Duality

by Renee Wildes

  “That leaves fire,” Loren said.

  “It does.” Pari’s face was impassive. “The Goddess shalt provide that person at the opportune time.”

  Two women approached. “Happy birthday, Pari,” the younger said.

  “I thank thee, Gwendolyn,” Pari replied. “Loren hast returned with one who couldst use our aid.”

  Gwendolyn nodded to Dara. “Greetings, youngling. I understand thou hast a demon running amok in thy lands. I am certain we can put it back from whence it came.” She turned to Loren. “I heard thou wert made Lady’s champion. Thou shalt play a key role in this, as well.”

  The older woman studied Dara. “Winds of change. Child of earth and fire indeed. Long hast it been since thy kind walked these lands, lady.”

  Dara frowned, puzzled. “Lady…Anika?”

  The woman smiled, patted her arm and cackled a bit. “Thou must think me a bit barmy, eh? Well, wait and see. Count me and mine in as well.”

  Lorelei beamed. “I knew I couldst count on thee both. Now if I couldst but find the right person from my calling…”

  Anika snorted. “Luck with that. Might show, might not.”

  “They must,” Dara burst out. “I can’t go on like this.”

  “Rest easy, youngling.” Gwendolyn frowned at Anika. “There is formidable aid coming from Lorelei’s calling. It shalt just take time to arrive.”

  “Dinner is served,” a male voice called out.

  “They shalt not begin without me, so we had best go sit,” Pari said. It took quite a while to make their way to the head table; everyone wanted a quick word with the former high king. But they eventually found their seats.

  “Everyone’s staring,” Dara whispered to Loren.

  “Relax. Ignore them. I always do.”

  “Easy for you.”

  Pari leaned forward to catch her eye. “A few still remember thy Granna Lena’s visit.”

  Hope flared, a shock that skittered down her spine. Finally, an answer to all the questions. “You knew my grandmother? What was she like?”

  “She hath red hair and gold eyes like thee. She wast beautiful, fiery, opinionated and brave.”

  “Why was she here?” Why had she left her home, her family?

  “Who knew why Lena Kahn Androcles did anything?” The former king shrugged. “She went where she pleased, did what she pleased and said what she pleased.”

  “I’ll wager that made her popular.” Since childhood, her own mouth had gotten her into trouble. To think it might have gotten her ancestor into trouble, as well.

  Pari laughed. “She wast a surprise. Thou comes from a proud and bold people. When all this is done and over with, thou hast much to learn of thee and thine.”

  “What did she do while she was here?”

  Cedric leaned forward to join in the conversation. “She threw the crown of Cymry down a well.”

  Dara choked. “Truth?”

  “I wast the one had to get it back.” Lorelei rolled her eyes. “My elementals thought it a fine jest at the time.”

  Dara took a sip of wine. “Elementals?”

  “Magical beings that assist mages in their learning and work,” Lorelei replied. “Each element hast an opposite—earth versus air, water versus fire.”

  “Water and fire would cancel each other out,” Dara observed.

  “Correct,” Lorelei agreed. “And earth being corporeal and air being ethereal, they do as well.”

  “Can’t someone be of more than one element?”

  “Aye, and nay,” Pari answered.

  “Healers call on all elements,” his wife elaborated. “They possess a balance that allows them to use all four to fix whatever is wrong. But that very balance prevents magic, because each element cancels the opposing one out.”

  “So magic’s an imbalance?”

  Pari grinned. “Some wouldst call mages imbalanced.”

  Lorelei glared at him, then continued. “A mage must have a predominant element.”

  “Why are metal mages so rare here?”

  “Other cultures consider metal the fifth element, and work on a pentacle principle rather than the compass,” Lorelei answered. “I know not why they be uncommon here.”

  “Who’s the metal mage you summoned?”

  “That element be very common in the dwarvish culture, but being called by an elf…well, our two lands do not see eye to eye on many things—”

  “We disagree on everything,” Pari interrupted.

