by Nora Roberts
All else seemed to melt away in that moment, for a moment. There was only him, his face shadowed by the hood of his cloak, and his eyes so brilliant and blue.
How could it be, she wondered, that she should hold her destiny in her hand, and see only him? How, meeting his eyes like this, could it be like looking deeper, deeper yet, into her own destiny?
“I am a servant of Geall,” she said, unable to look away from him. “I am a child of the gods. This sword, and all it protects is mine. I am Moira, warrior queen of Geall. Rise, and know I love you.”
She stood as she was, the sword still pointing skyward as the hands of the holy man placed the crown on her head.
He was no stranger to magic, the black or the white, but Cian thought he’d never seen anything more powerful. Her face, so pale when she’d removed her cloak, had bloomed when her hand had taken the sword. Her eyes, so heavy, so somber, had gone as brilliant as the blade.
And had simply sliced through him, keen as a sword, when they’d met his.
There she stood, he thought, slender and slight, and as magnificent as any Amazon. Suddenly regal, suddenly fierce, suddenly beautiful.
What moved inside him had no place there.
He stepped back, turned to go. Hoyt laid a hand on his arm.
“You must wait for her, for the queen.”
Cian lifted a brow. “You forget, I have no queen. And I’ve been under this bloody cloak long enough.”
He moved quickly. He wanted to get away from the light, from the smell of humanity. Away from the power of those gray eyes. He needed the cool and the dark, and the silence.
He was barely a league away when Larkin trotted up to him. “Moira asked me to see if you wanted a ride back.”
“I’m fine, but thanks.”
“It was amazing, wasn’t it? And she was…well, brilliant as the sun. I always knew she’d be the one, but seeing it happen is a different matter. She was queen the moment she touched the sword. You could see it.”
“If she wants to stay queen, have anyone to rule, she better make use of that sword.”
“So she will. Come now, Cian, this isn’t the day for gloom and doom. We’re entitled to a few hours of joy and celebration. And feasting.” With another grin, Larkin gave Cian an elbow poke. “She might be queen, but I can promise the rest of us will eat like kings this day.”
“Well, an army travels on its belly.”
“Do they?”
“So it was said by…someone or another. Have your feasting and celebration. Tomorrow queens, kings and peasants alike best be preparing for war.”
“Feels like we’ve been doing nothing else. Not complaining, mind,” he continued before Cian could speak. “I guess the matter is I’m tired of preparing for it, and want to get to it.”
“Haven’t had enough fighting the last little while?”
“I’ve payment to make for what was nearly done to Blair. She’s still tender along the ribs, and wears down quicker than she’d admit.” His face was hard and grim as he remembered it. “Healing fast, as she does, but I won’t forget how they hurt her.”
“It’s dangerous to go into battle with a personal agenda.”
“Ah, bollocks. We’ve all of us something personal to settle, or what’s the point? And you won’t tell me that a part of you won’t be going into it with what that bitch did to King in your mind and in your heart.”
Because Cian couldn’t deny it, he left it alone. “Are you…escorting me back, Larkin?”
“As it happens. There was some mention of me throwing myself bodily over you to shield you from the sunlight should the magic in that cloak fade out.”
“That would be fine. We’d both go up like torches.” Cian said it casually, but he had to admit he felt easier when he stepped into the shadow cast by Castle Geall.
“I’m also asked to request you come to the family parlor if you’re not too weary. We’re to have a private breakfast there. Moira would be grateful if you could spare a few minutes at least.”
She would have liked a few minutes herself, alone. But Moira was surrounded. The walk back to the castle was a blur of movement and voices wrapped in mists. She felt the weight of the sword in her hand, the crown on her head even as she was swept along by her family and friends. Cheers echoed over the hills and fields, a celebration of Geall’s new queen.
“You’ll need to show yourself,” Riddock told her. “From the royal terrace. It’s expected.”
“Aye. But not alone. I know it’s the way it’s been done,” she continued before her uncle could object. “But these are different times. My circle will stand with me.” She looked at Glenna now, then Hoyt and Blair. “The people won’t just see their queen, but those who have been chosen to lead this war.”
