Yet in Lae’s mind now, their past was as naught and Pagan’s feelings for her had not faded. It was her own that were in question. Away from Vandal’s distracting presence she felt no love, nor even desire for her husband. Yet the father? Did she truly love Pagan? That would be his dearest wish, though he did not ask her. Dared not, she supposed. And though he did not ask, she felt he deserved an answer.
‘Your love for me has proved truer than any I’ve known,’ she told him honestly. ‘Yet for my own heart I have no compass.’ Indeed she alternately swirled with excitement and apprehension. How was she to judge her feelings for Pagan? ‘I know that with you standing close to me,’ she said, ‘my husband is much distanced from my thoughts.’
‘The world is distanced from mine,’ Pagan whispered and Lae knew then that he was going to kiss her. And that she was going to let him.
She felt his hands touch her shoulders, then slide up her neck to cup her face, his warm fingers threading into her hair. Though it was dark, Lae closed her eyes, and even before his lips touched hers she knew desire. His hands were so gentle yet so confident, she could not help but raise her own to press them against his chest, finding it just as hard as it had always been. Then his lips touched hers and she felt a warm swirling deep in her belly. Pagan’s hands trembled on her cheeks yet he did not rush towards pleasure, but instead kissed her slowly, his lips and tongue coaxing her, as though desiring her trust more than her surrender.
For Lae, whose recent experience of joining had been all of pounding blood and jerking movements, Pagan’s kiss was like a deep, hot bath she could luxuriate in for as long as she desired. His hands did not move from her face and Lae’s did not move from his chest. Yet the kiss … Lae felt such sweet abandonment as to make her question whether she had ever been kissed before, so profound was her response.
At last he pulled away from her, his tongue lingering on her lips a moment. ‘Do not doubt my love,’ he said, his voice rough and low.
‘I cannot,’ she replied, her breath as ragged as his. ‘Yet if you would know my heart, you must let me look upon you, and fear not that my feelings will be swayed by such honours as age has bestowed upon you.’
Pagan’s hands retreated to her shoulders and he said nothing at first. Then, ‘You come to me fresh from my son’s young arms and tell me you will not compare our forms?’ Silence stretched between them. ‘My love for you may be ageless, yet I fear I am not.’
Lae knew she must end both their doubts once and for all. ‘Light the brand,’ she said and dropped her hands.
Pagan was still a moment, then the warm weight of his hands left her shoulders and she felt him move away. A scratch, then after a brief search a bronze light warmed the cold stone of their small chamber. She saw his profile, the serious frown, then his arm dropped and he turned towards her.
Lae could not help but smile. ‘You fool,’ she pronounced, her smiled widening as his frown deepened. ‘Vain, dolting fool. Still, after all these years.’ She stepped forward to stand beneath the brand and gaze at him. Shook her head. ‘How deep was this grief I bore?’ she asked.
‘Deeper than the Everlasting Ocean,’ he replied, his frown diminished by her good humour.
‘It must have been,’ she replied, ‘for how else did I resist you?’
‘Do you mock me now?’
‘You deserve to be mocked,’ she said. ‘Have you no looking glass in your rooms?’
‘Indeed I have,’ he replied, ‘and many a sad moment have I spent there wondering how I would convince you that the same Pagan you loved still lives within this aged form.’
‘Aged form?’ She laughed out loud, then shook her head again and smiled up into his eyes. ‘Do you remember the Queen Danille’s Champion Roeg?’ she asked, knowing he must.
‘Of course I do.’
‘Do you remember also how, as a stupid vain boy, you envied his manly appearance and the way the ladies would hang on his every word?’
Pagan’s frown now warred with the beginnings of a smile. ‘You delight in reminding me of my inglorious past.’
Lae was happy to nod in agreement.
‘Then I will admit to jealousy,’ he said. ‘Though at sixteen I was surely more handsome, I felt like a boy beside him.’
Her smile softened. ‘Just so is your son beside you,’ she said and touched his face, tracing the faint lines beside his eyes which, to Lae, were delicate frames for the dark landscapes of love that dwelt within them. ‘How and why I should compare you, I know not,’ she said. ‘Only that my heart tells me I do not miss my husband, and should you leave me now, I know I would ache.’
