Lisa Smedman: Heirs of Prophecy

“Drakkar, please,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Of course you will.” With that brief comment, he forced open her mouth, and jammed the thorn into her tongue.

Grimacing at the bitter taste, Larajin tried to spit the thorn from her mouth, but instead it wormed its way ever deeper into her tongue. Drakkar stared down at her, waiting for whatever foul magic he’d just worked on her to take effect.

She glared up at him. Drakkar had blasted Leifander’s mind, had bound Tal in silver knowing it was poisonous to him, and now was about to subject her to some equally foul magic, then kill her. She strained her eyes, glancing at Leifander’s drooling face, at Tal’s struggling form. Two brothers whom she’d do anything to be able to save-even sacrifice herself, so strong was her love for them …

…and Larajin realized the spell the goddesses wanted her to cast. It was the most powerful one in their arsenal-the one that had already turned Maalthiir into a lovesick fool. All Larajin had to do was get Drakkar to lower his lips to hers.

The thorn wriggled deeper into her tongue. Then, all at once, the pain of it disappeared. Drakkar, as if sensing his magic had come to fruition, straightened.

“Now then,” he wheezed. “What were you doing at the tower in the forest? What did you see and hear?”

“I saw you meeting with … the drow,” she answered, keeping her voice deliberately faint and weak. “You were … talking about … the plan to …”

Drakkar leaned closer. “To what?”

Larajin whispered. “I heard you say …”

As Drakkar cocked his head, Larajin offered up one last, silent prayer to Sune and Hanali Celanil. As she completed it, magical energy flowed through her, causing her entire body to flush a deep red and the floral scent to rush from her pores. For one brief instant, the paralysis left her-but that instant was enough. Jerking her head upward, she kissed Drakkar full on the lips. Then her body stiffened and became rigid once more.

The wizard staggered back, angrily wiping the back of his hand against his lips. His face twisted in an angry sneer, and he raised his staff, clearly about to discharge the full force of its magical energies upon her-but a heartbeat later, his expression slowly began to change. The sneer softened, then left his face entirely. His eyes widened, and his lips parted in a soft smile.

“Larajin,” he sighed.

Larajin closed her eyes, breathing a sigh of thanks to her goddesses. She gave Drakkar an imploring look.

“Free me?”

“Of course, Larajin, dear. Of course.” With a wave of one dark hand, he released her.

Larajin sat up and immediately kneeled over Tal, who was still struggling against his bonds, albeit feebly. He seemed too weak to speak or even to acknowledge Larajin as she whispered encouragement to him and stroked his brow. Out of the corner of her eye, Larajin saw a dark glint in Drakkar’s eyes. She instantly understood the look for what it was.

“You needn’t be jealous,” she told the wizard. “He’s only a … my brother.” She blinked. Why had she said that? She’d intended to say that Tal was a friend, yet something had compelled her to blurt out the truth instead.

The thorn. Like the one that had pierced her foot earlier that evening, it had vanished, but its magic was still strong.

Drakkar’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “This werewolf is your brother? Who is he?”

Finding herself unable to lie, Larajin let the truth tumble out. “He’s the youngest son of the Uskevren household, Talbot.”

“How is he the brother of a serving girl?”

“His father Thamalon had a-dalliance-with my mother. Tal is my half-brother.”

“Ah.” The explanation seemed to satisfy Drakkar. He glanced at the slack-jawed Leifander, who starred dully back at him. “And the elf? He claims to be Thamalon Uskevren’s son. Is he your brother, too?”

Larajin blinked in surprise. Drakkar already knew about Leifander’s parentage? The spell compelled her to answer.

“Yes. He’s my brother too.”

The wizard merely grunted.

“Drakkar,” she continued. “You know I can’t lie to you. If I promise to prevent either of my brothers from harming you, will you reverse the spells you cast on them? Please … for my sake?”

Drakkar glanced briefly at Tal, then stared at Larajin, a look of intense longing on his face. “Answer one question for me, first.”

Larajin braced herself.

“Do you love me?”

“No.”

He winced.

Larajin had to speak quickly, or all would be lost. “Can’t you understand how it pains me to see my brothers like this?” she asked Drakkar. “Imagine how you felt, just now, when I admitted I didn’t love you. My anguish is equal to what you just felt, but at least you have hope, that one day, if you redeem yourself…”

She let her voice trail off, wary about saying too much. She wanted to give Drakkar the illusion that she might love him, one day. If she continued speaking, however, the truth would come out. She didn’t even trust herself to look at Drakkar, lest the thorn compel her expression to show what she truly felt. Fear. Disgust. Hatred.

“Very well!” Drakkar cried.

He made a quick hand gesture and spoke a word in the drow tongue. With a faint hissing sound, the magical coils vanished. Tal groaned and rolled over onto his back, staring at the sky. Dark singe lines crisscrossed his flesh, but at least he was alive.

“And Leifander?” Larajin asked.

Drakkar beckoned for Leifander to approach him. Leifander blinked in confusion a moment, then at last grasped what the wizard wanted. He walked to Drakkar, obedient and docile, and gave the wizard an innocent, trusting look as Drakkar’s questing fingers moved across his scalp.

“Ah!” Drakkar grunted after a moment or two. “There.”

He plucked something out of Leifander’s scalp, and held it up for Larajin to see. It was another thorn. Drakkar flicked it away into the forest.

Leifander’s eyes cleared instantly. With a harsh caw, he leaped for the wizard’s throat. Larajin, however, had anticipated this, and shouted a single command: “Stop!”

Once again, the fragrance of Hanali’s Heart filled the air as the locket at Larajin’s wrist pulsed red. Suddenly rigid, Leifander strained against Larajin’s spell a moment or two, then, finding himself unable to attack Drakkar, he whirled on her.

“Why?” he asked in a strangled voice.

“I made a promise to Drakkar,” Larajin said, “that if he restored your mind, I wouldn’t let you harm him.”

“My … mind?” Leifander rubbed a temple and looked around like a sleeper who had suddenly awakened. He saw Tal groaning on the ground, and added, “What happened here?”

Drakkar continued to eye Leifander warily. His fingers hovered over on his staff, ready to pluck a thorn at the first sign of trouble.

“I’m having a talk with Drakkar,” Larajin answered. “Just like Doriantha is talking to Maalthiir.”

Understanding bloomed instantly in Leifander’s eyes.

“I see.” He glanced at Drakkar, then feigned disgust. “Fine. Talk to him, then.” Deliberately, he turned his back on her.

Larajin turned her attention back to Drakkar, whose posture was still tense and ready. Infatuated with her he might be, but he was still cautious.

“Drakkar, like you, I’m half human and half elf,” Larajin continued. “I’ve faced a lack of acceptance because of it, but I’m not a traitor to my people.”

“Nor am I!” Drakkar wheezed. “My people-”

“You’ve turned your back on your human side,” Larajin said, “and that saddens me.” She let the words hang in the air a moment, then added, “Do you know what would make me very happy?”