Son's Betrayal (The Imperial Series)

By LA Quill

As the youngest son of the powerful Emperor Damuk, Prince Rowan is expected to follow orders and stay out of trouble. Unfortunately for him, the adolescent prince can't seem to do either of these things with any real success. When he's not being lectured by his stern father, he's forced to endure the quiet disappointment of his sweet mother. His brother finds him irritating and his sisters can't stand the sight of him. He has no friends and no ambition in life. In short, he just can't seem to find a place in his family or in the Empire, and he doesn't care to try.

All Rowan really wants is power, the kind of power his father wields. So when a beautiful young courtier offers him just that, he has few reservations and even fewer questions. Seduced by her dark beauty, Rowan agrees to follow her, abandoning the Abital Empire against the express wishes of his father. And that is only the beginning of his adventure...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tear Drop Books
• Release date: Nov 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311944436

LA Quill

LA Quill was raised on the Canadian prairies. She has been fascinated with myth and fantasy since she was a small child. As she grew into adulthood, a fascination with the written word developed. She majored in English with a focus in creative writing when she attended university and is now pursuing her PhD. She also studies anthropology, religions, and politics, all of which contribute to her written work. Today, LA Quill resides in central Canada with her two sons. She is a full-time writer and is the author of the popular Imperial Series and the forthcoming Crystal's Chronicles. She also has several other projects in the works. If you're interested in discovering more about LA Quill and her work, connect with her through her blog: http://laquill.blogspot.com/

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Book 5 of the Imperial Series

By LA Quill

Copyright 2014 LA Quill

Published by Tear Drop Books

Smashwords Edition

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

NOVELS BY LA QUILL

THE IMPERIAL SERIES

ARIANNA`S TALE

DRAGON`S TEMPEST

THIEF’S HEARTACHE

MAGE’S REBELLION

SON’S BETRAYAL

THE KNIGHTS OF ST. ANDREWS

THE SEARCH FOR GRANDMASTER SVEND

SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

RETURN AND OTHER STORIES

INITIATION AND OTHER STORIES

Prologue

Darkness swirled around him, welcoming him to his domain. It pulsed with the power of ages, fueled by the lives of thousands of his victims. A high-pitched screech echoed through the air, drawing a contented sigh from his lips. This was his world. This was where he belonged.

Something splashed his face and dripped onto his lips. The metallic taste of fresh blood, still warm, filled his mouth, urging him to swallow the life-giving fluid. It rushed down his throat and pooled in his belly, warming him to his very core. Finding his strength at last, he opened his eyes.

Darkness still surrounded him, but there was nothing unusual about that. He abhorred light of any kind, seeing no use for it and shunning its bright glow. He could see well enough in the Dark. Who needed the Light?

His damned sister, that’s who. Thoughts of her filled his mind with rage. He leapt up off the smooth stone slab he’d been lying on, sending his slaves scattering in fear. One wasn’t quite fast enough. The girl’s throat was torn out and her belly slashed open before she could take herself out of range.

Slightly mollified by the feel of blood upon his hands, he turned away from the dead girl-child. As he paced and licked his fingers clean, he heard the slither of scales off to the right. His pet. Of course. The thing was entirely loyal and would not have left his side no matter how long he’d been drifting in unconsciousness.

With a click of his tongue, he called the black wyvern to him. Most wyverns were not true black. They might be the darkest shades of grey and brown, but they were not truly black. His pet, however, was as dark as the purest obsidian. The wyvern might have been formed of the blackest gems so black were its scales. This creature was…precious to him.

The beast came forward immediately, rubbing its scales around its master. He smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth in the dark. His eyes flashed with cold fire as he led his pet to the impressive altar in the center of the room.

When he got there, he frowned. The altar was bloody, but the blood was all old and dry. Scratching off a small flake, he raised it to his lips and nearly gagged. This blood was more than merely a little old—it was spoiled. Just how long had he been asleep?

Only one sure way to find out. With a swirl of his dark robes he strode back to the stone slab. His slaves once again scrambled to stay away, but they needn’t have worried. The girl-child was still warm enough to be of some use. He dragged her body over to the altar, then threw her cooling corpse across its surface.