Pagan closed his eyes and pulled her into his arms, as though he could not bear for her to look upon him a second longer. Lae pressed her cheek against his chest and let his scent dizzy her with thoughts of how their love would now be expressed.
‘What am I to do with you?’ he asked quietly, and Lae smiled.
‘Kiss me again,’ she said. He pulled back and she raised her head. ‘Or let me look upon you with love.’ Her fingertips traced his lips, still plush compared to her own.
Pagan kissed her fingers gently and said, ‘I meant to keep you safe. How am I to protect you from your own husband?’
She shook her head, and the lightness of heart she had so recently discovered was marred by the thought of what may happen when they left their sanctuary. ‘I fear to be alone with him,’ she said.
‘I would not allow it,’ Pagan reassured her. ‘For a minute in his company would see him use his powers to steal your memory of these precious moments.’ He searched her eyes. ‘I could not bear to lose your love again, Lae.’
‘You will not.’ She put her arms about his neck and kissed him, melting into his body as he kissed her back, more passionately this time, as though he was unable to measure his response. She soon felt a hardness against her belly and her smile broke their kiss. ‘You think to fool me with these scant wrinkles,’ she said, nodding at his face. ‘Yet I know of no aged form that awakens to desire this quickly.’ And she pressed her belly hard against him.
Pagan smiled, and she swore he also blushed. ‘You have found me out,’ he said, his hand sliding down her back to rest on the curve of her hip. His eyes were very dark. ‘I can hide nothing from you, Lae.’
‘I want nothing hidden,’ she said softly, and reached back to capture his hands and place them on the buttons of her bodice. ‘I have heard your love, and seen it with my eyes. Now I wish to feel it. To know it.’
Pagan gazed at her a moment longer, then he undid the buttons. Lae stood still as the bodice loosened and Pagan pushed her dress from her shoulders. It fell and pooled at her feet, a warm bed of velvet. He took careful hold of her thin underdress and drew it up her body. It landed on the floor beside her gown. Lae nudged off her court slippers and was naked, her cool hair resting on her shoulders. Pagan stared.
‘You cannot know,’ he said slowly, ‘how much of my life has been spent in anticipation of this moment.’ Finally his eyes met hers. ‘Yet now that I have you …’
Lae felt her lips curve, though she did not mean to mock his plight. ‘You do not yet have me, sir.’ Pagan frowned in apparent confusion, so she added, ‘I shall not long stand here, the only one unclad.’
It took him only a moment to move past shock into understanding, then his clothes were deposited in a hasty pile beside hers. She took his hand and led him down onto their crumpled attire where they lay together. ‘Put your son from your mind,’ she said, knowing Pagan still feared comparisons, ‘as he is gone from mine.’ She looked deeply into his eyes. ‘For where true love abides, there can be only two souls.’
Pagan’s warm hand closed over her flat belly. ‘Yet we are three,’ he said.
Lae nodded. ‘My child who bears your blood.’
Pagan closed his eyes and Lae felt tingling warmth come from his fingers. ‘Your child is a son. A Guardian.’ His dark eyelashes opened. ‘My grandson.’
‘I will call him L
aroque,’ Lae said, to honour her beloved’s father.
Pagan merely gazed into her eyes a moment before he kissed her and his hand moved from her belly to capture her breast. Lae knew there would be no more talking then. The child was hers, theirs. Vandal’s dark presence in their lives was like a shadow, temporarily banished by the light of their passion. Later they must decide how to proceed. But in this moment Lae cared for nothing but the reassurance of Pagan’s love, which he amply demonstrated.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Mooraz heard a commotion in the main hall and rolled out of bed, rousing Noola in the process. He did not look to see her signing, merely snatched up his sword and ran, holding it under his armpit as he buttoned his breeches one-handed.
He skidded into the large room just as night fell. The torches had yet to be lit, so all he could see was a skirmish beside the sky-mirror, lit by its ethereal glow. Armed with sharp sticks, Raggat and two cousins were attacking men twice their size. Behind the men were two women, one prone, the other kneeling at her side, both with royal hair.
‘Hold!’ Mooraz shouted, running across the gritty tiles. ‘Hold Raggat, these are no foes of ours.’
The boy faltered and looked up at Mooraz. The two men lowered their swords instantly and turned towards him, yet Raggat’s youngest cousin lunged forward and pierced the nearest man’s side.
