She and Callador would see to that, though indirectly, of course. The word would spread that Michael’s seed was cursed. The Fatalists would make sure.
They were already becoming known for spreading discontent and championing the cause of the commoners.
Michael still enjoyed the favor of the people, but they were growing weary of the years of constant warfare. It was a drain on the resources of the empire, and the long War of Rebellion, as well as Michael’s campaigns of expansion, had left many widows and orphans.
Nobles who were more concerned with the upkeep of their lands and their estates had become tired of Michael’s constant demands on them to supply manpower and supplies for the Army of Anuire, and the commoners were starting to grumble that the emperor was more concerned with conquest than he was with improving the lot of his subjects. It would not take much to cause these seeds of discontent to sprout.
A royal birth that had been cursed by the gods would mean the people were cursed, as well, so long as Michael ruled them. There would be calls for his abdication, and if he refused, a rebellion would soon follow. The priests of the temple of Haelyn would support her cause.
Her daily attendance at the temple had given Laera a reputation for uncommon piety and goodness. She had carefully reinforced that image by making lavish, regular donations to the temples in Boeruine, and she had sent money to the temples in Anuire and Alamie, as well, where the priests had the most influence. And she always took little Aerin to the temple with her so that the priests would see that the child was being raised in the favor of the god.
But there was still the Gorgon to consider. There was no way of telling what Raesene might do. He was
completely mad, of course, of that Laera no longer had any doubt. For centuries, he had waited, slowly but surely building up his powers and extending his domain. He now controlled the entire mountain range known as the Gorgon’s Crown, and he had pushed his boundaries north, into the Giantdowns, east to the Hoarfell Mountains, south to Mur-Kilad and Markazor, and west to the borders of Tuarhievel, an area covering over five thousand square miles.
The traitor prince who had escaped Roele at the Battle of Mount Deismaar was now an immensely powerful awnshegh who controlled a nation in his own right, one that might well be strong enough to attack the empire.
Moreover, Raesene would know it was she who had stolen Callador’s token from him, and Laera did not think he was likely to forget it.
She would not wish to fall into his hands again.
That one night had been enough. It had been the most terrifying and agonizing experience of her life, and yet, despite the horror if it all, despite the pain he’d caused her, despite her revulsion, there had been an unnatural thrill to it all. What was it about her that made her feel so alive and vibrant whenever she risked disaster? What was it that made even pain seem so exciting?
The thrill of her affair with Rodric, of all her past affairs, which had seemed so dangerous at the time, paled to insignificance after that one awful yet somehow strangely and perversely galvanizing night.
What thrill could possibly compare with what she had experienced then?
The deposing of her brother and the seizing of the empire? Nothing less would do. After it all came to fruition, she would wear her widow’s weeds and put on a show of grief and
lamentation over Derwyn’s death at her own hands, and bravely allow herself to be persuaded to accept the regency for the sake of the people, who would have been primed by then to call for her ascension.
And she would reserve a very special fate for Aedan Dosiere. Over the years, she had contemplated countless times the form her revenge would take. But now that she was a practitioner of the sorcerous arts, there were new and more ingenious ways to make him suffer.
She had waited for this for a long, long time, an now, soon, it would come to pass. She would become a sorcerer-queen, with an empire to rule, and she would gather at her court the greatest wizards in the land to instruct her further until her power was matched by none.
Then, not even the awnsheghlien would be able to pose a threat. She would bring even the Gorgon to his knees.
She reached for the jewelry box. It was time. By now, Gella had returned to the servants’ quarters and was undoubtedly asleep. She would never see the morning.
Derwyn slept soundly in the bed, without the faintest clue she had placed him into a trance. He would not awake until she chose to wake him. She could do her work undisturbed. All she needed to do now was take the token locket, open it, and cast the spell….
She froze as she opened the hidden drawer. It was empty! Her hand pawed at the silk lining, her eyes unable to believe what they were seeing. The tokens were gone! She had only Derwyn’s, which she habitually wore around her neck. And she had enjoyed wearing it, too, because he always commented upon
it with affection, never suspecting what it truly represented. The thought gave her no end of amusement. But the other tokensallador’s and Gella’s -were no longer in the secret drawer.
Stunned, Laera tried to think. Had she taken them out before and left them somewhere? No, she always kept them there, safe and secure. But not secure enough, as it turned out. They had been stolen. That was the only possible explanation. But who … ?
Gella!
It could have been
