deepened. “Then we’d best make damned sure Stavros does not learn of her existence. He’d move heaven and hell to take her away from you.”
Lucien sat up and captured his raised knees within the perimeter of his arms. He stared across the moon-shot lake. “That is the only thing that worries me, Pet.”
“We still have a traitor amongst us,” Petros stated. “I’ll double my efforts in finding him or her.”
* * * * *
Stavros Constantine’s spy watched Prince Lucien and Lord Petros as they walked their mounts up the serpentine mountain road toward the keep. There were others too close for him to open a psychic link between himself and Lord Anchises, to give his report. Someone might pick up on that link so the thrall was forced to bide his time. Gingerly, he lifted a hand to his eye and winced.
“She got you good, didn’t she, Ari?” another thrall asked.
Aristotle Pavli ignored the taunt. There would be time to make the bitch pay for giving him the shiner. Before he turned her over to Prince Stavros, Ari vowed he would have her splayed beneath him and her body one long wince of agony by the time he had had his fill of her. He remembered well the feel of her full breasts as he felt her up as she lay unconscious in his arms, the pressure of his nerve constriction on her neck having put her out like a light.
“Open the portcullis!”
Taking one last look at Prince Lucien, Ari turned and headed for the guard’s quarters. Dawn was only an hour away and already the Revenants were moving lethargically, their movements slow. The keep would be locked down until sunset, the bridge drawn back across the steep gorge it spanned. There would be no entry—or exit—from Modartha unless Lord Petros sent out herders and the chances of that were slim.
But when Ari was about to enter the guardhouse, Lord Petros called out to him, the Lord of Security walking as slowly as the rest of those of the Blood.
“Prince Lucien wants a hindquarter of beef taken to Lake Alcina,” Petros ordered. “Take a wagon filled with bushels of whatever vegetables you can load along with you. Just leave the provisions there at the lake and return. I’ve already spoken to the gatekeeper and he’ll be there to let you in and out.”
Ari grimaced. “Why am I taking good food and leaving it in the middle of nowhere?”
Petros glared at the thrall. “Because your prince ordered it!” he snapped and continued on, his footsteps dragging as he climbed the steps into the keep.
“Not my damned prince,” Ari muttered, his beady eyes following Lucien Korvina as that one disappeared beyond the main door. So trusting had Petros been, he had never questioned Ari’s assertion that he was in thrall to the Korvina clan when he had shown up at Modartha ten years before. Because Petros had accepted the lie without a moment’s hesitation, no drop of Lucien’s blood had ever been injected into Ariostle Pavli.
Grumbling to himself, Ari slammed into the guardhouse, kicking a subordinate thrall out of his way. “Don’t bother going to bed,” he snapped. “We’ve got to take food out to the lake.”
“Why?” the thrall whimpered, rubbing his shin.
“Because your prince ordered it,” Ari ground out.
“Must be some diseased ones out there,” one of the thralls commented. He had slept all night and was fresh, just then coming on duty.
“Then we’ll give them rancid meat,” Ari snorted. “What difference will it make to them? They’re half-dead anyway.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Pavli,” someone said. “You know what happened to those guards just yester eve when Lord Petros found out they had not been giving the herd adequate provisions.”
“No one need know,” Ari shot back. He swung his angry eyes about the room. “Who’s going to tell Petros?”
No one replied. The other thralls feared Aristotle Pavli and wanted no trouble with the burly guard.
Ari smirked at the men. “Be ready to ride out at first light. Peleus and
Lucien sat up and captured his raised knees within the perimeter of his arms. He stared across the moon-shot lake. “That is the only thing that worries me, Pet.”
“We still have a traitor amongst us,” Petros stated. “I’ll double my efforts in finding him or her.”
* * * * *
Stavros Constantine’s spy watched Prince Lucien and Lord Petros as they walked their mounts up the serpentine mountain road toward the keep. There were others too close for him to open a psychic link between himself and Lord Anchises, to give his report. Someone might pick up on that link so the thrall was forced to bide his time. Gingerly, he lifted a hand to his eye and winced.
“She got you good, didn’t she, Ari?” another thrall asked.
Aristotle Pavli ignored the taunt. There would be time to make the bitch pay for giving him the shiner. Before he turned her over to Prince Stavros, Ari vowed he would have her splayed beneath him and her body one long wince of agony by the time he had had his fill of her. He remembered well the feel of her full breasts as he felt her up as she lay unconscious in his arms, the pressure of his nerve constriction on her neck having put her out like a light.
“Open the portcullis!”
Taking one last look at Prince Lucien, Ari turned and headed for the guard’s quarters. Dawn was only an hour away and already the Revenants were moving lethargically, their movements slow. The keep would be locked down until sunset, the bridge drawn back across the steep gorge it spanned. There would be no entry—or exit—from Modartha unless Lord Petros sent out herders and the chances of that were slim.
But when Ari was about to enter the guardhouse, Lord Petros called out to him, the Lord of Security walking as slowly as the rest of those of the Blood.
“Prince Lucien wants a hindquarter of beef taken to Lake Alcina,” Petros ordered. “Take a wagon filled with bushels of whatever vegetables you can load along with you. Just leave the provisions there at the lake and return. I’ve already spoken to the gatekeeper and he’ll be there to let you in and out.”
Ari grimaced. “Why am I taking good food and leaving it in the middle of nowhere?”
Petros glared at the thrall. “Because your prince ordered it!” he snapped and continued on, his footsteps dragging as he climbed the steps into the keep.
“Not my damned prince,” Ari muttered, his beady eyes following Lucien Korvina as that one disappeared beyond the main door. So trusting had Petros been, he had never questioned Ari’s assertion that he was in thrall to the Korvina clan when he had shown up at Modartha ten years before. Because Petros had accepted the lie without a moment’s hesitation, no drop of Lucien’s blood had ever been injected into Ariostle Pavli.
Grumbling to himself, Ari slammed into the guardhouse, kicking a subordinate thrall out of his way. “Don’t bother going to bed,” he snapped. “We’ve got to take food out to the lake.”
“Why?” the thrall whimpered, rubbing his shin.
“Because your prince ordered it,” Ari ground out.
“Must be some diseased ones out there,” one of the thralls commented. He had slept all night and was fresh, just then coming on duty.
“Then we’ll give them rancid meat,” Ari snorted. “What difference will it make to them? They’re half-dead anyway.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Pavli,” someone said. “You know what happened to those guards just yester eve when Lord Petros found out they had not been giving the herd adequate provisions.”
“No one need know,” Ari shot back. He swung his angry eyes about the room. “Who’s going to tell Petros?”
No one replied. The other thralls feared Aristotle Pavli and wanted no trouble with the burly guard.
Ari smirked at the men. “Be ready to ride out at first light. Peleus and
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