‘No!’ Mooraz shouted, running down the tiered stairs towards them but it was too late. Talis was falling to the ground and Kert’s flailing sword had nicked the boy’s arm.
Raggat raised his stick again but Mooraz slapped it away as he skidded to a halt between them. ‘Hold, I say,’ he shouted at Raggat, kicking him away with a foot. The boy tumbled into his companions and from the floor all three gazed at him resentfully, yet in apparent obedience of his command.
Mooraz turned back to find the Princess Khatrene at Talis’s side, her hand over his, covering the wound. Kert of Sh’hale was lifting the other royal woman from the floor.
This was the same Sh’hale who had struck off Mooraz’s arm and captured Lae, yet now in the company of Talis, whom Mooraz trusted implicitly. Would that stop him claiming vengeance for his injury?
Mooraz strode towards his foe. ‘You took my arm,’ he said, sword point raised to Sh’hale’s throat.
‘The Catalyst,’ Sh’hale replied, trying to hold forth his burden in illustration of his words, but clearly struggling. ‘She needs rest.’
Mooraz’s narrowed eyes travelled from Sh’hale to his burden. In sharp contrast to Sh’hale’s coal-black hair and dark eyes, the woman’s snow hair and royal-hued skin marked her as a descendant of the Ancients. Clearly royalty. But Khatrene’s daughter? ‘The Guardian Pagan told the Plainsmen she had died.’ He looked back up. ‘And you with her. For that I rejoiced.’
‘Exaggeration,’ Sh’hale said, glancing at Mooraz’s sword. ‘I am taking The Catalyst to my rooms. This is my castle.’
Mooraz did not like his commanding tone. ‘I am no longer a Be’uccdha Guard Captain,’ he said.
‘That may be. But I am still a Sh’hale lord,’ Kert replied.
Noola landed at the bottom of the stairs and Mooraz saw her glance quickly from her wounded kin to their visitors, a satisfied expression on her face, no doubt proud that yet again Plainsmen had bettered their attackers.
‘Noola!’ Khatrene called, but stayed with Talis while he healed his wound. ‘My daughter is ill. Can you help us?’
Noola’s expression softened. She glanced from Khatrene to The Catalyst. If your men do not attack us again, she signed.
Talis smiled. ‘We did a poor job the first time,’ he said and raised himself on one elbow. ‘Mooraz,’ he called. ‘Please put your vengeance aside. We have larger issues at hand.’
‘We’re all weak from helping Glimmer,’ Khatrene explained, supporting Talis as he struggled to his feet. ‘We need to rest before we journey to Be’uccdha.’
‘Be’uccdha?’ Mooraz’s sword wavered and Kert stepped away from it, unnoticed, for all Mooraz’s attention was on The Light. ‘Is there trouble there? The Serpent God … Is Lae safe?’
Khatrene’s expression softened. ‘I don’t know,’ she said gently, and the compassion in her tone told Mooraz as plainly as if she had spoken the words that he had just revealed his love of Lae for all those present to hear. ‘We won’t know until we get there,’ Khatrene added.
Mooraz thought to glance at Noola then and found her watching him, her eyes missing nothing.
We will talk later, she signed, then stepped forward to take the unconscious Catalyst out of Sh’hale’s trembling arms before he dropped her. Kert made no demur.
Mooraz gave his sword to Raggat and said, ‘Get food from the kitchens,’ before stepping to Talis’s side and helping Khatrene support him. Sh’hale could walk on his own.
‘The Plainsmen were too superstitious to sleep in the Elder Sh’hale’s chambers,’ Mooraz told Talis. ‘We will go there.’
‘Thank you,’ Khatrene said quickly, before Kert could reply. ‘We’re grateful for whatever help you can give us.’
Mooraz settled them into the luxurious chambers, Noola watching as Kert and Khatrene fussed over The Catalyst on a huge curtained bed. At the other end of the suite Mooraz laid a fire in the dusty hearth and took Talis to a plush armchair before it, seating himself nearby.
‘Why do you go to Be’uccdha?’ he asked Talis softly over the crackling of the fire. ‘Surely your duty to the King would see you return to the Volcastle.’