Reaching for his darkened ritual dagger, he flashed a quick smile then began to cut into her tender flesh. The intestines he draped along the length of the altar. The lungs were placed in the brass dish to his left. The heart he removed slowly, savoring the act, before finally placing it on the dark mirror with reverence. It continued to beat even though the girl was dead.

Disemboweling the girl brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced in far too long. How long? Determined to find out, he snapped his fingers, setting the lungs on fire with a flick of his powerful magick. They would be his offering to the waiting Dark.

The scent of burning flesh teased his nostrils, but he ignored the hunger coiling through his belly. He focused instead on the dark magick gracing the altar. When his magick covered the entire surface of his ritual altar, he touched his finger to the still beating heart.

It flared immediately but instead of burning, it liquefied. The liquid spread over the dark mirror, its thick fluid covering the glass until nothing of its surface was visible. Only then did he drag a sharp fingernail through the gelatinous substance that had once been a beating heart.

Images began to appear, showing him places he’d once known. None of them looked much different, but it took centuries for topography to change. If he’d been asleep for only a few years, everything would look the same, even to his discerning eyes. He’d have to search for people.

People! Anger flashed through him at the memories suddenly rushing through his mind. He’d had the perfect plan, and it had been ruined by one little dark-haired bitch. He remembered her kicking him, trying to unman him. He’d felt it, been angry enough to kill her. So angry he’d brought down an entire mountain, trapping her inside. She should be dead. Was she? Why couldn’t he remember?

What did he remember? She’d been trapped. He’d been waiting for her to die…then what? A flash of light, a mixture of blues, greens, golds, and reds. Even a little white. None of those were his colors. Something had clearly happened, something he couldn’t quite remember.

He caught a glimpse of something lying in the far corner of the chamber and moved to examine it. It was a spiked badge made entirely of amethyst. Ah, he remembered now. He’d killed his sister’s lieutenant, the little purple bitch. That had been sweet. He did love depriving his sister of her precious companions, and since he had the badge she could not call another into her service. Not as Amethyst, anyway. He remembered the tangy taste of blood and the sweet sensation of ripping the badge from the woman’s chest and grinned.

But after that? That’s where his memories become hazy. He knew he’d trapped the black-haired little girl and killed his sister’s lieutenant, but that was it. That and the damned flashes of light. Flashes that could only have come from his sister’s remaining lieutenants. They must have taken their revenge on him. They must be the reason he’d slept for so long.

How long? Reminded of his original query, he glided back toward the bloodied altar, dropping the purple badge on the floor. It was useless to him and his sister could not retrieve it from his lair. As long as it remained in this room, he didn’t much care what happened to the damned badge. He was much more interested in his altar.

The congealing liquid was still, awaiting direction. With a thought he guided its power, sending it flying across the trackless Wastes, over the mountainous Southern Range, and into the scorching desert. Once there, he focused on the last face he remembered clearly—the black-haired little bitch of a girl.

Her face rose up before him and it was the face he remembered, but different. Her hair was longer, flowing halfway down her back. She had matured a little, but not too much. From her features, he judged no more than five years has passed. Maybe four. Who knew how quickly a woman’s hair could grow? It wasn’t a question he usually asked.

Four years, maybe five. He’d slept far too long, but his sister was to blame. He felt a flash of anger, but quickly brought it down to a simmer. He could take his revenge on her later. Right now he had another target in mind.

The face of that target rose up before him in the congealed blood. Those eyes could pierce the most hardened soul and made even the Lord of the Dark shiver. He hated that man with all the passion he could muster. He hated the man’s children, the man’s grandchildren, and the man’s damned horse. Even more did he hate the pretty little thing the man bedded every night. Her soothing presence kept the man and his children from falling under the Dark’s influence. If it hadn’t been for her, all of them would have been his long ago. Now they were all too content to be taken

Or were they? Five years had passed, and years changed things. Perhaps it had changed them as well. He focused on the eldest, peering in to observe, but quickly dismissed the boy who had become a man. He was stroking his wife’s pregnant belly while surrounded by two boys and a little girl. A wife and children. He was far too content with his life to succumb to the charms of the Dark.

