breath, felt weak with the loss of blood from dozens of wounds. Panting as he fought to breathe, he felt light-headed as his own blood soaked the sand of the arena. He tried to rise one last time, but he had only enough strength to look up at Taeron who stood above him, the blade of the sword he had once carried with great pride now coated with his own blood.

"You will not kill me." he predicted, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Taeron stared down at him, his face impassive, his eyes cold as he rested the tip of his sword against his chest. "I have killed thousands in your name with this very blade. You betrayed our bond, my prince, and there is only one way for me to regain the honor you stole from me."

The blade drove down and Amyr's jaw dropped as it slid into his body, between his ribs and through his heart up to the hilt. Then Taeron grasped a handful of his hair and jerked his head up so that he could meet his dying gaze.

"My honor is restored."

His body fell forward, and the last thing he felt was his face slamming into the filthy ground of the arena. Amyr wasn't sure what death was supposed to be like, but he was not expecting his consciousness to remain. The world became skewed, and without a conscious effort, he was moving, and turning away from the body lying lifeless in the muck. And then he was high in the air where he could see the people in the arena on their feet and he could hear them shouting praise for the victor. Amyr then saw Quynn standing with the other woman, the sorceress he had seen the first day. The sorceress had her hands raised, and she seemed to be concentrating as she chanted. Was she giving thanks to the gods for Taeron's victory? Taeron did not need the help of the gods. If he had any doubt in the past, Amyr did not any more after facing Taeron in a real duel. Taeron was a god.

Ryanwin was approaching. Amyr watched her step over his lifeless body. "You have done well, Taeron of Calabria. I would offer you riches beyond your imagining to remain as my new champion." The lust in her eyes sickened Amyr, but he could not look away from her.

"I have done what I came to do. Now I must return my prince's body to his father and mother, to Calabria." Taeron reached down to seize Amyr's body, but Ryanwin put herself between him and the corpse.

"If you want his body, you will have to agree to become my champion."

Amyr wished he could see Taeron's face, but he could not turn in that direction. Ryanwin would burn his body just as she had threatened if he did not agree, and Amyr wished he could laugh at the predicament Quynn had gotten her brother into. Taeron deserved to be used like an animal, forced to serve that grotesque creature.

"There is one other way for me to claim my prince's body," said Taeron, his voice deadly calm. How did that bastard manage to sound righteous when he was at his most arrogant?

"You think to best me?!" Ryanwin's form suddenly changed, from the seductive woman to the vile beast she hid from everyone. As she towered over Taeron, her fangs jutted out and caustic bile oozed down over them as she roared, the sound stopping many whose hearts froze in terror. The people in the crowd screamed and trampled each other to escape the shape-shifting banshee.

Taeron seemed unfazed by the monster towering over him. "You may let me take my prince's body, or I will dismember yours," he told her calmly.

She roared and swiped out at him, her fingernails transformed into razor sharp claws that could slice a man's torso in half. Amyr felt disoriented as if he were being swung in a circle, again and again, slamming up against the creature. He realized in horrified amazement that he was trapped in the blade of the sword. If he were alive, he would laugh, but since Taeron and the now bleeding creature were fighting for possession of his corpse, he could not utter a sound.

Ryanwin was no match for a god. The first limb to be severed was a hand, followed by an arm, and then a leg lopped off at the knee which then rendered her incapable of doing anything but falling victim to his promise. How he managed to keep the pieces he hacked off contained in the pile a safe distance from his corpse, Amyr did not know. He did not see the spell that had begun the inferno that burned the bloody mass to cinders, but he guessed the sorceress had done it. Soon he saw only darkness and he was afraid that death had become final and he had left this world, but he heard a voice that he recognized as that of the hunter Mordrad and he realized that Taeron must have sheathed the sword.

"Take him to the ship. Carrinda, go with him. Quynn, you may have to call your friend to persuade the guards to let us leave."

There was no more talking then as Taeron hurried away, probably carrying his body. Was he really going to return his body to his parents? Amyr wondered if they would even grieve, or if they had believed him dead on Teralon. Perhaps his father had been relieved to be rid of the son who was whispered about, the one whose sire may have been Prince Dillan. Now he would have proof that the useless bastard was dead. They could burn his body, reminisce about his life, and then they could forget about him as they went on with their lives.

"That was some fight, brother!"

If Amyr could groan, he would as he recognized the voice of Stryfe Maxwell, his father's scribe.

"You will record that Prince Amyr acquitted himself well in battle."