“It’s for you to say, you to do,” Riddick said with a slight bow. “But on such a day, Geall should be free of the shadow of war.”
“Until Samhain has passed, Geall remains always in the shadow of war. Every Geallian must know that until that day, I rule with a sword. And that I’m part of six the gods have chosen.”
She laid a hand on his as they passed through the gates. “We will have feasting and celebration. I value your advice, as always, and I will show myself, and I will speak. But on this day, the gods have chosen both queen and warrior in me. And this is what I will be. This is what I’ll give to Geall, to my last breath. I won’t shame you.”
He took her hand from his arm, brought it to his lips. “My sweet girl. You have and always will bring me nothing but pride. And from this day, to my last breath, I am the queen’s man.”
The servants were gathered, and knelt when the royal party entered the castle. She knew their names, their faces. Some of them had served her mother before Moira herself was born.
But it was no longer the same. She wasn’t the daughter of the house now, but its mistress. And theirs.
“Rise,” she said, “and know I am grateful for your loyalty and service. Know, too, that you and all of Geall have my loyalty and service as long as I am queen.”
Later, she told herself as she started up the stairs, she would speak with each of them individually. It was important to do so. But for now, there were other duties.
In the family parlor the fire roared. Flowers cut fresh from garden and hothouse spilled from vases and bowls. The table was set with the finest silver and crystal, with wine waiting for Moira’s inner circle to toast the new queen.
She took a breath, then two, trying to find the words she would say, her first, to those she loved best.
Then Glenna simply wrapped arms around her. “You were magnificent.” She kissed both Moira’s cheeks. “Luminous.”
The tension she’d held tight in her shoulders eased. “I feel the same, but not. Do you know?”
“I can only imagine.”
“Nice job.” Blair stepped up, gave her a quick hug. “Can I see it?”
Warrior to warrior, Moira thought and offered Blair the sword.
“Excellent,” Blair said softly. “Good weight for you. You expect it to be crusted with jewels or whatever. It’s good that it’s not. It’s good and right that it’s a fighting sword, not just a symbol.”
“It felt as though the hilt was made for my hand. As soon as I touched it, it felt…mine.”
“It is.” Blair handed it back. “It’s yours.”
For the moment, Moira set the sword on the table to accept Hoyt’s embrace. “The power in you is warm and steady,” he said close to her ear. “Geall is fortunate in its queen.”
“Thank you.” Then she let out a laugh as Larkin swept her off her feet and in three dizzying circles.
“Look at you. Majesty.”
“You mock my dignity.”
“Always. But never you, a stór.”
When Larkin set her back on her feet, she turned to Cian. “Thank you for coming. It meant a great deal to me.”
He neither embraced nor touched her, but only inclined his head. “It was a moment
not to be missed.”
“A moment more important to me that you would come. All of you,” she continued and started to turn when her young cousin tugged on her skirts. “Aideen.” She lifted the child, accepted the damp kiss. “And don’t you look pretty today.”
“Pretty,” Aideen repeated, reaching up to touch Moira’s jeweled crown. Then she turned her head with a smile both shy and sly for Cian. “Pretty,” she said again.
“An astute female,” Cian observed. He saw the little girl’s gaze drop to the pendant he wore, and in an absent gesture lifted it so that she could touch.
Even as Aideen reached out, her mother all but flew across the room. “Aideen, don’t!”
Sinann pulled the girl from Moira, gripped her tight against her belly, burgeoning with her third child.
In the shocked silence, Moira could do no more than breathe her cousin’s name.
“I never had a taste for children,” Cian said coolly. “You’ll excuse me.”
“Cian.” With one damning look toward Sinann, Moira hurried after him. “Please, a moment.”
“I’ve had enough moments for the morning. I want my bed.”
“I would apologize.” She took his arm, holding firm until he stopped and turned. His eyes were hard; blue stone. “My cousin Sinann, she’s a simple woman. I’ll speak with her.”
“Don’t trouble on my account.”
“Sir.” Pale as wax, Sinann walked toward them. “I beg your pardon, most sincerely. I have insulted you, and my queen, her honored guests. I ask your forgiveness for a mother’s foolishness.”
