16.5

The old man waited for Zyrdicia alone in an adjacent room. He clicked his aging fingers expectantly on a dark, cherrywood table. He looked quite at home in Castle Blackpool. He did not smile when she entered. He greeted her disdainfully, "Baroness. How fortunate that I can finally make your infernal acquaintance."

Zyrdicia stared into his eyes sifting through his thoughts as they fluttered against her in an uninvited barrage. "Count Blathmoor," she smiled, retrieving his unspoken identity. She learned a great deal more from those errant thoughts. It promised to be fun encounter.

Behind Blathmoor, she noticed Dirk enter silently. He stood quietly in one of the room's entrances. She was not surprised that he had taken an interest in the conversation and followed her. Their eyes met for a brief instant. The prince put his finger to his lips, gesturing for her not to reveal his presence. Blathmoor had no idea.

The Count announced impatiently, "This ruse of yours may deceive my colleagues but I am well aware that you are no manifestation of Saxarba. I may or may not be able to prevent the prince's plans to betray King Saris, but revealing what I know about you will certainly foil your own plans, demon."

"I hate it when people call me that," she cringed mockingly. She realized at that moment that she had already been awake for several hours and still had not killed. It was long overdue. Blathmoor's mind had already disgorged everything she needed to know. She wanted to toy with him a bit for Dirk's benefit, though. "My plans?"

"I know you are a devil in disguise. The treacherous fiend masquerading as Saris' elder son summoned you to serve him."

"Serve him, eh? I'm sure he would appreciate that rumor," Zyrdicia smirked, noting her fiancee's silent amusement.

Blathmoor scowled menacingly, "The Witch Bethel has always been a loyal servant of the King. She informed me of the plot to usurp Saris' crown and poison the royal bloodline with devildom!"

"Impressive loyalty, indeed."

"I will reveal my knowledge to the assembled nobility!" He paused, his voice becoming less confrontational, "I might be persuaded to keep your secret and permit Saris' son's plot to proceed, however - provided you persuade him to grant me considerable holdings in the South, and you relinquish Dagonia's water rights to me in the North."

"Such trivial requests. I have a better method of persuading silence, though."

"If I die here, I have left detailed documentation of my knowledge with a trusted servant. Copies will be delivered to all members of the northern baronial council, as well as Kings Greystone and Baaldorf within the hour of my death."

"Lying to me is futile. Your thoughts are so easy to read. Even now I hear them, the fear, the silent prayers to gods you don't even believe in."

Blathmoor suddenly found himself unable to move his body. The strength of her presence in his mind robbed him of all volition. She glanced at Dirk again. He nodded in assent when their eyes met, silently giving her permission to kill the man. Zyrdicia held his gaze a moment, surprised that he seemed actually to believe that she needed such assent for the impending act.

Zyrdicia then turned her purple eyes, fixing them on Blathmoor intently. She released the hold on his mind, freeing him. Focussing her newly angelic senses, she could hear his heart race, the quickening of his blood, the tightening of his bowels as terror gripped him. She smelled the fearful sweat escaping from his pores. She concentrated her will upon his body. His heart beat faster in response. Then faster, and faster still.

"No! Please!" he begged. He grasped his chest, terrified. That instant, his heart burst apart within his chest cavity. There was no mark upon his body, no wound to be seen. There was no blood to mar the flawlessness of her appearance or soil the room. He looked for all the world as though he had just died of natural causes. Killing him had taken mere seconds and no effort at all.

Zyrdicia brought her gloved fingertips to her lips, feigning contrition. "Hearts are so fragile."

"Are you certain he was lying about sending his absurd story to the baronial council?" Dirk demanded.

"Positive. Why did you follow us?"

"Interest in your safety, of course," Dirk answered facetiously, moving toward her. "I knew that he was dangerous and not to be trusted."

"That he was dangerous and not to be trusted, or that I was?"

He smiled, bringing her hand to his lips, "You can dare to be neither dangerous nor untrustworthy to me." He liked watching her kill that way. The merciless ease with which she dispatched his enemies was practical. More than that, the power of it was alluring. It was his own power now. In that way it was strangely arousing.

Zyrdicia sensed his reaction to the baron's murder. Killing Blathmoor had altered her mood as well. She no longer wanted to play a role for an audience. The sensation of having Azriok's destructive power boosting the effectiveness of her magic was ecstatic. She pulled her hand from Dirk's grasp in order to entwine her arms around his neck, wondering just how much tactile sensation would be heightened as a result of the recent magical infusion.

Death and power hung in the air like an aphrodisiac. Eyes locked; nothing more needed to be said. Their faces hovered scarcely an inch apart. Their heads angled in one direction then the other fluidly, poising for attack in the same calculating manner one might for a duel. The kiss that finally came had many of the characteristics of combat. It was hard and merciless, an extension of their quarrel from earlier. Their tongues fought for territory, each pressing against its adversary fiercely. When they pulled back to regroup for a second assault, they pressed their foreheads together and fixated on one another's eyes for a moment.

"What did Count Ildwynd want from you?" Dirk asked suspiciously as they lingered in each other's arms.

"Hm?" She had not heard the question. She had been too busy focusing upon the intensity of the lingering taste of his tongue and the awareness of the points where her breasts and hips touched his body. Excessive sensory stimuli here were just as overwhelming as the roomful of smells had been.