Stryfe scoffed as much as Amyr would have if he could utter a sound. What made him think he could pose a challenge to Taeron? Taeron had made a fool of him by proving him incompetent, even after all that he had gone through fighting in the arena. By the gods, he hated Taeron! How could the gods force him to stay at his side trapped in this sword?

"I suppose he acquitted himself better than any man has in the last few years," continued the scribe. "He certainly lasted longer than the Varoonyan prince."

Prince Rangyar had been reputed to be a very skilled fighter, so Amyr felt mollified in his defeat and death. He would not go so far as to think he had made Taeron work up a sweat. Even as ill-trained as Amyr was, he knew that Taeron had used only rudimentary moves in defeating him as if to prove his lack of skill.

"Where is the sword?" he heard the sorceress demand.

Suddenly he was blinded by light and when he could see again, he realized the sword was being held over his own body now lying on a narrow slab.

"When I begin the spell, return the sword, and when you withdraw it, he will be restored."

Amyr wondered if she used a magic akin to the spell his grandfather had used on his father before sending him into space without his memories. He had torn part of his father's soul away and bound it to his and the emperor's sword. Amyr had heard his father remark that he felt as if he were wrapped in a fog that did not dissipate until he was reunited with the woman he loved.

Before he could consider his strange existence he suddenly regained feeling. Amyr felt ice cold, colder than he had ever felt in his life and he knew his consciousness had been returned to his body. Taeron had shoved the sword back into his heart, but Amyr couldn't breathe and he was about to panic in the lifeless corpse, but suddenly he felt his heart thump in his chest. For several moments he lay immobile as his heart pumped, and when his open eyes focused the first thing he saw was Taeron standing over him with the blood coated sword in his hand. The sorceress muttered a spell and his lungs suddenly expanded and although he felt pain in his chest, it, too, faded. This sorceress was very powerful if she could bring one back from the dead.

"Heal his wounds, please," Taeron requested before turning away. "I should help my sister."

"No need," Amyr heard Stryfe say. "That dragon made short work of the creature's guards and the arena. They are returning."

Amyr still could not move although his breathing had become even and relaxed, and before he had a chance to feel the pain from the many wounds Taeron had inflicted upon him, the sorceress spoke another spell that enveloped him in numbing warmth.

"Is he alive?" he recognized Quynn's voice. Amy did not want to feel relief that she had returned unharmed. He should be planning how he would carry out his revenge for what she had done to him, but he was wishing she would touch him as she did that night when she had come to him in his squalid pen and given him comfort when he was sure he was going to die. Gods curse the female for having such power over him!

"Get this ship off the planet," ordered Mordrad and Amyr was glad for the distraction that took Quynn away from him as she took a seat to strap in for the lift off.

Taeron came to Amyr who could not even sneer at his imperial guard. He refused to feel grateful that Taeron strapped him down so that he would not be injured when the ship took off. He wished him to the furthest reaches of the netherworld, and knowing that would not happen any time soon, he settled for hoping Taeron vomited on himself and lost consciousness. It would not be the first time it happened to the bastard. If he had, Amyr did not know because Taeron left him shortly before the ship lifted off the ground and shot into the air. For several moments he was disoriented and he feared that he would be the one shaming himself as the ship shot through the planet's atmosphere and into space, but he quickly regained his equilibrium.

Several moments after the ship slowed and leveled off indicating that they were in space, Quynn's face appeared above him. "I am sorry we had to do that," she said softly, and he could feel her hand on his face. Amyr had never felt such pleasure from a female's touch! "But you are safe now, and I am hoping that soon you will be able to return to Calabria."

"He should rest." The other woman appeared, and her calming words sent him into peaceful slumber before he could attempt to protest.

Amyr did not know how long he remained in dreamless sleep, but when he finally awoke, his eyes snapped open to find himself staring up at the wooden rafters of a ceiling. He became aware that he was lying on a bed, the comfort disorienting him until he raised his head to see Taeron sitting on a rug nearby, his legs crossed, his eyes closed although his hand was on the hilt of a sword lying across his lap. Had his capture and enslavement been a nightmare? Were they at the imperial palace in the sacred hills?

Taeron would laugh when he told him about his nightmare. "How will you protect me when you are sleeping so soundly?" he teased his imperial guard.

But Taeron did not grumble as he oft did when Amyr accused him of sleeping. He raised his head and Amyr was jerked back to reality by the chill in his deep violet gaze.

