by K. C. Julius
Borne was caught off guard by her jest, and could only stare at her as she continued.
“I can see you find this hard to believe, and I don’t blame you. I didn’t even know that dragons still existed in the Known World until Ilyria claimed me as her bindling. But they do, and that’s why I can’t go with you. She’s returning for me in two days’ time, on the night of the dark moon.”
Borne searched for words, but found himself dumbstruck. Dragonfast? He realized then that this explained how Maura had suddenly appeared in Tell-Uyuk.
Maura laughed. “You look as if you think I might bite. I assure you, I’ve sprouted neither razor-sharp teeth nor talons.” Then she grew serious. “I do wish I could say becoming dragonfast has made me braver and wiser, but I can’t. After you left Drinnkastel, I proceeded to make a fool of myself. And what’s even worse is…” Her eyes took on a strangely haunted look. “I made a vow to serve the High King. This was before I knew it would be Roth I was swearing to protect… but still, I’m bound to honor it. And so is Ilyria.”
A slow fuse ignited in Borne’s blood at her mention of this bond with the Nelvor. “Then you did come to Olquaria to spy for him.”
Maura leapt to her feet, her violet eyes flashing. “For the gods’ sakes! I did nothing of the sort! Will you not, for once, hear me out?”
But Borne had heard enough. She’d as good as confessed her continued devotion to Roth, and to being in the Nelvor’s camp all along. He cursed himself for being drawn once more under her spell.
He levered himself up. “Your choice is your own to make, but I suggest you seriously reconsider your determination not to leave with the Gralian ships.”
“Borne, please. You can’t seriously think I came all this way to spy for Roth Nelvor. I abhor the man!”
Borne’s anger died as quickly as it had flared up, and although he had no right to, he felt ridiculously happy upon hearing Maura’s avowal. “I… see. I owe you an apology. I was wrong to jump to this conclusion.”
“Yes, you were,” Maura said, but fire no longer lit her eyes. “Apology accepted.”
Borne returned her brief smile. “Are you sure you won’t take the ship? What if your dragon doesn’t come for you?”
“Ilyria will come,” Maura insisted, “when—” Her eyes widened at something over his shoulder, and he turned to see that the sky had darkened to the color of summer plums. A slim crescent of moon was on the rise.
“The dark moon!” she cried. “With all that’s happened in the past few days, I must have lost track of the cycle!”
She gathered her skirts and started past him, but Borne caught her elbow. “Wait a moment. Exactly where are you supposed to meet your dragon?”
“Outside the northern gate of the city, when the moon reaches its zenith.”
“How do you propose to manage that?”
“I have a plan,” she said. “There are tunnels under this city, and I know the location of one that runs under the north gate.”
This was the first Borne had heard of these. “Could you take me with you?” he asked. “Just—past the city walls.”
“Yes, of course. But we must go now.”
“The moon won’t be high for hours,” he said. “Do you know exactly where this tunnel exits the city?”
Maura bit her lip. “Not exactly,” she admitted. She brought up a trembling hand to brush her hair from her face. When the errant lock fell again, Borne couldn’t resist gently tucking it behind her ear.
Their eyes locked. Hers were glistening with tears. Then her lips parted, and Borne read their unspoken invitation.
She must have seen this in his eyes, for she turned away. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “You weren’t ever to know.”
Borne took hold of her shoulders. “Maura?” He turned her gently back, but she kept her gaze lowered.
“I feel so ashamed.” A choked sob escaped her. “If only I’d never read the poems you wrote Yasiha… But I did, and because of them, I lost my ungovernable heart to—”
He lifted her chin and silenced her with a kiss.
After a long moment that by no means sated his thirst for her, he drew back, his lips still brushing hers. “The poetry was all for you, Maura. Only you. I thought if I put what I felt for you to paper, I could somehow exorcise you from my heart.” He kissed her again, ever so tenderly. “Alas, I succeed instead in sealing my love, for all time, in every word.”
