Free The Prince Deceiver (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 6) by Karen Azinger Page B

game mattered not, yet the loss rankled. The thrice-damned
woman would soon find herself mired in the true game. Beleaguered with  lies,
she'd lose her prestige and her precious crown. A sinister smile crossed his
face. Retreating to his solar, he sought his magic.
    So many focuses,
so much magic to choose from. An eon of lifetimes spent seeking magic had brought
him a dragon's hoard of focuses. The Mordant craved power, the elixir of the
gods. Unlocking the ironbound jewel box, he removed the velvet-lined drawers,
sensing the magic within. For centuries, his minions had scoured Erdhe,
stealing focuses of every size, shape and description. Despite his best
efforts, some remained stubbornly insensate to his touch. He'd left those
impotent tools behind, locked in his treasure vault in the Dark Citadel. But
many more awakened to his touch. Like a lover he fondled them, courted them,
cajoling forth their inner secrets till their magic served his beck and call.
He'd brought the most powerful with him. Hidden as a wealth of adornments, the
Mordant fondled the rings and armbands arrayed on red velvet, magical focuses fashioned
into jewelry. Some held trifling powers, like the ability to light a candle
with a snap of his fingers. Such a seemingly trivial magic, yet even this small
focus had the ability to captivate the minds of mere mortals. Deception was
such a delicious game. To captivate, to dominate, to charm, to control...how he
loved to twist mortal souls to the Dark through mesmerizing deceit. A shiver
akin to sexual ecstasy ran through him. The Mordant craved the Great Dark
Dance.
    Choosing among
the bejeweled baubles, he clad himself in power.
    Of all his
focuses, there were two he valued above all others, two that were never far
from his hand. One was the red crystal from the Staff of Pain. The staff itself
was a confection of iron fashioned to reflect the menace of a wizard’s staff
combined with the regal authority of a king’s scepter. The Mordant was not
above using symbols to dominate, but the staff itself was ordinary iron. The
true power resided in the red crystal fixed atop iron prongs. A shard of
crimson quartz as long as his middle finger, the crystal held the power of
pain, inducing excruciating agony in any foe within sword-striking distance. To
wield the crystal, the Mordant merely needed to imagine the torture and his foe
felt the affliction. How delicious to watch an unsuspecting enemy drop to the
ground and writhe in torment, merely by flexing one's will. The crystal of pain
provided a power he'd found extremely useful over many lifetimes. Removing the red
crystal from the staff's crown, he placed it deep in his right pocket.
    The second focus
he cherished above all others offered a far subtler power. He fingered the 
medallion-shaped cameo carved from bone. The sculpture depicted a two-faced
head in relief, a man gazing to the right, a woman to the left. The two-faced
relief hinted at the power lurking within. How rare to find a magic that only
served a harlequin. Pinning the cameo brooch to his butternut-brown cloak, the
Mordant stepped before the full-length mirror...and willed his appearance to
change.
    His face began
to melt. His reflected features danced and morphed, as if a second face sought
to escape from within. His nose grew more bulbous, his eyebrows becoming thick
and bushy as caterpillars. His blond hair darkened to black with faint streaks
of gray. His chest filled out with muscles and the beginnings of a beer gut. So
uncanny to watch the changes, yet he felt only a faint tingling of magic across
his skin. The Mordant studied the mirror, focusing on each detail, willing them
to change till they matched his memories. Satisfied, his new visage slowly
annealed, locking into place.
    The Mordant
staggered, feeling the sudden drain in power. Magic always took its toll...but
it did not take him long to recover.
    Straightening,
he stared in the mirror.
    A face from
another lifetime peered back. A