The afternoon dragged as Pagan dressed with special care. Nervousness ensured his nails were neatly trimmed, his long dark hair brushed until it shone and his warrior plaits remade with quiet precision. He could do nothing about the maturity time had placed on his features, yet in front of the looking glass he convinced himself that the years had been kind to him. He reminded himself also that in the Volcastle, before the death of her son, Lae had spoken to him of her love.
Now that the laughing Lae of old was returned to them, he imagined there could be no further impediment to that love. His patience had been rewarded and only the Maelstrom itself could tear him from her arms. He even allowed himself to hope that they would be blessed with a child before the Four Worlds were eventually destroyed.
Thus, with a buoyant heart and even a relaxed smile, Pagan entered the glittering banquet hall of Castle Be’uccdha, pausing to admire the huge tapestries depicting the enemies of Be’uccdha being thrown from the parapets into the hungry ocean below. Djahr had been bloodthirsty indeed. The current Dark was rather too pretty to be considered a tyrant.
Thinking this, Pagan turned to greet his beloved, only to find the long table empty and a steward standing at one end with a chair held back, waiting. Pagan strode the length of the table which was decorated with gold statuettes interspersed with arrangements of sea blossoms. He took the offered seat and asked, ‘Our lady The Dark is coming?’
‘My Lord, yes,’ the steward replied and took his leave before Pagan could ask who the other place was set for. Three places set on the whole long table. An intimate dinner, obviously.
Pagan had expected Lae’s announcement to be public. Yet if it was to be private, who was her other guest? Surely not Barrion? He could barely keep his balance upright on a bed. Could it be Talis? But if so, why would he come to Be’uccdha without Khatrene? If they both had come, there would be two extra places set besides his own and Lae’s.
Wild thoughts came and went while Pagan waited. The apologetic steward brought wine and then a fruit platter to keep the strongest pangs of hunger at bay. Yet Pagan was not troubled by hunger. In fact, the longer Lae was delayed, the more his appetite faded and his confidence in their happy future dissipated.
Her cruel words came back to haunt him. When he had refused to take the pleasures she offered, Lae had told him she would lie with another. Pagan had later made discreet inquiries and found no proof of a dalliance, yet the thought of her burying her grief in another man’s arms continued to torment him. Was this solitary vigil a further punishment for rejecting her so intimately?
As one hour followed another, Pagan was wondering whether he should not simply retire, when the door to the banquet hall swept open and Lae stumbled inside, dragging a man in after her and then clutching him to her side with both hands. Possessive hands.
One of those hands rose to tug the shoulder of her gown into place, and Pagan, his mind already set to jealousy, knew instinctively that it had only recently been donned. She dropped her arm and he saw that the buttons on her bodice were not all in place and that some had been done up incorrectly.
Then he saw the fabric. Not just any gown, it was a Be’uccdha wedding gown, simple in design but made of fabric soft as skin. Lae’s bridal crown was askew and her eyes glittered with secret excitement. Married. Lae had married someone else and recently consummated that vow.
It was a blow as mortal as any Pagan had seen on the battlefield. And only when he had breathed through terrible pain could he shift the narrow tunnel of his vision, which had focused solely on Lae, to encompass the lucky groom who had stolen what Pagan had been unable to win.
‘Hello, Father,’ the man said, his arm draped possessively around Lae’s shoulders. ‘Look who belongs to me now.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Kert was ready to explode. His hands shook and he could think of nothing but touching Glimmer, of how long it had been since she’d lain beneath him, of how soft her skin felt against his. He kept thinking he could hear her breath in his ear, the sound of her soft gasping when she lay spent with pleasure, or smell the cool, sweet scent of her hair. He was going mad.
Though she might have only been away for minutes on another world, days had passed on Haddash since she had disappeared with her mother. Talis was quietly fretful, but Kert’s nerves were stretched taut. It was worse than obsession. It was like the withdrawal of an addiction.
‘Where are they?’ he said, unable to stop himself repeating the question. ‘How can she simply leave us here with no word of when she will return.’
‘When they will return,’ Talis corrected.
