Read Online Prince of Magic by Linda Winstead Jones - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Linda Winstead Jones
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now, Duran left Ariana alone with her sewing. She sighed in relief when he was gone, and when she sat down in her chair once again and lifted from the floor the garment she'd been mending, she held it up to fully survey her work.
Trousers. Roughly made, dark and plain, but soon to be well fitted. If Duran had realized just what type of clothing she was altering, his meddlesome questions would've continued for quite some time.
Good heavens. Sian kept his eyes anywhere but on Ariana as they made their way down to Level Twelve. She preceded him, and he found it best to look over her head, or at the stone walls that surrounded them.
He had never imagined that a woman wearing trousers would look just so. A woman's rear end simply did not fill a pair of trousers like a man's did. There was a roundness to her hips and backside, a tempting curve that could undo the staunchest of men.
There had been many tales over the years of women who disguised themselves as men in order to travel where they should not, or fight, or deceive. He'd always found them amusing stories, and wondered if they were perhaps based in truth.
If the tales were true, the women in question had not been built anything like Ariana Varden. No one would ever mistake that backside for male.
She was actually excited about their foray into Level Thirteen. Her hair was loose and wild, her cheeks overly pink, her lips… well, there was no reason to study her lips. They had nothing to do with this excursion. She'd donned an ornately decorated vest over a plain white shirt, perhaps in an effort to disguise her breasts. The plan had failed… but again, her breasts had nothing to do with this search for the source of the evil which threatened the entire country, and even the world.
Sian bit back a vile word. The firstborn Fyne could not have been a man, a soldier, a brute who would welcome a battle with evil. Oh, no, instead it had to be this slip of a girl who had no business fighting monsters.
Level Twelve was dimly lit and somber, home to murderers and thieves and a handful of apparently lax guards. Heavy wooden doors with small grates built into them lined the stone hallway. Sian ignored the prison cells, shutting out the whispers and shouts from beyond the heavy doors and following Ariana down a long hall. There was a chill in this place, a chill he didn't like at all.
She seemed to know where she was going.
"Here." She stopped at the edge of a worn, stained carpet that was oddly placed on the prison hallway floor.
"Pardon me." A young guard stepped forward. He and a cohort had been conversing with animation at the opposite end of the hallway, until they'd seen the visitors to Level Twelve. "This is no place for…" He looked Ariana up and down, taking in the vest, the trousers, the serviceable boots. "Who are you?"
"Ariana Varden, healer to the emperor," she said confidently. "What lies beneath this rug?"
The guard looked taken aback. "Nothing."
Ariana sighed, and lifted one hand as she turned to face Sian. "There is definitely something here. It's… dark." Fear touched her eyes, but Sian did not see panic.
"Is it safe?" he asked simply.
"I think so."
"Stand back," Sian ordered. With a wag of his hand, the guard obeyed the command. When no one stood upon the nasty rug, Sian once again waved his fingers. The rug rolled up as if guided by invisible hands. The guards were now visibly afraid.
Ariana was amused. "You are such a show-off," she whispered.
He did not respond, which was just as well. This was no time for teasing. Beneath the rug was a trap door built into the floor, a portal aged by time and neglect.
"Level Thirteen?" Sian asked.
"Yes, I believe so," Ariana answered softly.
With a whispered word and a twist of his fingers, the heavy trap door swung open, slamming against the floor with a loud whack, and offering a glimpse into total darkness. One of the guards began to inch away from the scene, no doubt planning to run.
Sian lifted
Trousers. Roughly made, dark and plain, but soon to be well fitted. If Duran had realized just what type of clothing she was altering, his meddlesome questions would've continued for quite some time.
Good heavens. Sian kept his eyes anywhere but on Ariana as they made their way down to Level Twelve. She preceded him, and he found it best to look over her head, or at the stone walls that surrounded them.
He had never imagined that a woman wearing trousers would look just so. A woman's rear end simply did not fill a pair of trousers like a man's did. There was a roundness to her hips and backside, a tempting curve that could undo the staunchest of men.
There had been many tales over the years of women who disguised themselves as men in order to travel where they should not, or fight, or deceive. He'd always found them amusing stories, and wondered if they were perhaps based in truth.
If the tales were true, the women in question had not been built anything like Ariana Varden. No one would ever mistake that backside for male.
She was actually excited about their foray into Level Thirteen. Her hair was loose and wild, her cheeks overly pink, her lips… well, there was no reason to study her lips. They had nothing to do with this excursion. She'd donned an ornately decorated vest over a plain white shirt, perhaps in an effort to disguise her breasts. The plan had failed… but again, her breasts had nothing to do with this search for the source of the evil which threatened the entire country, and even the world.
Sian bit back a vile word. The firstborn Fyne could not have been a man, a soldier, a brute who would welcome a battle with evil. Oh, no, instead it had to be this slip of a girl who had no business fighting monsters.
Level Twelve was dimly lit and somber, home to murderers and thieves and a handful of apparently lax guards. Heavy wooden doors with small grates built into them lined the stone hallway. Sian ignored the prison cells, shutting out the whispers and shouts from beyond the heavy doors and following Ariana down a long hall. There was a chill in this place, a chill he didn't like at all.
She seemed to know where she was going.
"Here." She stopped at the edge of a worn, stained carpet that was oddly placed on the prison hallway floor.
"Pardon me." A young guard stepped forward. He and a cohort had been conversing with animation at the opposite end of the hallway, until they'd seen the visitors to Level Twelve. "This is no place for…" He looked Ariana up and down, taking in the vest, the trousers, the serviceable boots. "Who are you?"
"Ariana Varden, healer to the emperor," she said confidently. "What lies beneath this rug?"
The guard looked taken aback. "Nothing."
Ariana sighed, and lifted one hand as she turned to face Sian. "There is definitely something here. It's… dark." Fear touched her eyes, but Sian did not see panic.
"Is it safe?" he asked simply.
"I think so."
"Stand back," Sian ordered. With a wag of his hand, the guard obeyed the command. When no one stood upon the nasty rug, Sian once again waved his fingers. The rug rolled up as if guided by invisible hands. The guards were now visibly afraid.
Ariana was amused. "You are such a show-off," she whispered.
He did not respond, which was just as well. This was no time for teasing. Beneath the rug was a trap door built into the floor, a portal aged by time and neglect.
"Level Thirteen?" Sian asked.
"Yes, I believe so," Ariana answered softly.
With a whispered word and a twist of his fingers, the heavy trap door swung open, slamming against the floor with a loud whack, and offering a glimpse into total darkness. One of the guards began to inch away from the scene, no doubt planning to run.
Sian lifted
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