His guard's contempt fueled his own anger, and as Taeron rose to his feet, Amyr realized that he was holding the sword of the crown prince. Amyr pushed himself up and swung his feet over the side of the bed so that he could rise. He felt no pain from his death. In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time. He had no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious, but someone had cleaned him and shaved the ragged facial hair that he had not scraped away in many days. He was dressed in clean, soft clothing, the fine fabric and stitching evidence of Lady Larya's work. By the gods, he did not want to be beholden to Taeron more than he already was!

"After what you have done, you think I would keep you as my imperial guard?" He would not thank the bastard for anything.

Taeron snorted derisively. "I am the imperial governor of Varoonya."

The governor of Varoonya! "So you have managed to turn my death to your advantage?"

"I managed to turn your treachery into my advantage."

Amyr could not argue that he had not meant Taeron harm. Because of what Taeron had done in exposing him to Quynn, he had lost everything and Amyr had wanted to strike back by dishonoring him. He should not be surprised that he had failed. When was the last time Taeron had been less than perfect?

"Has Staefyn been crowned?" Amyr realized that he had nothing to gain by speaking of what had happened on Teralon. Asking about his family seemed a safer subject. "Are you now his imperial guard?"

"I am not."

The acid tone of Taeron's voice surprised Amyr who had never seen any enmity between his brother and his imperial guard. In fact, Staefyn and Taeron had been inseparable as children until Taeron became obsessed with training to earn the right to protect the crown prince. After a trip to the sacred hills, shortly before Taeron had undergone the trial, he and Staefyn had drifted apart, so Amyr assumed they had a falling out. Amyr had never questioned Taeron about it because he did not give a gods damn about Staefyn and was glad to have Taeron at his beck and call without having to suffer his brother's irritating presence.

In his absence, Staefyn and Taeron must have had another disagreement. "What has my brother done to earn your disfavor?"

"Betrayed me," Taeron said solemnly.

Amyr would have laughed if he did not sense Taeron's anger. Staefyn was the last man he would suspect of dishonesty. "I shall make it a point to warn him how you repay treachery."

Before they could discuss it further, the door opened and Amyr was annoyed by the intrusion until he saw that it was Taeron's brother and then he cringed. The scribe's memory was phenomenal, so everything he saw and heard would be reported with brutal, honest detail to the emperor of Calabria. Stryfe was dressed in a fine garment that seemed a bit loose, so Amyr guessed it was Taeron's clothing, and if he were to guess, he would say that Taeron was wearing the scribe's clothing because it fit him poorly as well. What were they up to? Amyr might not want his actions reported, but at least the scribe could tell him all that he had missed during the years of his captivity.

"Hey, brother, those Teralonian women are wondering why you have been holed up in here with the crown prince of Calabria. Sharisse wanted to know why I wasn't more interested in the resurfacing of my lord prince." Stryfe glanced at Amyr. "I see that you are finally awake. Maybe my brother can get some sleep now."

"What did you tell her...them," amended Taeron and Amyr noted that his guard was blushing. Taeron blushing?

"Who are these women?" Amyr demanded with annoyance. He disliked feeling so ignorant, especially when it seemed these women had the power to unsettle Taeron.

"One is Taeron's wife," said Stryfe before Taeron could find his voice.

"Wife?" Taeron married? The idea was laughable and yet there was no reason why he would not be when the emperor had brought up the possibility before they left for Teralon. "Do you have children as well? Much has happened in my absence." He enjoyed the obvious discomfiture that his question caused Taeron.

Stryfe snickered. "No children yet."

"No wife either," Taeron pointed out. "I have not bonded to the female."

Amyr did not need to ask the scribe for details because Stryfe liked to gossip. "Your father arranged for his marriage to Princess Dijana of Teralon," Stryfe told Amyr.

Married to the heiress of Teralon? Amyr burned with fury that the imperial guard that had failed him was honored while he had suffered all those years! Why would his father reward Taeron in such a manner?

"The emperor has ordered him to begin his house before returning to Varoonya," concluded Stryfe with a delighted chuckle.

"Was it necessary to add that detail?" asked Taeron with annoyance.

"Is she ugly to behold?" asked Amyr. An ugly princess is exactly what Amyr would wish for him. She was surely a beak-faced bird woman with a shrewish disposition who would make Taeron's life a living hell. That was exactly what he deserved.

"No, she is quite beautiful," Stryfe told him, disappointing Amyr.

"Then why …?" Amyr's thoughts strayed to the woman to whom he had made his own vow, but he quickly shut them out before he began to feel the gnawing need for her. It would begin soon enough without thinking about her.

Taeron was obviously discomforted by the discussion. "This is none of your business."

Stryfe didn't seem to agree. "He has his eye on the lovely Sharisse, her sister." Indeed, Stryfe could not help but reveal the most private details. Wasn't that why his father had given him his post as scribe?

