Unable to restrain himself any longer, he bent to kiss her. Her lips were soft, her breath sweet with the mingled smells of wine and flowers. A heady perfume arose from her skin. He felt dizzy, intoxicated, ravenous. Beneath his lips, hers parted, opening the slick warmth of her mouth to him.
With surprising intensity and hunger, Alanna kissed him back. She took his hand and placed it over her breast. Small whimpers, mingled pleasure and desire, rose in her throat. He felt her tremble even as he did.
The kiss went on, an eternity of rising, falling away, soaring. Domenic’s heart hammered in his ears. Breath seared his lungs.
He fumbled with the complicated laces of her gown. She drew back, but only long enough to untie the little bows along the neckline. A slight twist, and her bare breast filled his hand.
He could feel her heart beating like mad, or maybe it was his own. Thought fell away, drowning in sensation. Her touch sent a surge of electric fire through the center of his body. Dimly, he realized that what they were doing could have only one conclusion.
Why not? This was Midsummer Festival, when all rules were forgotten. Were there not a dozen others doing the same throughout the garden, in the shadowed halls?
Were they not secretly betrothed? Did she not want it as much as he did?
Moaning, clawing at each other, they slid to the floor. His hands laced through her hair. The filigree clasp came away, releasing a cascade of silken waves.
She bit his neck. He felt the hard line of her teeth, the wetness of her tongue.
Oh gods, did she know what she was doing to him—what he was doing to her?
He lay partly on top of her, one of his legs between hers. She pushed his hip back and slipped her hand between them, stroking him. The touch excited him beyond anything he had ever experienced. He was almost painfully hard now.
Domenic gathered a handful of her skirts. The rumpled satin felt hot, alive. His fingers slid over her thighs. Gasping, he forced himself to slow down, to savor the smooth curves, but only for a moment. Alanna moaned again and shifted her body, opening her legs to his touch. Through the silk of her undergarment, her crotch felt hot and wet. He freed one hand to untie the lacing of his breeches.
With a sudden, hoarse cry, Alanna threw her head back. Her back arched in spasm. Her muscles locked, rigid.
Stunned, Domenic drew his hand back. Shock ripped through his body, as if she’d struck him. For a long, terrible moment, he feared she had stopped breathing. Then a bone-cracking shudder ripped through her body.
Domenic cradled Alanna’s head and lowered her gently to the floor, then held her as her body twitched and flailed. The last of his arousal vanished into terror.
Convulsion! Threshold sickness?
Surely Alanna was too old for that, and she had studied at Arilinn…where the Keeper had suppressed her dangerous talent. What if her sexual feelings had been tied to her Gift?
Domenic’s training at Neskaya Tower came back to him. He remembered one of his first teachers, an elderly monitor from Valeron, explaining that the same channels carried both sexual and psychic energy. Both awakened at puberty, sometimes resulting in the physical and emotional upheaval called threshold sickness. He’d had a mild case, himself, but it could be deadly.
Lowering his laran shields, Domenic reached out to her. He sensed only a maelstrom of turbulent energy, radiating out from a core of madly swirling light. In that shifting chaos, figures formed and dissipated. Some of them seemed human, others misshapen like trailmen or tall as gods. Their images blew away like ghosts in a storm.
Alanna! Alanna, answer me!
She must be somewhere within that churning madness. No wonder she thought she was going insane.
Desperately, Domenic pushed against Alanna’s mental barriers. Deep within the chaos, he sensed a familiar presence. He called out again to her, silently, with all his mental strength. Was there a faint response?
Voices roared through his mind, but whether raised in joy or anger he could not tell. He heard rushing waters and then the crackle of flames, as if a whole range of forested mountains had been swept up into an inferno.
It was no good. He could not reach her through the power of her uncontrolled laran. He saw no way to create a link between their minds.