Maura’s bright eyes widened. “For me? But I thought…”
Borne drew her close against his chest. “I’ve loved you since that day you gave me sanctuary in your chamber in Drinnkastel,” he said, murmuring into her perfumed hair. “I left the Isle because I believed you loved Roth, and hoped that if I never saw you again, I’d find a way to bear losing you to him. But you remained in every breath I took in Gral. That’s where I wrote most of what you read. Then, when I came here, I thought at last I might make a new start…”
Maura drew away from him to scan his face. “With Yasiha… until I showed up and ruined everything.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and he traced its path.
“You ruined nothing, Maura. I tried to convince myself that marrying Yasiha would eventually banish you from my heart. I never considered that you might return my feelings for you.”
This time Maura drew his lips to hers. “It just took me a little longer to realize it,” she whispered when she released him. “But I do. I love you, Borne Braxton.”
* * *
Borne wasn’t sure how they found their way into the interior of the house, so intent was he on keeping Maura in the circle of his arm, still fearing this was all a dream and only her nearness would prevent him from waking. Only when an opened door revealed a small bedchamber did he release her to light a candle.
In its flickering glow, her hair shone like gilded umber. She turned and held out her arms. Her gaze was solemn, but he heard the smile in her voice.
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
In a rush of sweet abandon, he gathered her to him again, then bent to kiss the hollow of her throat and felt her lashes brush his cheek. “Come closer,” he murmured.
“Closer?” she laughed. “How shall I do this?”
“By removing the obstacles between us.” He demonstrated by gently plucking off one of her earrings.
Then her eager hands sought the ties of his tunic, and he bent to help her pull it over his head. With a few deft maneuvers, her splendid dress pooled at her feet. Beneath it, she wore a silken shift.
Maura turned, drawing her hair to one side so that he could unclasp her glittering necklace.
“Come into our bower of blossoms bright,” he murmured, his lips against the nape of her neck, “and bask in love’s unfurled delight…” Then he lifted her in his arms and laid her on the narrow bed.
As he lowered himself beside her, his eyes feasted on her beautiful face, his senses awash in the scent of her hair, a sea of tawny curls against the cool white linen. He would know every crease, every hollow of her.
Then she drew him down into a slow, exquisite kiss. “Come closer,” she whispered, easing the straps of the shift off her shoulders.
Borne caught his breath at the three concentric circles over her heart. “So the old tales are true. Did it hurt terribly?”
“That tale is for another time.”
“Good,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers. “The one we will tell now has no words.”
He let her take the lead. Her caresses, at first tentative, grew bolder, but he himself took his time, for he wanted, more than anything, for her first experience to be one of pleasure. When they finally came together, she gave a soft gasp, then joined him in the languorous dance of love until he brought her to her peak, then reached his own.
She lay in the circle of his arms until their breathing slowed, then le
t him know with her lips and her touch that there was more to this tale. The second time, she arched to meet him in shared ardor, her eyes dark with desire, until they reached a crescendo so achingly sweet, it could only be named bliss.
Afterwards, they lay entangled in the bedclothes, Maura’s cheek against his chest, and Borne spoke of the moment he knew he’d fallen in love with her. “I thought I had no chance with you,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.
“Because of Roth?” She shook her head. “I was a fool. I mistakenly thought what I felt for him was love, when in truth I was blinded by the need to ease the pain of losing my family. When he began to reveal his true character, I realized I wasn’t sure I even liked him, and it was clear he was not the person I’d thought he was. When he found out about my å Livåri blood, he was revolted.” She gave a little shiver. “And then he put Master Morgan on trial for my uncle’s murder, and ordered Ilyria shot out the sky. I can’t abide the man. But I’m sworn to defend him all the same.”
“Are you sure you should go back to Drinnkastel?”
“Ilyria and I must return to the Isle, but we’ll go to Mithralyn first.”
“Where?”