Next up was the wheat-haired daughter. But she was heavy with child and tucked in the bosom of her family. She too was surrounded by children and smiling, her husband standing loyally by her side. Her heart yearned for nothing. He would have no luck with her.

His gaze turned to the next daughter, the dark-haired bitch he had wanted so much before his long sleep. He still wanted her, in fact. And he’d have had her if his sister’s lieutenant hadn’t interfered. Maybe he could still have her. But when he peered into her life, he saw her working with a team of mages to strengthen the defense of the capital city. She was smiling and accepted by her peers even as she had command of them. She was more than happy; she was content. He might be able to shatter happiness with the blade of a knife, for it was a fleeting emotion, but contentment was more lasting. He would not be able to claim her.

A frustrated growl rumbled forth as he focused on the youngest son. Not only was this one still a child, but he had no power to speak of even though he was a mage. And since he was a son, there was no sexual interest. This little one had nothing to offer. Still, he might be useful as a way to get to the parents. For that reason, he watched the boy.

No more than fourteen, the boy was sitting inside an opulent palace, lounging on a wide marble staircase. People were coming and going, some acknowledging the boy, some ignoring him. It was always such with younger sons. They just weren’t important enough to matter much. It was a common enough thing, especially when the elder son had sons himself. The boy seemed not to care. He just sat there as if waiting for something, and that alone was intriguing.

More than a candlemark passed before the stairs were empty of all save the male child. The boy rose cautiously, glancing around to ensure the area was clear. He moved up the stairs, taking them one slow step at a time. The boy’s gaze swept the area, clearly afraid of being caught. As the boy’s booted feet brought him to the top of the stairs, the dark figure grinned and his eyes glittered.

He knew where the boy was going. The long hallway led to the private apartments of the Royal Family. He’d spied on those rooms often enough to know the entire layout and to guess at the intended destination. The boy was going to his father’s chambers. The only real question was why.

The answer was soon readily apparent. The dark figure watched as the boy eased open the door and slipped inside the expansive outer chamber, one of many rooms that made up his parents’ suite. There the boy remained for several long moments, probably waiting to see if either his mother or his father appeared. When the room remained empty, the boy stepped behind the large desk and faced a wooden cabinet braced against the wall. The cabinet glowed with magick to the trained eye. It was guarded by powerful magicks, magicks clearly too complicated for a mere child to overcome.

But the child surprised him. With a quick glance over his shoulder, the boy ran a hand down the side of the cabinet. A soft green glow surrounded that hand and magick darted forth. The dark figure almost scoffed. That little bit of magick was no match for even the simplest of protection spells.

But the child surprised him once again. His slight magick couldn’t penetrate the spell, but it didn’t matter. The boy went around the spell, weaving his own magicks so precisely that even the dark figure had to be impressed. In all his centuries he’d only rarely seen such delicate work, and he’d certainly never seen it in one so young. The boy was short on power but long on skill. Almost as good as the opposite. Almost.

Once the cabinet was open, the boy looked through the books and items inside. A hidden drawer revealed more treasure and the dark figure’s mouth curved in a twisted smile as he saw what the boy was after. Perfect.

A plan began to take shape and the figure chuckled. Why not use the child? And he knew exactly how.

White teeth flashed in the darkness as the dark figure called the magicks of the Dark. He had work to do.

Chapter One

Rowan!

Hearing his mother’s voice echoing through the garden, Rowan moved further into the bush. It was dark under the foliage, but enough sun made its way through the leaves to allow him to read well enough. He had to squint, but he could read. He lowered himself further, laying on his belly and bringing his nose closer to the open book. He could hide and read at the same time.

Rowan!

He glanced over his shoulder at his feet, making sure his boots wouldn’t be visible from the garden path. Under normal circumstances, he didn’t mind being caught reading, but these weren’t normal circumstances. He was supposed to be studying for his history exam. And since the book in front of him wasn’t his history text, his mother wouldn’t be at all pleased.

Rowan! Come here this instant!