To create a link…
Alton blood as well as Hastur ran in Domenic’s veins. He had laran and had been trained to use it. Moreover, he had the Alton Gift, although he had never used it before, had never had cause. The Gift of the Altons was forced rapport. His mother had the ability, although she rarely discussed it. So did his Grandfather Lew…
I must save her, even though I do not know how.
Domenic had heard of Terran explosives, utterly illegal under the Compact, but powerful. The image suggested a way to start. He abandoned his efforts to call out to Alanna. Instead, he focused all his strength on blasting through the wall of surging light. He imagined shock waves bursting through the tumult, fracturing the barrier between them.
Nothing seemed to happen. He sensed no change in the thrashing streams of light. Was his plan even possible?
Again, he thrust himself forward. The light parted for a moment. Exhilaration filled him—yes, it was working!
The shifting, chaotic brilliance of Alanna’s vision closed in around Domenic, claiming him. Ordinary sensation fell away. The laran whirlwind buffeted him. He felt himself a tiny mote slammed this way and that.
Domenic lost all sense of direction; it took all his concentration to remember who he was, what he must do.
He was trapped.
How could he have been so foolhardy, so arrogant to think he could succeed—alone, without the safeguards of a monitor and Keeper? Now he had thrown away his own life as well as hers. Already the psychic storm ripped at his consciousness, shredding his boundaries.
Domenic saw himself collapsed over Alanna, cold and still in the tower room, his eyes vacant, his body a hollow shell. The image blew away, carrying pieces of his life force.
Somewhere in the unimaginable distance, a drum beat double time, lub-DUB, lub-DUB, and then faltered. The streaming brilliance faded to gray. He could almost make out the colorless sky of the Overworld, vast and arching into the far distance. The heartbeat fell away into silence. Strangely, he felt no fear.
Sensation crept over Domenic, as much remembered as real. In another instant he would feel the unyielding gray surface on which he stood. Something pulled at him—yes, there in the distance. People waited for him, called to him. He could not yet make out their faces. He knew only that very soon, he would belong with them. Nothing on earth, neither love nor duty nor honor, could hold him any longer.
10
Marguerida’s heart gave a sudden lurch. She missed a beat of the promenada and stumbled. Only years of training in Darkovan dance kept her on her feet.
“Marguerida? Is something wrong?” asked her brother-in-law, Rafael Lanart, with whom she was dancing.
“I—I’m not sure.” Blinking hard, Marguerida wavered on her feet. Pain lanced through her forehead, as if the simmering headache of the last few tendays had suddenly coalesced into a spearpoint lodged in her skull.
“You look unwell.” Rafael drew her away from the line of dancers. Music and movement swirled past, a lady in a coral-pink gown, Yllana dancing with one of the other young women, Rory laughing, tartans in a dozen patterns…
Her memory flew back to three years ago, when she had experienced a similar instant of disorientation. Then she had known something had happened to Regis Hastur, at the very moment he had suffered his fatal stroke.
Oh, no! Not again!
Her first thought was, as always, for Mikhail. She turned, searching for him across the seething mass of dancers. Rafael tried to restrain her. Pushing him away, she stumbled into the room. A few steps brought her to where she could glimpse her husband’s golden head through a break in the dance formation. He was standing beside his paxman and a group of minor nobles from the Venza Hills.
<
br /> Mikhail!
Preciosa, I am here, he answered. What is wrong?
My Aldaran Gift is acting up again. I haven’t felt it this strongly since Regis died.
Can you tell who is the focus?
Marguerida shook her head. The movement upset her balance. She barely felt Rafael’s hands, guiding her to a cushioned chair along one wall. The music, a traditional tune that she knew by heart, dissolved into discordant notes.
The world fractured into shards of color and sound—Rafael, bending over her, his face grave with concern—her father, his face young, unscarred—Gareth dancing with Sibelle—Donal Alar—a girl she did not know, with dark hair and strangely familiar golden eyes—Regis—
But Regis died three years ago! And the girl…
Marguerida realized that she had glimpsed her own mother as a young woman. Somehow, she had come unstuck in time…
This is not happening to me! It is someone else …but who?