He repeated the question, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh. Strange man. We were talking about how much he likes Geshna and how sorry his family is that Donovain annoyed me."

"I know very little about him. He just returned to Karteia from overseas. I'm certain he had his father murdered to take possession of the county."

"Do you care?"

"Not in the least. I found the former Count rather annoying."

"The present one is a telepath. Are you related somehow?"

"Most of the northern aristocracy has familial ties. His father was brother to my mother."

"He either has a tremendous natural talent or someone has taught him how to use his mind's ability."

"How do you know?"

"I couldn't read his thoughts. Keeping me out requires a great deal of skill. As you already know." She paused then smiled saucily, "Treacherous fiend."

"Demon," Dirk smirked, returning Blathmoor's label back at her playfully.

"It's obnoxious that Bethel is spreading rumors that you summoned me to serve you."

"Remind me to thank her."

"Why - was it your idea?" Zyrdicia laughed.

"Hardly." Dirk noted her subtle effort to shift the conversation away from the mysterious Count and refused to let her succeed. "Tell me, was Ildwynd flirting with you?"

"Not that I noticed. Are you going to be one of those jealous husbands who suspects every man I talk to of being my secret lover?"

"Suspects them of wishing to be that perhaps. No one in Aparans will dare come near you when you are my wife."

"After what I did to Tristan's brother, do you really expect that still to be an issue?"

Dirk's lips curled. It was true. The story was already something of a legend amongst his troops. After the episode with Donovain, every soldier in the castle had given her a wide berth. She was treated with exquisite politeness by torture troopers now. Gazes dropped to the floor when she spoke, lest eyes wander inappropriately. The prince found it terribly amusing. It underscored the extent to which she was already his personal property.

In some respects, their wedding would be a mere formality. Beyond the present possessory interest, prior to her departure she had already been his closest advisor. Few queens in history had as much influence over the throne as she did already - then again, none could boast such remarkable results.

He kissed her again, reacquainting himself with the feel of her. It really had been far too long. He whispered reluctantly, "We should return to the guests before we're missed."

"Must we?" she purred, her expression suggesting she would rather escape elsewhere.

"I'm afraid so. Disappearing together without taking our leave of them would be improper. Come."

He led her back to the Great Hall, informing several guards discretely about the corpse and instructing what should be done with it. It would be removed from the room through secret passages, and deposited on the bed in the guest room assigned to Blathmoor. The servants would find him in the morning, having died in his sleep.

When the pair reentered the social arena of the Great Hall, Zyrdicia smiled and kissed his cheek affectionately, then leaned near and whispered, "I'm no longer interested in socializing. Let's do what we must to take our leave and then go finish 'fighting' now." Still whispering in his ear, she added suggestively, "After the week I've had, you can't possibly know how much I'm looking forward to it."

His expression carefully stoic, he replied in a business-like tone, "I'm not certain I understand what you mean, my dear."

She glanced around. Several people nearby were watching them, including Tristan. That only served to incite her to push the boundaries of propriety. By implication, Dirk had dared her to do it with his non-sequitur, uttered just loud enough for those trying to eavesdrop to hear. She leaned near again and cupped her hands over his ear, then proceeded to enumerate her desire sensuously in immodest detail. She hoped to at least cause him to flush. He listened attentively, but his face remained perfectly passive. To those watching, she might as well have been telling him about a new economic policy in Geshna.

When she was finished, Dirk's carefully crafted expression of disengagement revealed not the slightest hint of interest in her proposal. She arched an eyebrow, silently daring a response. The one that came was hardly what she expected.

"If you are ready to retire, then I bid you goodnight. I'll have you escorted back to your quarters," he announced in a neutral conversational tone loud enough for those around them to hear, as though she had requested such a thing in her whisper to him. He motioned for one of his knights to step forward and quietly gave an order in a tone too low for anyone else to hear. Zyrdicia was too distracted by the implication of his dismissive pronouncement to bother trying to listen to it.

She gave him a surprised, quizzical look. Dirk's eyes moved to the people undoubtedly listening. Zyrdicia fought the urge to sneer. The whole realm knew they were intimate. That was an open "secret" in the castle and just about everywhere else they had travelled together. Discretion had never been an issue.

Zyrdicia had not expected this particular ploy. She certainly did not foresee that he would shrug off her advances so deftly in the name of propriety. As she walked with the knight toward the castle's living quarters, she seethed in anger. Dirk had simply sent her off to bed alone with polite indifference. She was too angry to even demand a telepathic explanation from him now.

The tension carefully built up by their clandestine arguments this evening would have no release. There would be no end to a seductive game. They had hardly had any contact in weeks, and now that she was back, he had dared to dismiss her -- as a matter of political convenience. Conflict she could understand; disinterest was far more aggravating. Nothing offended her as much as being ignored - particularly after such kisses.

She pondered sending someone to look for Tristan. Her young admirer would certainly provide her distraction. Perhaps Dirk needed to be learn that neglect had consequences. She paused in the hallway, weighing it. Still, she was hardly in a fitting state of mind to engage in a new game. She suspected Tristan would require her full attention, should she ever deign to give it to him.

She chose the path of least resistance, and simply vanished from Castle Blackpool. There would be no betrothal or coronation, as far as she was concerned.