As he steps further from the bed, my eyes close, heavy, like lead weights are dragging on them. I feel myself sink down, down, spiralling down. It’s dark, black, it frightens me, but still I descend. I smell Death in this despair, grinning and sharpening his teeth, luring me even deeper.
Rhauk’s voice drifts, blurred now, distant. But even in the depths of this dark pit I can still make out his parting words. ‘And Jarrod will be satisfactorily distracted, when he sees his lover so completely under my control.’
And then I understand why he drugged me. Not only to stop me from helping Jarrod perform tricks, but to form a distraction, so Jarrod will lose his concentration during the battle. Rhauk is using me as a tool to help him beat Jarrod. It strikes me as ironic that my attempts to save Jarrod are now being used to murder him.
Moisture fills my eyes but I don’t care that Rhauk or the devil himself sees my tears. I’m too drained to stop them.
Rhauk leaves me with the bitter taste of hatred in my mouth, and Death for company.
Kate
He dresses me like a queen, all royal red and gold silk, my hair twisted into a coil about my head. Around my throat he hangs a heavy gold chain of miniature twisting snakes. He wears his usual black, the serpent gold buckle fixed at his waist. He looks compelling, all-powerful. I am nothing more than a rag doll, my limbs unnaturally heavy, memories of last night’s drugged nightmare-filled sleep slowly but thankfully receding.
It’s not quite dawn when we arrive on Ebony Prince’s back. Minneret Cliffs span alarmingly before us, the grey-pink streaks of early dawn shedding enough light to reveal stark white rockface. Rhauk drags me to the jutting point of a cliff edge, so close the breath of a seagull could tip me over. Earth and small chalklike rocks break free, collapsing under my fingers. I struggle to inch slowly away from the loose edge.
As well as my hands, Rhauk also chained my feet. I wonder why? In my drugged state I’m hardly a threat. Just concentrating is difficult. I haven’t the strength to move, let alone work magic. I half sit, half lay, aware of the salt spray rising up from the dark lonely ocean far below, its heart pulsing to its own eternal beat.
We wait. But it isn’t a long wait. Hooves pound the road descending from Thorntyne Keep as the sun cracks the horizon, spreading grey-gold fingers of light into this inevitable morning. Soon Jarrod rides into view.
He looks formidable and my heart, struggling to increase its pace, beats a little harder at the sight of him. He’s dressed all in gold, the Thorntyne crest with two white doves hovering over a purple rose, blazes on his tunic front. A gold chain looks heavy at his slim waist. He wears no armour, and more alarming, he has no sword. He is accompanied by Richard, Isabel, Morgana the maid, Thomas leading a half-dozen of Richard’s knights, Emmeline, and Malcolm the traitor, standing somewhat on his own, his head hanging low as if it weighs heavily with guilt. He glances up and I see his eyes are streaked blood red. I wonder why and look for signs of remorse, anything that tells me he has come to his senses.
In the end though, it makes no difference. No one here today will be able to help Jarrod, no matter how strong, or armed, or prepared. This duel is between Jarrod and Rhauk. Except Rhauk has the advantage, thanks to Malcolm’s inside information. Even Richard’s most able knights will be useless in this duel of magic.
Jarrod sits on the white and speckled grey stallion as if he were born on the creature’s broad back. He appears calm and confident. There’s no hint of the gawky clumsy kid I once knew. Red tints in his blond hair gleam brilliantly in the rising sun. Gracefully, he dismounts. His eyes travel over me thoroughly, searching for signs of mistreatment I guess. They narrow and harden when he finds my bruised and swollen jaw.
He stares at me a moment longer, trying I think, to send some strength, but my drugged mind can’t respond or absorb any of it. He senses this, it makes him angrier still. I plead with his mind to forget me, sitting here. I’m just bait, I try to tell him.
‘My nephew arrives,’ Rhauk remarks casually, smugly. ‘A foolish challenge that will result in your death. Look at the sun, Jarrod. A beautiful dawn. It will be your last.’
‘Brave words,’ Jarrod replies with a calm confidence that takes me by surprise. Even in my numbed brain state, it makes me dare to hope. ‘From a man who sees the need to use a woman’s distraction to win a battle.’
The insult stings. Rhauk’s black eyes darken impossibly further. Everyone stills, not a sound from Richard or Isabel or the others, as if everyone is holding their breath. Rhauk visibly regathers his concentration. ‘Distraction is but a tool, my boy. Take this, for example …’