She regretted the insult, Cian thought, but not the act. The child was on the far side of the room now, in her father’s arms. “Accepted.” He dismissed her with barely a glance. “Now if you’ll release my arm. Majesty.”
“A favor,” Moira began.
“You’re racking them up.”
“And I’m in your debt,” she said evenly. “I need to go out, onto the terrace. The people need to see their queen, and, I feel, those who are her circle. If you’d give me a few minutes more of your time I’d be grateful.”
“In the buggering sun.”
She managed a smile, and relaxed as she recognized the frustration in his tone meant he’d do as she asked. “A few moments. Then you can go find some solitude with the satisfaction of knowing I’ll be envying you for it.”
“Then make it quick. I’d enjoy some solitude and satisfaction.”
Moira arranged it deliberately, with Larkin on one side of her—a figure Geall loved and respected—and Cian on the other. The stranger some of them feared. Having them flank her would, she hoped, show her people she considered them equals, and that both had her trust.
The crowd cheered and called her name, with the cheers rising to a roar when she lifted the sword. It was also a deliberate gesture for her to pass that sword to Blair to hold for her while she spoke. The people should see that the woman Larkin was betrothed to was worthy to hold it.
“People of Geall!” She shouted it, but the cheering continued. It came in waves that didn’t ebb until she stepped closer to the stone rail and raised her hands.
“People of Geall, I come to you as queen, as citizen, as protector. I stand before you as did my mother, as did her sire, and as did all those back to the first days. And I stand as part of a circle chosen by the gods. Not just a circle of Geallian rulers, but a circle of warriors.”
Now she spread her arms to encompass the five who stood with her. “With these who stand with me, that circle is formed. These are my most trusted and beloved. As a citizen, I ask you give them your loyalty, your trust, your respect as you do me. As your queen, I command it.”
She had to pause every few moments until the shouts and cheers abated again. “Today, the sun shines on Geall. But it will not always be so. What is coming seeks the dark, and we will meet it. We will defeat it. Today, we celebrate, we feast, we give thanks. Come the morrow, we continue our preparations for war. Every Geallian who can bear arms will do so. And we will march to Ciunas. We will march to the Valley of Silence. We will flood that ground with our strength and our will, and we will drown those who would destroy us in the light.”
She held her hand out for the sword, then held it high again. “This sword will not, as it has since the first days, hang cool and quiet during my reign. It will flame and sing in my hand as I fight for you, for Geall, and for all humankind.”
The roars of approval rose like a torrent.
Then there were screams as an arrow streaked the air.
Before she could react, Cian shoved her down. Under the shouting and chaos, she heard his low, steady cursing. And felt his blood warm on her hand.
“Oh God, my God, you’re shot.”
“Missed the heart.” He spoke through gritted teeth. She saw the pain on his face as he pushed away from her to sit.
When he reached up to grip the arrow out of his side, Glenna dropped to a crouch, pushed his hand aside. “Let me see.”
“Missed the heart,” he repeated, and once again gripped the arrow. He yanked it out. “Bugger it. Bloody fucking hell.”
“Inside,” Glenna began briskly. “Get him inside.”
“Wait.” Though her hand trembled a little, Moira gripped Cian’s shoulder. “Can you stand?”
“Of course I can bloody stand. What do you take me for?”
“Please, let them see you.” Her free hand fluttered over his cheek for just an instant, like a brush of wings. “Let them see us. Please.”
When she linked her fingers with his she thought she saw something stir in his eyes, and felt its twin shift inside her heart.
Then it was gone, and his voice was rough with impatience. “Give me some damn room then.”
She got to her feet again. Below was chaos. The man she assumed was the assassin was being kicked and pummeled by every hand or foot that could reach him.
“Hold!” She shouted it with all her strength. “I command you, hold! Guards, bring that man to the great hall. People of Geall! You see that even on this day, even when the sun shines on us, this darkness seeks to destroy us. And it fails.” She gripped Cian’s hand, lifted it high with her own. “It fails because there are champions in this world who would risk their lives for another.”