By sheer force of will, Marguerida wrenched her mind free. She had not survived a horrendous childhood in a Thendara orphanage and being overshadowed by the ancient Keeper Ashara, only to give in to someone else’s nightmare now!
But who—?
“Where is Domenic?” She could not be sure if she whispered the words or shouted them.
Instantly, she felt Mikhail’s response. I do not see him.
“Rafael, help me. I need to find my son.”
“The last time I saw him, he was dancing with Dom Francisco’s daughter.”
Francisco, that snake! Fury shook her. If he’s done anything to harm Nico…
Mikhail made his way across the room toward her. Dearest, Francisco and his daughter are still here. Domenic is not with them.
Danilo emerged from the crowd, his step as firm as a swordsman’s. Concern shadowed his eyes. “Domna Marguerida, are you well?”
Marguerida gathered herself. The last thing she needed now was for the entire room to witness her distress, especially when she did not yet know the source.
Who—of course!
Mikhail reached her. “Mik!” she cried. “It’s Alanna! I always knew she would bring disaster to someone close to me!”
“To Domenic?” Mikhail said. “Or to Alanna herself?”
“I don’t know!” Marguerida struggled to control her rising panic, to think rationally. “Perhaps the same danger threatens them both.”
“I will find them.” Rafael strode toward the open doors, followed by Donal.
Marguerida’s vision paled again. “Rafael will not find them…” Her voice sounded as if it came from far away, through a hollow tunnel. “They are not on the veranda, nor in the courtyard garden…”
Nico! she called with her mind.
To her surprise, she sensed a lingering imprint of where Domenic had been. His mind, the essence of who her son was, had already left the physical plane.
The headache dissolved into a wave of overwhelming fear. Domenic was the treasure she and Mikhail had brought back from their strange journey through time. He was the heir of their joined spirits as well as their flesh. Rory and Yllana were sweet children and she loved them, but she had only one firstborn.
With all the desperate love in her and all the power of her laran, Marguerida cried out, “Come back! Come back to me!”
To her astonishment, she felt her words make contact. It was as if she had thrown a lifeline to a man submerged beneath a storm-wracked sea and felt the slight tug as his fingers closed around the rope.
Nico! Where are you?
…not sure… came the muted response. The contact carried an odd reverberation, as if it passed through a dimensional barrier.
Heedless of the cost to herself. Marguerida poured more energy into the link between them. She might have only one chance to save her son before he drifted beyond any hope of rescue; she must not hold anything back. Colors flickered through her mind, fading to the gray of the Overworld. Yes, that would explain the subtle reverberation.
Mother of Oceans! How did he get there?
She had no time to speculate on the answer. From her own experience as well as her brief formal training in a Tower, she understood the dangers that the timeless, immaterial world held for the unprepared.
It did not matter how or why Domenic had strayed into the Overworld. She must get him back into the physical plane as soon as possible.
Hold on to me, she called. I am going to pull you out.
For a moment that could have been long or short, she could not tell, Domenic did not answer. When he did, his mental voice was stronger.
Not yet. I must find… His mental trace faded, but only because he had turned his attention elsewhere. It’s all right, Mother. You’ve showed me the way back. I know what to do from here.
Before Marguerida could insist that Domenic return at once, his mind touched hers again. This time there was no dissonance resulting from the gap between normal reality and the Overworld. She felt his clear, immediate presence.
I’m all right. I’m back.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the world steadied. The pressure in Marguerida’s temples vanished. Her vision snapped into clarity. Mikhail bent over her, chafing her hands between his. A few people had gathered about them with anxious expressions, Lew among them. Danilo dispersed them with quiet skill, undoubtedly learned from years of protecting Regis. Francisco watched from a distance, a brooding expression in his eyes.
Rafael returned, shaking his head. “I could not find either of them out there.”