She was right on top of him. Taking a deep breath, he hunched a little more, hoping she wouldn’t look in the bushes. Just in case she did, he slid the book under his chest. He wasn’t supposed to have this particular book, and not just because it wasn’t his history text.

He could hear his mother moving about, could even see her bright blond hair through the leaves. He said a quick prayer and blessed his own raven locks. He’d blend right in with the dark undergrowth and would hopefully pass unnoticed. Hopefully…

But then she turned toward him and he knew it wasn’t to be.

Rowan, come out of that bush right now.

She didn’t sound happy. Knowing he was well and truly caught, he crept out of the bush, leaving the book behind. He did not want her to see that book.

What were you doing in there? his mother asked, arms folded over her chest.

Rowan frowned. Never in all his fourteen years had he had to think so fast. What could he possibly be doing in a bush that didn’t involve reading forbidden books?

Well? Her green eyes flashed, revealing her rapidly-retreating patience.

Nothing. Swallowing hard, Rowan prayed she would believe him.

She clearly didn’t. Nothing? You were hiding in a bush, ignoring me for a quarter candlemark, all the while doing absolutely nothing?

Rowan flushed and looked at his boots. It wasn’t easy, lying to his mother. Even his father couldn’t do it successfully. He swallowed hard.

With a disgusted sigh, his mother dropped to her knees. Rowan went to stop her, but was halted by a slender finger pointed straight at him.

Don’t, was all she said.

When he had backed up a step, she reached into the bush and withdrew an ancient and weathered book. A look of horror spread across her face as she turned its pages.

Where did you get this? she whispered.

Knowing better than to answer that question, Rowan kept his mouth shut. Neither lie nor truth would help him now. His eyes stayed on his boots and he kept his feet planted. All the while he was searching for a way out of his current predicament and trying to escape the feeling of impending doom that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

His mother scrambled to her feet, book clutched to her chest.

Myron, she called. Myron!

Rowan turned to see Admiral Myron pause, then head toward them.

Your Majesty. He gave her a low bow. Your Highness. A smaller bow given to young Prince Rowan.

Take my son to his bedchamber and make sure he stays there. She clutched the book to her chest. I have to find my husband.

Mother—

No. That finger came out again, halting the words he would have spoken in his own defense. I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to discuss this with your father. Until then, you will stay where Myron puts you.

Anger raced up his spine and he had to resist the urge to snap something rude and unflattering at the woman who had given him life. Straightening his back, Rowan stomped away, smacking a bush and kicking a few pebbles along the way.

Myron followed at a brisk pace.

***

Empress Arianna watched as her very-angry youngest son stormed off in the general direction of the palace. She trusted Myron to do as she’d asked, but she still kept a wary eye on Rowan until he was beyond her view. When he was gone, she turned away, green eyes sparkling with frightened tears.

Since she did not want to encounter her son while he was on his way to his bedchamber, she moved through the gardens and around the stables. From there she cut through a small wooded area, emerging onto a marble walk. Turning right, she spotted just the young man she was looking for.

Payton, she called, raising her voice so he could hear her.

Payton turned, saw who was calling him, and moved straight toward her.

Majesty, he greeted with a low bow. He also took her hand and laid a gentle kiss upon it. Only a few guards enjoyed such a privilege, and he was one of them.

Arianna waved a nervous hand and clutched the book harder. Where is my husband?

In the throne room. At her startled look, he chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. I know, I know. He hates it in there just as much as you do. But he’s receiving those elven envoys this morning. Can’t do that in the study. Not properly, anyway, and we do want to impress the elves.

Nodding her understanding, she let out a frustrated sigh. Can you quietly inform him that I need to see him at his earliest possible convenience? I don’t want you to interrupt, but get the message to him.

Her tone set off an alarm in Payton’s head. His earliest convenient or as soon as possible? He was her eldest son’s best friend. He knew her too well to be fooled by her attempt at serenity. She was scared and he knew it.

She clutched at the book again, unsure of how to answer Payton’s deliberate question. How urgent was it? Enough to pull her husband away from official business? She’d only rarely interrupted him while he was working, but she’d only rarely been this upset.