Kert frowned at his slip. Away from Glimmer’s mesmerising presence, he felt embarrassed at how much he desired her, and how the touch of her hands and the taste of her skin had made him forget Mihale. Speaking to Talis about their king had reminded Kert of his duty and the longing he’d had to return to Ennae — a longing he could feel no enthusiasm for now while his thoughts were all of Glimmer and when he could touch her again.
‘Perhaps The Catalyst has released you from her service,’ Talis said from the corner where he sat against the wall, an ahroce blossom rolling between finger and thumb. ‘This might be your chance to return to Mihale.’
Kert felt a sudden emptiness inside his chest. Could she have rejected him? And if she had, how would he survive past his longing to lie with her? Perhaps the Guardian was right, he had been so long away from freedom he couldn’t recognise it when it came. ‘Why would she do such a thing?’ he demanded. ‘I have championed her tirelessly.’
Talis raised an eyebrow, eloquent comment on what else Kert had been doing tirelessly with Glimmer. But he merely said, ‘She released Pagan from her service, seemingly without cause. A word of thanks and nothing more.’
‘I have not even received that much,’ Kert said softly, his anxiety growing. It was one matter to be forced to wait, quite another to believe your desires would never be fulfilled. His fingertips had tingled into numbness from rubbing against themselves in their hunger to touch her. He could not think past that need, and so turned on Talis. ‘Can you not search with your powers to find them, use your Guardian magic to take me there?’
Talis made no move to aid him, but merely continued toying with the blossom. ‘I cannot,’ he said.
In his agitation, Kert straightened and looked for his sword. ‘Cannot or will not?’
‘Cannot,’ Talis said clearly enough.
Yet still Kert struggled against anger, knowing he must not kill Talis, whatever the provocation. If all else failed, he still believed Guardian power could return him to Ennae.
‘Tell me of your time here on Haddash,’ Talis said. ‘Has The Catalyst been preparing for her destiny? Have you assisted her with that?’
Immediately into Kert’s mind came fresh images of Glimmer unclothed in his arms and it was almost his undoing. His agitation was growing so marked he feared he would soon weep if he wasn’t distracted. ‘No, you tell me more about Mihale,’ he countered. ‘Who is his Champion?’
This upset the Guardian’s composure. Talis frowned before saving, ‘He has no Champion currently. Pagan has gone to Be’uccdha to champion The Dark.’
Kert felt his jaw tighten, thoughts of Mihale and even Glimmer temporarily leaving his mind. ‘So your cousin wasted no time in stealing my wife.’
‘You married her when she was betrothed to Pagan,’ Talis said, and put aside the blossom. ‘Yet matters are not as they would appear’ This was said kindly. ‘Lae thinks you dead. You and Lenid both. Her grief is a barrier to Pagan’s love.’
Kert gazed at him a moment then said, ‘You lie to keep me from anger at your kin. I saw the way they looked at each other, even while she was my wife and your cousin a guest at our table.’
‘She was never your wife,’ Talis said softly.
Kert had to turn away from the kindness in Talis’s eyes. He could protest of the vows taken, but he knew in his heart that Lae had never been his wife. She had spoke
n the words of ritual merely to seal the lie that would protect Lenid. She had never kissed Kert, never lain with him. All there had ever been between them had been Kert’s hatred, and then his love.
‘So she grieves our son?’ He kept his back to Talis, not wanting the Guardian to see his pain. ‘I grieved Lenid’s loss also. Yet time has healed that wound.’
‘I know you must find anguish in thinking of her with another man,’ Talis said. ‘But if you truly love Lae you will want her to find happiness. If anyone can bring her back from grief’s lonely promontory, it will be Pagan. There is a bond of love between them …’
Talis said no more, and for that Kert was grateful. He knew that in time Lae might have learnt to love him, but never the way she loved Pagan. There was a bond between them that their time apart had not diminished, and Kert was surprised to realise that their love had not been quickly consummated. With his anger now quelled, he discovered that it hurt to think of Lae locked into grief. Violent jealousy came and went with the image of her lying in Pagan’s arms, but Kert could not deny that he wanted her to know happiness. He loved her enough for that.