“Nico’s all right—” Her knees threatened to buckle under her. She felt as feeble as if she had emerged from a tenday fever. Her eyes would not focus properly. She recognized the symptoms of laran exhaustion.
Mikhail caught her elbow. “Dearest, what is it?”
Oh, Mik! He was lost in the Overworld!
But you found him, love.
Yes, that’s true enough. He is out of danger now.
“Let me get you some wine,” Rafael said.
“No! No wine.” The last thing she needed was alcohol. She was dizzy enough, sober.
“Water, then,” Lew said firmly, “and something to eat. You are dangerously depleted and must rest.”
It was useless to protest when her father used that tone of voice. Weakly, Marguerida nodded. She forced herself to sip the cup and nibble on the sugared nuts that Danilo handed her. At last, she managed to reassure Mikhail that she would not faint. After making sure Domenic was unhurt, she would return to their quarters and lie down.
She heard shouting through the open doors, from the direction of the outside streets. Donal came toward them, moving with the brisk efficiency that had served him well as Mikhail’s paxman. His expression bore no traces of holiday merriment.
“Dom Mikhail, there is trouble at the Castle gates. You must come at once!”
Sight returned to Domenic. He came to himself lying on his side, clasping an unconscious Alanna to him. His mother’s mental linkage remained, still glowing, in the back of his mind. He doubted he could have found his way back without her.
Carefully, Domenic disentangled himself from Alanna without waking her and went to the window of the tower room. Weakness shivered through him, as if he had run all the way from Edelweiss to Thendara. It would pass in a moment, or so he hoped. Nauseated, gulping air, he braced himself on the window sill. The overlapping images of Alanna’s vision and the Overworld faded to reveal the city below.
A crowd had gathered in one of the broader streets leading to Comyn Castle. These were not innocent holidaymakers, he felt sure. He was too drained to detect their emotions with his laran, but something in their massed purpose brought him alert. Torches bobbed, swarming toward the Castle gates. He heard raised voices, although he could not make out any words.
Alanna stirred and cried out, a muffled sob. “Nico, I feel so strange. What happened to me? Have I been ill?”
Domenic knelt at her side, afraid to touch her for fear of setting off another
attack. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Whatever it was, it can’t hurt you now.”
Alanna clambered unsteadily to her feet. She glanced down at her dress, her skirts in disarray, one breast exposed. “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, turn around until I am decent!”
Domenic returned to the window to give her a measure of privacy. He heard the soft rustle of satin, and when he glanced back, she had covered herself, rearranged her rumpled dress, and was retying the little bows on the neckline of her gown.
The noise of the crowd outside had grown louder; the mob must have drawn closer. Should he give the alarm, summon the Guards? Did he dare to leave Alanna in this state? Could he reach someone with his laran? He was not sure he could summon the strength, and it might be dangerous to try so soon after his journey into the Overworld.
“Domenic, what it is? What’s going on?”
“I must go down,” Domenic said.
“No!” Quick as a snow-leopard, she seized his arm. Her grip was like steel. “Don’t leave me!”
He did not want to hurt her by pulling away, and yet he could not remain up here. “Alanna, my place is down below. Are you able to walk? I do not want to leave you alone, but I have no choice.”
Alanna’s eyes cleared. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, it is our duty. We must both go. Just a moment.” She finished the last bow, picked up the fallen clasp, and set her hair back into place with a few deft movements. By some female magic, her ringlets looked charming, rather than disorderly. He had no idea how she had done it.
He took the lantern, and together they hurried downstairs. The Castle gates stood open, as was traditional during Festival night. Torches mounted on either side, as well as a dozen or more in the hands of the mob, cast their light across the threshold. Guards took up positions between the crowd and the Castle.
Domenic pushed forward, trying to understand what was going on. Who were these people? What did they want?
“By my authority as Captain of the City Guards,” Cisco shouted, “I order you to disperse! Go home, all of you, before someone gets hurt!”
The Alton Gift Page 12
