Лорел Гамильтон - Strange Candy

It was miles to the castle, and by the time we arrived, the captain believed it was his idea. No magic was required to maintain my safety.

The castle gate was brilliant with torchlight. Our group was one of dozens. Many had brought children, both male and female. One little boy was perhaps six, frightfully young. He clung, crying, to the soldier that held him. The soldier looked decidedly uncomfortable. I marked him for later use, though if I needed help, it would probably be too late. Too late meant dead. I took a deep calming breath. If I panicked, I would be useless.

Somehow I would kill Madawc. Even if it meant my own death.

We were escorted through the main hall, where there was a party going on. I heard one of the soldiers murmur, “Pigs, all of them.”

The captain whispered, “Don’t let Madawc hear such talk. He’ll skin you alive for entertainment.”

Another said, “I’m leaving this foul place when my contract is up.” There was a lot of head nodding.

Five years without my father to stand guard against him had not made Madawc popular.

The place smelled of spilled wine, vomit, and sex. Drunken voices, both male and female, called out bawdy suggestions. There was a young man of about fif teen, chained to the center of the room. A line of silk-clad ladies were taking turns with him.

I turned away, and the captain jerked me roughly forward. Fear knotted in my belly, and for the first time I felt naked under the cloak. I had magic, but so did Madawc, and he had beaten me before.

The little boy was given over to an older man. The soldier looked near tears himself as he pried the boy’s fingers from him. The old noble offered the child sweetmeats and held him softly. He would gain the child’s confidence first. I recognized Lord Trahern. He had been thrown out of my father’s court for being a child-lover.

The captain led me by the arm through the crowd. Hands pulled at the cape, saying, “A beauty, did you taste her before you brought her here?”

He ignored them and went to the front table. Madawc had not changed, except to grow thicker around the middle. His black hair was dark as any peasant’s, but his eyes were the cool blue of autumn skies.

Anger flashed through me warm and whole. Hatred. Memories. My mother’s cries for help. Her screams, “Run, Alatir, run!” But there had been no place to run. I needed no geas to want him dead.

The captain went down on one knee and pulled me down as well. We waited, kneeling, faces hidden from the man. Would Madawc recognize me? I was afraid and didn’t try to hide it. I was just another victim, a bit of meat. I was supposed to be afraid. Finally, Madawc said, “Yes, what is it?”

“A special treat for you, Lord Madawc.” He pulled my head back, so my face showed.

Madawc said, “Ah, blue eyes. Did you find another one of my own bastards for me?”

“I believe so, my lord.”

He smiled and traced my face with his hand. “Lovely. You have done well, Captain. I am pleased.” He held out a ruby and gold ring. The captain bowed and took it. I was lef tkneeling.

Madawc pulled aside the cloak. It fell to the floor. I hunched forward, using my long hair as a screen. Fear thudded in my throat. He laughed. “Naked, all pleasures bare, as I like my women. And modest, I like that as well.” He touched my breast, and I jerked away with a small gasp. I would not let him touch me. I would destroy myself first. No, the geas would not allow that. I had to try to kill him. But I could not perform death-magic here and now. He was not drunk; he would break my concentration long before I completed a spell. I could damage him but not kill him. I needed to get away from him; I needed time.

It came to me then what I needed to do. I had been too long away from the nobility; I had forgotten how silly even the best of them could be. Even Madawc, tainted as he was, would not refuse challenge, especially from a woman he had defeated before.

I draped the cloak around my shoulders and said, “I am Alatir Geasbreaker, as you named me. Daughter of Garrand and Allsun.” I stood, cloaked in deepest blue and the mane of black hair. I was ivory skin and eyes of sapphire. I felt the magic of true challenge flow through me, born of anger, righteousness, and five years of magic almost untapped. Fear was gone in a rush of magic.

Madawc knocked his chair backward to scrape along the marble floor. “What trick is this?”

“No trick, Madawc of Roaghnailt. I am Alatir Geasbreaker, and I challenge you to battle.”

If it had been another who was trained in sword as well as magic, it would have been a foolish challenge.

I knew nothing of weapons, but neither did Madawc. He was of the belief that magic was always enough. Now we would see.

A hush ran through the throng. They turned eyes to their honored lord. He could not refuse, for to do so, even in front of this silken rabble, would be to lose all honor. A lord without honor did not get invited to the king’s courts. A lord without honor became the butt of songs by bards known for their comedic talents and biting wit.

I was remembering what it meant to be human and a Meltaanian noble.

“I accept challenge, of course, but you cannot be Alatir, daughter of Garrand. I put a geas on you that would have forced you to kill me years ago.”

“It was your spell. Test it; see if it still holds me.”

I felt a tentative wash of magic, a mere butterfly’s wing of power. “You bear my spell, but how have you hidden from it?”

“Shapeshif ting, Madawc. Even as a child, shapeshif ting was my best spell, and animal cannot answer geas.”

“What brought you back?”

“You called me. You might say, I am what you made me: someone who hates you, someone who has to kill you, at risk of her own life if necessary. I am under geas to see you stretched dead before me.”

His jaw tightened; the shock and fear were gone. “I defeated you once, easily. I will do so again. This time I will not leave you alive.”

“This time,” I said, “you will not have the chance.”

Meltaanians love spectacle more than anything. In short order, torches were set in a circle outside the castle grounds. You never let sorcerers fight within walls. The walls had a tendency to tumble down.

Even that thought did not frighten me. The magic of challenge still held me safe. Fear was a muted thing, for now.

One of the ladies had found me a dress to wear. It was blue silk and matched my eyes. My hair was braided down my back and threaded with silver ribbons. Silver was echoed at bodice, sleeve, and dress front. It was a very simple dress by Meltaanian standards, but the people needed to be impressed, needed to remember what was about to happen.

Madawc faced me in black, run through with silver threads. He glittered like ice in the sun when he moved. He spoke to me as we stood, waiting. “You are Alatir.”

“Did you doubt it?”

“I thought you long dead.”

“You thought wrongly.”

He gave a half bow, a strange self-mocking smile on his face. “I think, dear lady, that you are some lovely phantom come to haunt me.”

“I am flesh and blood and magic.”

Magic grew in the circle of torches. Magic ran along my skin and tugged at my hair, like an unseen wind.

I called sorcery to me but did not want to commit its shape to any one spell. I wanted to know the measure of the man I fought. In my terror, he had been twelve feet tall, an endless fountain of magic.

Now he was a man, and I was no longer a child.

Fire exploded around me, orange death. The air was choking, close, heat. The fire died, and I stood safe behind a shield. Lightning flared from his hands. The bolts struck my shield and shattered in an eye-blinding display of light.