Seeing the Empress freeze in indecision, Payton took the liberty of placing one hand at the small of her back. He guided her up the wide marble steps and into the palace. Ignoring the inquiries of a nearby guard, he kept walking, moving directly to the Emperor’s study. He kept his hand on the Empress’s back while he opened the door and ushered her inside.

Closing the door softly behind them, he led her to the long couch against the wall. When she was seated, he walked straight to the sideboard and poured her a glass of sherry.

Here, he murmured as he pressed the glass into her hand. Do you want me to send for Tristan? I don’t think he’s doing anything all that important. And her eldest son might be of some use right now.

But she shook her head. Just my husband.

Payton nodded and left the room.

Left alone, Arianna sipped her sherry in silence. It calmed her nerves but did nothing to assuage her worries. The book in her hand burned, urging her to throw it to the floor, but she clung to it stubbornly. She watched the timing candle on her husband’s desk, silently begging him to appear with each flicker of the flame.

A quarter candlemark had passed before the door swung inward and Damuk, Emperor of the Abital Empire, sailed into the room. He saw his wife’s pale face and tense expression, but that wasn’t what worried him. It was the fear coursing across the bond they shared that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

What is it? he demanded as he settled himself beside her and took her into his arms.

By way of an answer, Arianna released her death grip on the book. He caught it before it hit the floor, opened it, and let out a healthy stream of curses.

Where did you find this? he growled as he flipped a few pages.

His ire was already aroused, so she didn’t want to answer him right away. It’s one of yours. It’s marked.

Damuk checked the inside front cover and saw his seal. It was indeed one of his own books from his own private collection. Again he cursed, this time louder and more fluently.

This was taken from the cabinet in our chambers. He let out a sigh as his hands turned the yellowed pages. From the locked cabinet protected by one of my own spells.

Have you lent any out? Arianna asked, hoping Rowan had come by the tome by honest means. Perhaps he’d found it in the library or in his father’s study.

Some, mostly to Calinda, but not this one. Damuk showed her one of the pages. This one details blood magick. Everything from how to efficiently gut sacrifices to how to weave death spells powerful enough to destroy an army. I only have it because my father had it, and he only had it because it once belonged to his sister.

Arianna trembled at her memories of Cybil, but she quickly refocused on the problem at hand. You’re sure this one never left the cabinet?

Not in years. And even then it was only to show Tristan what true blood mages are capable of. He shook his head. Should have destroyed the damned thing.

He was so sure that Arianna had no choice but to believe him. Rowan had not found the book lying around the palace or carelessly left out on his father’s desk.

Where did you find this? he repeated.

A great sadness filled her. I caught Rowan with it. He was in the gardens, hiding from me and hoping I wouldn’t notice he was reading one of the few books forbidden to the children.

Damuk himself was rarely sad; anger was his default emotion. He defaulted to it now. Where is he?

Cuddling closer, she ignored his rising tension. I had Myron escort him to his bedchamber. And gave him orders to keep our dear youngest son from running off. She grinned up at him. I think he gets that from me.

Clearly not amused, Damuk frowned at her.

She only blinked at him. You do know that forbidding scowl has no effect on me?

He shoved a hand through his hair. What happened to… There was no point in that particular conversation. Never mind that. Are you sure Rowan will stay put?

If he knows what’s good for him. She stroked a finger over the forbidden book. How did he get it?

Not having an answer quite yet, Damuk rose and took her hand. Come.

Arianna walked beside her husband, thoughts consumed by the book he carried. That book detailed magicks only the foulest of blood mages would dare touch. The very idea that her youngest son might have some interest in such things tore at her heart. The only blood magick she’d ever known had been wielded by her husband’s aunt, and that woman had tried to kill her. Oh, first she’d have used her as an incubator, but Cybil had wanted her dead. And now her own youngest son…

Stop thinking about it, Damuk whispered.

How do you know what I’m thinking? she snapped back. Are you invading my thoughts? As a mage, he was fully capable of doing so.

He’d have been offended if her arm hadn’t been shaking. I would never, he replied evenly. But after thirty years, I think I know you well enough to guess at your thoughts.