‘If I am returned to Ennae I will not seek to come between them,’ he said.
Talis shrugged. ‘Glimmer may want you to remain here with her,’ he said, and that piece of idle speculation brought such a tumult of desire to Kert, he felt his body stir into readiness for what he could not have. ‘She loves you,’ Talis added.
‘The sentiment is not returned,’ Kert snapped, then knew he had just given Talis ammunition for a barrage of questioning. ‘I was her prisoner.’
‘She forced intimacies upon you?’
Kert’s agitated breaths slowed. Talis had seen his weakness. ‘I knew I could not disobey her and live,’ Kert said. ‘I wanted to live. To serve my king.’
‘Then she forced you to lie with her?’
Kert turned to Talis, who was idling with the ahroce blossom again, as though their conversation held little interest for him. ‘She … bewitched me,’ he said, feeling the strength of that enchantment in the trembling of his hands.
‘Bewitched you?’ Talis’s eyes rose to meet Kert’s. ‘Then she, a maid, did not throw herself upon you?’
Kert scowled and stalked to the table, irritated anew to find the wine decanter refilled. Though The Catalyst was absent, her bounty had not ceased. Did that mean she was watching them? ‘It does not matter how it began,’ he said, pouring himself a goblet of wine and disdaining the fresh cakes that had also appeared. ‘Suffice to say that I did not plan the liaison, and in fact wanted nothing more than to be released.’ He drank the strong intoxicant and refilled his goblet, intent on dulling the longing that ate at his soul.
‘Yet after the liaison began, you spoke no more of leaving?’
‘I told you, she bewitched me.’ Kert downed another glass of wine, his eyes everywhere but on Talis’s. ‘She is young and beautiful.’
‘And innocent,’ Talis added.
Kert found himself nodding. ‘In matters of the heart, it appears so.’ Damn the Guardian for making him feel guilty, as though it had been she who was kept a prisoner.
‘I hope you have not abused that innocence.’
Kert looked up and met his gaze. ‘I have not,’ he said, and in the silence which followed his remark Kert realised that at some point beyond memory, a conscious decision had been taken to protect Glimmer, not only as a royal, but as his bedmate.
Since they had become lovers, her youth and inexperience had been foremost in his mind. Her power over him had no longer been an issue. Did that indicate that their relationship had changed, that his new role as her teacher in matters of the flesh had afforded him power over her? If that was true, why had Kert had not sought to wield that power, to influence her while she lay weak and pleasure-drugged in his arms?
Even now the memory of her thus brought only tenderness to his heart, and Kert, still gazing at Talis, felt this revelation wash over him. He did have soft feelings for Glimmer.
Talis smiled at the look on Kert’s face. ‘You are not the hard man you think you are, Sh’hale,’ he said. ‘Loving your son has softened you.’
Kert had to look away, to go away. He pointed to the other chamber where their spring-fed pool waited. ‘I wish to bathe,’ he said and rose from the table, taking his leave without a backward glance. But once naked and surrounded by warm bubbling water Glimmer had installed for his comfort, the soft feelings returned.
He remembered the tenderness with which he’d bathed her, sluicing the water over her soft, soft skin. How sweet had been her surprise and delight when she had discovered that touching her had awoken his ardour, and they had joined there, in the water, the bubbles tingling their skin as the tremors of love’s passion had fired within them.
Later she had slept in his arms in their fragrant bower, and it seemed impossible to believe now that he had looked down into her sweet restful face and not realised he cared for her. It was not love. Not even the pale jealous love he had felt for Lae, nothing like the love Glimmer felt for him. But caring. Definitely protectiveness, tenderness.
Perhaps it had always been his destiny to be her Champion, the reason she had saved him from Lenid’s fate that day at the Volcastle mouth. Had he foolishly longed for his king all these years when he should have valued the far greater role fate had decreed for him?
What if Talis was right and Glimmer, in despair, had released him from that duty and gone searching for another Champion? His mouth went dry at the thought and his heart beat an erratic tattoo, reminding him of his addiction to her skin — shallow motive for wanting her back.
