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handle of the fork.
'Don't look,' said Duaire unexpectedly out of the darkness at her side. He
caught her close; the sounds of the other Sorcerers' arrival was muffled by
the fine cloth of his sleeve.
Suddenly Darion's voice cut clearly through the noise.
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'Taroith! No! I forbid this!'
E!ienne twisted clear of Duaire's hold and saw the
Prince standing in the doorway, pale features set with denial. His shirt lay
open at his throat, and sweat gleamed on his collarbones. Across from him,
ringed by six League
Sorcerers, Taroith leaned over Minksa's limp form, hands stained red from
handling her, and head bent in apparent deference.
Yet when he looked up, determination etched new lines across his lean face.
'Your Grace, the girl died believing she granted you deliverance.'
'No.' Darion made a trapped gesture with his hand, breathing hard. The stag
medallion flashed on his chest.
'You'll work no darklore for my sake. I refuse to see you damned.'
But Taroith was not deterred. 'Would you permit Faisix to reverse the curse
against you?'
'He's dead.' The prince spoke aggressively, clear warn-
ing his temper neared the breaking point.
'Not precisely.' Taroith paused, as though waiting. His gaze stayed locked
upon the Prince. A moment later, one of his colleagues entered carrying the
iron bar that con-
fined the demon ring which had once driven Minksa to murder. The Sorcerer
handed the rod to Taroith, who'
raised it balanced across his palm. Stillness settled over
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the little room, and Elienne held her breath as he addressed the Prince. 'Your
Grace, if I release the ring and place it upon my own hand, Faisix's
projection will supplant my will. With seven Masters present to direct his
influence, I believe he may be pursuaded to reverse your affliction, in the
same manner as it was originally cast.
Our offense against Ma'Diere's Law will be but slight.'
His tone turned stony. 'Faisix was not the only adept about with a touch for
mindbend.'
Darion stepped out of the doorway, stern profile bronzed by flamelight.
'There's danger to you.'
Taroith gripped the bar of iron on either side of the ring and stared at the
bright gold glitter of the demon as though he and the Prince were alone. 'Of
course. Should my colleagues lose control, yes, there is danger. There is
danger in all sorcery. But I assume that risk, as is my fight.' He looked up
in sincere appeal. 'Trust me, your
Grace.'
'I understand.' The words seemed tortured from Dar-
ion's throat. Fallen hair veiled his expression as he blotted his brow with
his sleeve. 'Please take my Consort from the room. I will not risk her to
Faisix again.'
Duaire moved to Elienne's side and took her elbow.
'No, please. I wish to stay.'
But Duaire paid no attention. He caught her arm with uncompromising firmness,
just as Taroith set his hand on the ring, soulfocus stark as a beacon over his
head.
Heated air fanned her hair as Duaire steered her toward the door, and a harsh
blaze of scarlet rinsed the walls.
Duaire guided her firmly outside. The corridor went dark as the latch fell
shut under his hand.
The subdued light of the Sorcerer's focus drove the blackness back. She sat
down on the cold stone, weary, feeling decades older than the desperate woman
who had
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first come to Pendaire with lelond. 'I wanted to forgive her,' she said at
last.
Duaire sighed, scarred features troubled by memories of his own. 'Minksa could
not forgive herself. All her life, she was used as a pawn in this mad play for
power. She died believing your heirs would bring an end to the feuding. Mourn
her loss, but do not dishonor her sacrifice, my Lady. The decision to take her
life was hers alone.'
Elienne waited in silence. From within the cell came a rumble of thunder and a
sharp metallic clang; she heard a
Sorcerer's voice say, 'Your Grace, I suggest you burn that garment.' After an
interval, the door opened, throwing yellow light into the corridor. Darion
emerged, shiftless, his face a mask. Taroith followed on his heels, haggard
with weariness. He had rinsed his hands. Eiienne watched the approach of the
Sorcerer and the Prince and thought, it's over now. It's all over.
Gently Darion pulled her up from the stone. Elienne leaned against him and
listened to the steady beat of his heart.
Taroith shoved damp hair back from his brow and broke the silence with a curt
command. 'Your Grace, tell
Elienne your third of the Trinity of Fortune.'
Darion swore in mild surprise. 'Wasn't she told?' And he leaned close, a trace
of life restored to his expression.
'The Seeress promised me my heart's desire.'
'Your succession.' Elienne traced his jawline with hesi-
tant fingers. 'I'm glad.'
'Ma'Diere.' Darion laughed and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. 'No,
love. My heart's desire was nothing less than a child of my own, by you.'
'The curse has been reversed.' Taroith raised an iron rod newly bent into a
seamless ring. The demon glittered hotly, imbedded immovably in a surface that
glowed white
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with wardspells. 'Lady, I can promise with Eternity's finality Faisix will
cause no more harm to your children.'
Darion cradled her close. The Sorcerers fell behind as he moved off down the
corridor. Elienne felt his grip shift as he started up the stairs.
'I can walk,' she said. When he failed to respond, her protest turned heated.
'Lord, put me down!'
But his arms only tightened. 'Not here, my future
Queen. I'm taking us both to the bedchamber. We've an obligation to the realm
of Pendaire.' He paused. Chestnut hair tickled her cheek as he kissed her long
and gently.
When he finally raised his head, a dawning glimmer of joy shone through his
solemnity. 'Our first male heir will be named Cinndel. This time, by right of
sovereignty, I'm going to insist.'
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