“Oh!” She brought her hand to her lips. “That’s a secret I’m not at liberty to share, but it’s the only place Ilyria will be safe from her brothers. And there’s someone there who might be able to tell me if Master Morgan still lives. If he does, I shall find him and beg him once again to release us from our oath to Roth.”
Borne stroked her hair. “And upon my return to Gral, I’ll ask King Crenel to release me from my service to him. But even if he refuses, I’ll find you—wherever you are.”
* * *
When Borne awoke, his arms were empty. For a brief, agonizing moment, he feared it had been all been a dream. And then he turned to see Maura, her alluring curves framed by the candle’s glow.
Hearing him stir, she returned to kneel at the bedside and ran her cool fingers across his cheek. “The hours have flown past here in our bower. Alima Nina and Taqui-Rash have returned, and I must soon go to watch for Ilyria.”
The sound of soft voices carried to them from the courtyard. “Bad timing,” he said, attempting to bring her back under the covers.
Maura laughed and pulled at his hands. “Arise, fair Anghus, and take up thy lyre.”
“Quoting Sonophus, are we? Gods help me, I’ve fallen for a woman who’s better read than myself.”
“Arise, good ser.”
“Only if you can recite the next line.”
“And so stir love’s fire, conqueror of all, from embers to desire.”
Feigning surrender, Borne threw back the covers.
Maura frowned. “You employ unfair tactics, my lord.”
* * *
Some time later, Taqui-Rash looked up from his chay with a smile as they entered the courtyard. Alima Nina rose to embrace them both.
“Sanonda evay yerdyn,” she intoned.
“What does it mean?” Maura asked.
Borne smiled into the older woman’s eyes. “It’s from ‘Songs for Hegamah,’ the last line of the final verse:
“Under this night’s star, the kind sea has
brought you to a harbor long awaited.
At last, you have arrived home.”
“Thank the gods,” Alima Nina said, “and none too soon.”
“We have news to share,” Taqui-Rash said, his expression sobering. “We’ve just come from the Grand Square, where it seemed all of Tell-Uyuk was gathered to hear the announcement that the marriage of Kurash and Yasiha has taken place. There will be a lavish public ceremony next month, but Kurash wants to proclaim himself Basileus with all haste, and with a royal princess as his wife, his coup is lent more legitimacy.” He lowered his voice. “Your friend Mir sought me out in the crowd. Apparently he knows of our connection with you, guwade, for he asked me to pass on the message that a squadron of dromas will bear the Gralian mission north to Rizo tomorrow, from whence they’ll sail for Gral. But under no circumstances are you to join them, or to return to the barracks. They’ve already been searched twice, and although your name was not mentioned, it’s clear Kurash has every man he can spare looking for you. Mir said he will come for you here, once he’s figured out a way to get you outside Tell-Uyuk’s walls and then to Rizo.”
Borne and Maura exchanged glances. “Maura has a way to get me outside the city. And I can’t stay here with you; my continued presence will put all of you in grave danger. When Mir comes for me, tell him I’ll make my own way to Rizo. He’s taken enough risk on my behalf.”
The older man’s brow cleared. “Your lady is as resourceful as she is beautiful. But once you reach Rizo, you may want to reconsider returning to Gral. King Crenel’s realm is under grave threat from both the north and the south.”
Borne sighed. “Mir told me there’s been a coup in Segavia, and that a Ser Palan has seized the throne. Has the new king rescinded the alliance with Gral?”
“Palan?” Maura interjected. “He’s Roth Nelvor’s uncle.”
“Is he?” Taqui-Rash frowned. “That explains a lot. Apparently, Drinnglennin and Albrenia have recently grown as thick as thieves, and both nations have annulled their treaties with Gral. But perhaps the Nelvor won’t be High King for long. It’s rumored there’s another contender for the Einhorn Throne—some say the son of Urlion, some say an impostor.”
Maura’s violet eyes were bright. “Who is this mysterious claimant to the Drinnglennian throne?”
Taqui-Rash gave an eloquent shrug. “My sources could not provide me with this information.”