And what are my thoughts?

He dropped a kissed on her temple as he opened the door that led to their chambers. You’re thinking about Cybil, about those things that still give you nightmares.

Not wanting to talk about it, she strode into the outer chamber and moved to sit before the expansive fireplace nearest the windows. It was unlit, but since it was still warm in the chamber, she was grateful. Crown City was always too warm during the day. Kicking off her slippers, she waited for her husband to join her.

Damuk glanced from his trembling wife to the cabinet behind the large desk that graced one end of the outer chamber. Eventually he tossed the book on the desk, pulled a blanket from a nearby chair, and went to sit by his wife. She was stressed, and it wasn’t just about the book or the trouble they’d been having with Rowan. Their daughter-in-law was pregnant with her fourth child, their daughter was pregnant with her seventh, and neither one was having an easy time of it. As a skilled healer, his wife had been caring for them both. She was justifiably tired.

She was so tired that when he sat beside her, she curled up against him, closed her eyes, and promptly fell asleep. When he was sure she wouldn’t wake, he lifted her in his arms, kicked open the door to their comfortable bedchamber, and laid her on the bed with the greatest care. She turned on her side and he took the opportunity to loosen the laces of her gown. When she didn’t move, he realized she wouldn’t wake until at least evening. It was possible she would sleep until morning. He drew a blanket over her and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

Chuckling to himself, Damuk moved back to the outer chamber, closing the door softly behind him. He was sixty years old and he was still carrying his wife to bed. At least she was willing now. That thought made him laugh outright.

He spotted the book on the desk and all thoughts of laughter fled. He’d almost forgotten about it. He’d almost forgotten about Rowan and his most recent transgression. With a heavy sigh he moved toward the cabinet. In here was where he kept all the most forbidden material. Some of the more innocuous texts were kept in his study for any of his children to read, but the book his wife had brought him was far from innocuous. It belonged in the cabinet in his private chambers.

Calling a spark of magick to his hand, he touched the lock. He knew immediately it had been tampered with, and that it was Rowan who had done the tampering. Impressed, Damuk ran his hands over the locks. Rowan was a mage, but not a powerful one. For him to get past Damuk’s simple protection spell… he shook his head at the direction his thoughts had taken. He should be furious, not impressed.

He flung the cabinet doors wide and ran his fingers over the books within, studying the titles and counting tomes. Only Advanced Blood Magick was missing, and that one was lying on his desk at the moment. When he was sure all the other books were exactly where he’d left them, he exerted his magick once again. There was a hidden drawer he just had to inspect, so he magicked it into its open position. He slid the drawer out and reached inside.

It was immediately apparent that a few things were missing. The most obvious was his aunt’s ritual dagger. It had been used for more sacrifices than he cared to count. For many years, he had thought she didn’t have a dagger, but eventually her spells had faded. Most spells faded with the caster’s death, and hers were no exception. When hers had gone, he’d found the dagger hidden in a wall. As soon as he’d found it, he’d placed it in this drawer and there it had remained. Until now.

There were other items missing as well. A few candles. An amulet. Three charms he probably should have destroyed. A deck of cards that weren’t actually magickal but his wife swore were cursed. The only other thing missing was a piece of rock Damuk had found attached to his youngest daughter’s shift four years ago. Why would Rowan take that? He didn’t know of its existence. His daughter Calinda didn’t know about it. Even his wife didn’t know about it.

Frowning heavily, Damuk closed the drawer, shut the cabinet, and took a seat at his desk. He picked up the book and started to turn the pages. He examined each page, trying to determine which pages Rowan might have been reading. Knowing where Rowan’s interest had been focused would tell him how to react when he eventually confronted his youngest child.

A knock on the door interrupted him.

‘Father?’ came his eldest son’s respectful mind voice.

‘Come,’ Damuk responded, trying not to sound annoyed.

The door eased open and Tristan stuck his head in. Am I interrupting?

Damuk shook his head and waved his son forward. When Tristan was nearly at the desk, Damuk kicked out the chair nearest him, indicating that Tristan should sit beside him instead of across from him. Tristan obliged.

Where’s Mother? he asked,