‘Mihale is dead,’ Talis replied, leaning back against the cushioned fabric. ‘The Volcastle destroyed.’
Mooraz blinked. ‘The serpent,’ he whispered. ‘We saw it fly east.’
Talis nodded, his eyes hooded with exhaustion and bathed red by the fire’s warm glow. ‘The son of Kraal is intent on challenging The Catalyst.’
Mooraz simply stared at his friend, wonder and horror both large in his mind.
‘The Book of the Four Worlds,’ Talis said, touching a palm to his forehead in reverence, ‘tells us the Ancients aligned each castle with a world.’
Mooraz nodded. Anyone who had listened to The Dark’s sermons as often as he had would know that.
‘The Catalyst used that alignment to anchor the worlds to their respective castles, to hold them from destruction for as long as she could.’
‘A sensible plan.’
‘It was,’ Talis said. ‘The anchors were designed to give way simultaneously, at which time The Catalyst would join the Four Worlds into one.’ He took a ragged breath. ‘But the serpent has intervened and now the Airworld of Atheyre is destroyed along with the Volcastle anchor.’ He gave Mooraz a moment to comprehend that.
‘The Airworld of Atheyre is no more?’
Talis nodded. ‘The Catalyst drew its elements into the core of our world and holds them there now with her power, but how long she can maintain the barrier, let alone more …’
‘The other anchors,’ Mooraz breathed.
‘The beast was seen flying towards the Verdan Hold, presumably to destroy it.’
‘Then the Waterworld of Magoria will be no more.’
Raggat arrived with a tray of food and Mooraz pushed himself past shock to pour wine for his friend. ‘Here, drink this,’ he told Talis.
The Guardian’s hand shook but he managed to drain the goblet. When he had given it back he said, ‘We must do all we can to aid The Catalyst.’
‘Of course,’ Mooraz said, unsure of what he could contribute. ‘Do you go to Be’uccdha for safety then?’ he asked, knowing The Dark’s was the earth castle aligned to Ennae. If the beast cared anything for its own safety, Be’uccdha would surely be the last anchor attacked. Realising that, Mooraz felt blessed relief to know Lae would be best protected where she was.
‘And to seek my cousin,’ Talis said. ‘We have need of his Guardian power.’
Noola appeared at Mooraz’s side then and she smiled at Talis. It is good to see you again. Guardian, she signe
d and held out her arm.
Talis clasped her wrist in greeting. ‘Happily met,’ he replied. ‘We feared we would have to fight Northmen here. Although,’ he glanced at Raggat who stood nearby with the tray, a miniature warrior watching them through his slanted eyes, ‘perhaps then we may have fared better. Your young lieutenant wields a dangerous stick.’
Noola glanced at Raggat who had begun to puff up his chest. Raggat is Breehan’s cousin, she signed, and has inherited his gift for talking. It took him many beatings to learn the rule of silence.
Mooraz watched Raggat’s lips twist against each other but the boy held his peace. Finally Noola nodded for him to leave. He dropped the tray onto a nearby table, turned with a flick of his Plainsman hair tail and stomped out, slamming the door behind him. Noola smiled. He has a storyteller’s depth of feeling.
‘I’m sorry about Breehan,’ Talis said softly. Noola turned back to him and her smile faded, the lines on her face harsh in the firelight. ‘His last thoughts were of you,’ Talis told her. ‘He was to have left the next day to return to you.’
Noola nodded stiffly and Mooraz had no idea what she was thinking. Or what she was feeling. He had been her bedmate for years but was no closer to understanding what drove her. The survival of her people, certainly, and her love for him. Yet she had also loved Breehan.
My grief for Breehan is ended, she signed, and flicked a glance at Mooraz. Yet I would hear how he died. The Guardian who returned his body lied to us. It was your king.
Though Talis was clearly exhausted, he patiently explained how Kraal had inhabited Mihale’s mind and used the Plainsman memory stone to return to Ennae in Mihale’s body. Breehan’s death had been but one evil among many, and listening to Talis’s recounting reminded Mooraz of his own service to Lae’s father.
Where is my leader’s talisman now? Noola signed when the tale was told.
‘The serpent Teleqkraal, son of the Fire God, has it,’ Talis said. ‘We must take it from him if the Four Worlds are to be made one.’
Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 Page 35