“Hopefully we’ll hear more about this soon,” Borne said. He turned to Maura. “But if we’re to make your rendezvous, I’m afraid we must go now.”
Alima Nina looked between them in surprise. “At this time of night and with the hazar’s men combing the city for you?” Then understanding lit her eyes. “Is your dragon returning for you tonight, Maura?”
”I hope so,” she replied as Borne helped her to her feet.
“We will be sorry to see you go,” Alima Nina said, rising as well. “You must return to us if she does not.”
After Maura and Borne had bid their gentle friends farewell, with promises to send word when they were able, they stepped out under a spangled sky and hurried down the deserted street, keeping their lantern low.
“She will come,” Maura said, as if to convince herself. She shivered, despite the warmth of the night air.
“Well then,” Borne said, forcing himself to ignore his own creeping doubts, “there’s nothing to fear.”
Chapter 39
Morgan
News of the victory at Cardenstowe spread like wildfire through the realm. As Fynn Konigur marched north to stake his claim, more knights flocked to his banner, and commoners, emboldened by his decree giving the å Livåri the right to bear arms, began to swell his ranks as well. More than a few dark looks were exchanged among the nobles when the peasants joined their force, but none dared challenge their new young lord, and Morgan was vocal in his support of Fynn’s determination to create a new order in the realm.
To reach the Tor of Brenhinoedd, Fynn and his supporters had to cross Nelvorboth. That they were progressing through Roth’s home realm without resistance made Morgan more uneasy than relieved. To add to his disquiet, there had been no word from Elvinor, though more than enough time had passed for the elven king to reply to the bird the wizard had sent to Mithralyn.
A concern closer at hand was that Whit seemed to be avoiding him again. Morgan, suspecting he knew why, sought him out after they’d set up camp for the night outside of Steinen.
A light rain was falling as the wizard unceremoniously lifted the flap of Whit’s tent.
“If you can spare a moment?”
Whit gave a nod, but he looked far from pleased to see him.
Morgan got straight to the point. “Since you haven’t said anything about the spells, I fear you think I’m setting you up as a sacrificial lamb. The truth is, I wouldn’t have charged you with learning them if I didn’t have great faith in you. Are you finding the magic problematic?”
Whit frowned. “I’ve mastered every spell there is to learn in Falyn’s Grimoire of Advanced Magic, except for the Shield of Taran.”
Morgan, who had been in the act of reaching for his pipe, stopped short. “I’m not referring to spells in Falyn’s Grimoire, Whit.”
Whit gave an incredulous laugh. “What other spells are there? Dark magic? Even if I wanted to learn that sort of sorcery, where would I begin?”
Through gritted teeth, Morgan replied, “With the book I left for you in Mithralyn!”
Whit blinked. “You mean that almanac? But—”
“The cover was merely to conceal from prying eyes that it was the Hud Twyll!”
“The Unholy Book?” For a moment, Whit’s eyes were bright with excitement. Then he saw Morgan’s expression. “I… I didn’t know. I never…”
Morgan closed his eyes in despair. The foolish boy never even opened the book.
Striving to keep his frustration out of his voice, he said, “Where is it now?”
“It’s… I’ve kept it safe. It’s in my pack.”
They both looked over at the bag in the corner of the tent, which was gaping open. His face flushing, Whit snatched it up and held it to his chest.
“So much time lost,” Morgan muttered.
Whit dropped his voice. “You mean you wish me to study the dark arts?”
“Yes, Whit, I do,” Morgan growled. “How else do you expect to defeat Lazdac if not with his own malevolent arsenal?”
The patter of the rain against the tent grew louder while Whit found his voice. “Defeat Lazdac? You mean, take him on in a magical duel?”
Morgan placed his hands heavily on his knees. “If it should come to that, yes. But you won’t be alone—the Tribus should be on hand to lend their powers to yours.” He sighed. “You look shocked, but really, my dear fellow—you should know the extent of your gifts by now.”