Much as Kert had despised Talis, the Guardian was the very epitome of a Champion, and his example could light Kert’s path forward.
Serve. Honour. Obey.
If only Glimmer would return.
Kert’s head fell back to rest on the cool rock behind him. The future had never felt more empty.
CHAPTER FORTY
A sound. Gone.
Kraal listened with Mihale’s ears to the silence that now echoed in his royal sleeping chamber. The Serpent God himself needed no sleep, but he made a pretence of it for some hours each night to avoid unwanted conjecture by Mihale’s subjects. During that time, he habitually pondered his experiences and planned new ones.
This night he had been thinking of Khatrene and how bold she had been to leave Ennae. He could feel her presence on Haddash with The Catalyst. Two White on that world, and only Mihale left on Ennae. Kraal’s options had widened. If he killed Mihale’s body and abandoned it, there would be no White on Ennae to ward him off this world and he could roam it again in his serpent form, able to use his power of creation at will.
But how then to retain the talisman? In his own flesh, outside a host body, he could not touch it. Should he recall Kai into his service? The Northman could bear the stone temporarily while Kraal flexed his powers, then when The Catalyst returned to Ennae to join the Four Worlds, Kraal could simply inhabit Kai’s body. But … what if Kai was killed with Kraal inside? Mihale had been a good choice, not only because he was The Catalyst’s uncle. The King was the most protected figure on Ennae. A far safer host body.
The sound again. Breathing.
Kraal opened Mihale’s eyes. His bedchamber fire had burnt low and the sleeping bodies of his current bedmates obstructed his view. A last he saw movement. Not a bed drape, but a person, standing so close that he had not thought to focus there. The intruder’s arm was raised, his form solid and familiar.
‘Kai,’ Kraal said in the young king’s voice. ‘How did you come here?’ To be not only in the Volcastle, but inside his royal bedchamber. Where was the door guard?
‘The White must die,’ Kai said stonily, and Kraal noted then that his servant carried a ceremonial dagger.
Mihale’s eyes blinked, and from deep inside himself, where Kraal had consigned the boy king’s consciousness, there came a shudder of fear and an urge to defend himself. Kraal silenced it. T
here was nothing to fear from Kai. The Northman had served his God well and would continue to do so. But the mystery of how he had suddenly appeared when Kraal had thought of him needed explaining. Was he fulfilling his God’s desire to be surprised? Or was the talisman beginning to work at last?
One of the twins at Mihale’s side stirred, her hand moving clumsily to his groin, searching the pale hairs for the instrument of pleasure Kraal had all but worn out. ‘Again, M’Lord,’ she mumbled sleepily.
He pushed her hand away just as a huffing sound came from the end of the bed and a glitter of firesparks ran up the bodies of both naked twins, dissolving them into scorched gelatinous masses. The stench was immediate and overwhelming. Mihale’s throat spasmed and he coughed painfully, his eyes watering.
Kai appeared oblivious. He remained glassy-eyed at Mihale’s side, arm still raised, as though beyond all ability to be shocked.
Kraal’s attention transferred to the end of the bed where a shadow now stood, a smaller version of the serpent shape he himself had assumed to terrify the Northmen. His irritation dissipated. ‘Son?’
How had he not felt this presence? Was his son shielded from his senses? Despite his questions, Kraal felt wonder to finally look upon his progeny. Unlike the mortal offspring the boy king’s body would produce, this child appeared to be as powerful as himself.
‘I am Teleqkraal,’ the serpent said, and without any volition on Kraal’s part, Mihale’s body shuddered at the menacing tone.
‘You are indeed a fearsome God,’ Kraal said proudly, though he wished he had his own voice rather than Mihale’s boyish tones to bestow the compliment. ‘Yet how did I not sense your birth?’
‘I hid it from you,’ Teleqkraal said.
Kraal smiled at this cleverness, though it illustrated his own inadequacy. Clearly he thought more of his son’s actions than he did of his own. Kai had been right. The joy to be taken from progeny was intense. ‘You had no difficulty coming here from Haddash?’ he asked.
Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 Page 30