She laid a hand on Cian’s side, felt his wince. Then held up her bloody hand. “He bleeds for us. And by this blood he shed for me, for all of you, I raise him to be Sir Cian, Lord of Oiche.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Cian muttered.
“Be quiet.” Moira said it softly, with steel, and her eyes on the crowd.
Chapter 3
“Half-vamp,” Blair announced as she strode back into the parlor. “Multiple bite scars. Crowd did a number on him,” she added. “A regular human would be toast after the beating he took. And he’s not feeling so well himself.”
“He can be treated after I’ve spoken to him. Cian requires care first.”
Blair looked over Moira’s shoulder to where Glenna was bandaging Cian’s side. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s angry and uncooperative, so I would say he’s doing well enough.”
“We can all be grateful for his reflexes. You handled it,” Blair added, looking back at Moira. “Kept your cool, kept control. Tough first day on the job, nearly getting assassinated and all that, but you did good.”
“Not good enough to have anticipated a daylight attack. To remember that not all Lilith’s dogs require an invitation to come within these walls.” She thought of how Cian’s blood had run against her hand—warm and red. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“None of us will. What we need is to get information out of this asshole Lilith sent. But there’s a problem. He either can’t or won’t speak English. Or Gaelic.”
“He’s mute?”
“No, no. He talks, it’s just none of us can understand him. Sounds Eastern European. Maybe Czech.”
“I see.” Moira glanced back at Cian. He was stripped
to the waist, with only the bandage against his skin. Annoyance more than pain darkened his face as he sipped from a goblet she assumed held blood. Though he didn’t look to be in the best of moods, she knew she was about to ask another favor.
“Give me a moment,” she murmured to Blair. She approached Cian, ordering herself not to shrink under his hot blue stare. “Is there something more that can be done for you, to make you more comfortable?”
“Peace, quiet, privacy.”
Though each of his words had the lash of a whip, she kept her own calm and pleasant. “I’m sorry, but those items are in short supply right at the moment. I’ll order them up for you as soon as I can.”
“Smart-ass,” he mumbled.
“Indeed. The man whose arrow you intercepted speaks in a foreign tongue. Your brother told me once that you knew many languages.”
He took a long, deep drink, with his eyes deliberately on hers. “It’s not enough that I intercepted the arrow? Now you want me to interrogate your assassin?”
“I would be grateful if you would try, or at least interpret. If indeed, his tongue is one you know. There are likely a few things in the world you don’t know, so you may be of no use to me at all.”
Amusement flickered briefly in his eyes. “Now you’re being nasty.”
“Tit for tat.”
“All right, all right. Glenna, my beauty, stop hovering.”
“You lost considerable blood,” she began, but he only lifted the goblet.
“Replacing, even as we speak.” With a slight grimace, he got to his feet. “I need a goddamn shirt.”
“Blair,” Moira said in even tones, “would you fetch Cian a goddamn shirt?”
“On that.”
“You’ve made a habit of saving my life,” Moira said to Cian.
“Apparently. I’m thinking of giving that up.”
“I could hardly blame you.”
“Here you go, champ.” Blair offered Cian a fresh white shirt. “I think the guy’s Czech, or possibly Bulgarian. Can you handle either of those?”
“As it happens.”
They went into the great hall where the assassin sat, bruised, bleeding and chained, under heavy guard. That guard included both Larkin and Hoyt. When Cian entered, Hoyt stepped away from his post.
“Well enough?” he asked Cian.
“I’ll do. And it cheers me considerably that he looks a hell of a lot worse than I do. Pull your guards back,” he said to Moira. “He won’t be going anywhere.”
“Stand down. Sir Cian will be in charge here.”
“Sir Cian, my ass.” But he only muttered it as he approached the prisoner.
Cian circled him, gauging ground. The man was slight of build and dressed in what would be the rough clothes of a farmer or shepherd. One eye was swollen shut, the other going black and blue. He’d lost a couple of teeth.
Cian snapped out a command in Czech. The man jolted, his single working eye rolling up in surprise.
But he didn’t speak.
“You understood that,” Cian continued in the same language. “I asked if there are others with you. I won’t ask again.”
When he was met with silence, Cian struck out with enough force to have the