Taeron's marital woes amused Amyr and he hoped he could use this new information against him. Stryfe's next words made him almost giddy with anticipation for the trouble he could cause Taeron.

"They think that Taeron is me and that I am him."

"You are lying to them?" Amyr was incredulous. Taeron did not lie! But he could see by the mutinous look on Taeron's face that it was true. That he could get away with it amazed Amyr. Throughout their childhood, Taeron was the first to tell the truth or reveal any secret, so Amyr had quickly learned not to include him in any scheme or tell him anything he did not want blurted to his parents.

Now he raised a brow as he looked at Taeron. "They think you are a scribe?" Ridiculous! "Can you even read and write?"

"As well as you!" snapped Taeron.

That wasn't saying much. Before he had borrowed the book to read about the drug he planned to use on Taeron, Amyr hadn't read a book since he was barely higher than his mother's hip and he had forgotten nearly all the symbols. He never had a reason to read or write. That was what a scribe was for! The Teralonian females must surely be ignorant fools otherwise they would recognize which male of house Maxwell was a warrior and which spent his days hunched over scrolls reeking of ink.

"She hasn't seen you with a sword in your hand," remarked Amyr with a pointed glance at the sword Taeron held.

Taeron glanced at the sword as well, then sighing, he came to Amyr who actually flinched as he raised it. He would never forget how it felt to die on the point of that sword. But Taeron offered the hilt to Amyr. "I think your mother knew you were alive. When I returned the sword to Calabria and she held it in her hands, I think she felt something."

Amyr stared at the sword, remembering the ceremony in which he had received the sword from her hand. His mother did not often use her Guerani powers, but she must have bound his life force to the sword, so she had sensed that he was not dead through her touch. Now he took the sword Taeron offered to him, and he felt stronger holding it, more powerful, powerful enough to defeat anyone. Even Taeron.

Before Taeron could react, Amyr thrust the point of the sword beneath Taeron's chin. He hoped he had surprised him, but Taeron showed no concern from the threat. "I could kill you now for what you did to me in the arena."

"Saving your life?" Taeron's dark brows arched. "Did you want to remain there, a slave to that creature?"

"What will I return to? A contested crown? Parents I have failed? My only friend lost to me? A wife who will not have me but makes it impossible for me to have another?" His life was miserable and he had this man to blame. "I hate you Taeron. Your actions set into motion everything that has happened to me since that night when you did not do your duty to me. You chose your sister over me!"

He let the rage control him. Did he really think he could kill him? All he had to do was angle the tip and thrust the blade up and into his skull from below. He had a vague memory of being instructed in the move. He could do it now. He would do it.

He wasn't even aware that he tried before the sword suddenly dropped from a hand unable to hold it and Amyr felt sick to his stomach at the sight of blood pouring from under Taeron's chin where he had managed to cut him before his guard had seized his wrist in a grip so tight that he had crushed bones. What made him think he could do such a thing? If the ancestors had not abandoned him already, they surely would now for what he had tried to do!

The tears that made Taeron's face shimmer in his vision were more for the betrayal of his Guerani heritage than for the excruciating pain from Taeron's punishing grasp.

"If I can trust you not to try something like that again, Stryfe will fetch the healer," Taeron said his voice calm despite the blood pouring down his neck. "Otherwise, you can heal on your own."

"What do you want from me?" muttered Amyr as he blinked at the tears in his eyes. If his powers were not so weak, if the ancestors had not already judged him unworthy after all the death he had caused, he could have read Taeron's intentions. Amyr had lost what little Guerani power he had developed before he was captured by the Varoonyans.

"I want your word of honor, such as it is, that I do not have to fear your blade in my back." He bent until they were nose to nose. "I had to protect my sister. You charmed her when you realized that your father was disgusted with your selfishness, but I knew you only wanted to use her. I knew how much she loved you and that you would only hurt her. You fault me for wanting to protect her? I should have betrayed you much sooner so that she never would have agreed to become your mate, so that she could see you for the narcissistic scoundrel that you really are. You hurt everyone who ever cared about you!"

Amyr grit his teeth, hating the words Taeron spoke to confront him with his own ugliness, hating even more the hurt that flowed from Taeron to him, knowing that he would not feel it if it were not so deep.

"I will give you no word," he spat at him, lashing out in an effort to ease his own self-loathing.

"As I suspected all along. You have no word of honor to give." Before releasing him, he gave Amyr's wrist a twist that made the bones crack and Amyr's vision swim in pain before he lost consciousness.