  “I know not who is coming in answer,” Lorelei confessed. “A woman, adept-class, did respond, but she hast not maintained communication with me.”

  Dara finished her soup in silence. An unknown mage, called on behalf of a mortal, forced to work with not-quite-enemies? It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

  Loren raised her hand to his lips as the bowls were cleared away. “Worry not. Mages often work together for the greater good.”

  After countless courses, the tables were cleared. Pari rose. “I thank thee all for coming. The musicians art just tuning their instruments. I propose we adjourn to the other side.”

  Dara rose with the rest of the family, and they made their way off the dais, through the guests’ tables, toward the dance floor.

  Sirona and Falak found them. “I cannot wait for them to start,” Sirona said.

  Verdeen hurried over. “My lady Dara, your dance card is full.” The maid grinned when Loren frowned. “Worry not, Highness. Barring one arelle each for King Cedric, King Pari, and Sir Cianan, all the rest of the slow ones are yours.”

  Falak laughed at Loren’s expression. “Aye, you were that obvious, cousin.”

  The music started, and Dara was pleased she recognized the chain dance melody she’d practiced earlier. She and Loren took their places with the rest.

  Cedric found her just afore their arelle. “Greetings, daughter.” He bowed.

  She curtsied as they started the dance with Lorelei and Pari. After several moments, everyone else joined in. Loren stood on the sidelines with Cianan and a few other warrior-types. Dara wished she could join them; she would have been far more comfortable with them than dancing with the king.

  “I wish to thank thee again for saving my son’s life. I know of these Boars and the fires of the One Truth. The loss of one son was unimaginable. I am relieved it is not two.”

  “Markale. I’m sorry. War’s a terrible thing.”

  He inclined his head. “I am sorry for thy own loss. I promise thee, this talishrog’s days art numbered. Thy people shalt live free once again.” He hesitated as Deane and Paulette twirled by, then his attention returned to Dara. “I am sorry for thy imprisonment. Matre Lorelei sent what aid she couldst.”

  “The old mountain woman.”

  He nodded.

  “She called it dragon’s blood.” Dara laughed. “Whatever it was burned like a volcano going down, but it kept me warm. I’ll have to thank Lorelei.”

  “A unique potion. Its powers are long-term and far-reaching.”

  “I hope this coming metal mage can remove the iron poisoning. I feel so helpless without my powers. Even the tiniest healing spell is beyond my grasp. It’s like trying to fight one-handed while blindfolded.”

  “Thou must be patient.”

  “Your son will tell you that’s not my paragon virtue.”

  “Thou hast many fine qualities thou hast yet to discover.” The dance ended, and Cedric returned Dara to Loren’s side. “I thank thee for the honor thou hast bestowed an old man. Enjoy thy evening.” He took his leave.

  “That was interesting,” Dara told Loren. “At least I didn’t stomp on his foot.”

  “That is reassuring, vertenya, because I believe the next dance is mine.” Cianan spun her away.

  Dara laughed all the way through the caper. Cianan was fun and amusing, and not at all inappropriate, unlike Deane, who claimed her for the next stately dance. His hands lingered, and he kept trying to look down the front of her gown. Relieved when it ended, she plea
ded a cramp afore the next and begged Verdeen to fetch water, not wine. “I wish I could bathe in it.”

  Verdeen’s face glowed with sympathy. “He has that effect on everyone.”

  Dara danced with Brannan and Cianan. Pari claimed her afore Loren did. “How art thou holding up?”

  “Fine.” She flashed him a brittle smile as they finished the dance and he handed her over to his grandson and took his wife’s hand.

  “This is the last dance afore the fireworks show,” Pari assured Dara.

  The haunting tune brought a sting of tears as Loren spun her away from his grandparents. She looked up to see him staring at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I missed you.” Loren’s eyes blazed down at her. “Seeing you in the arms of other men, even those I know and trust, is not an experience I care to repeat. You are mine, Dara.”

  She bridled at his tone and stiffened even as she blinked rapidly. “I am my own, prince. You don’t own me.”

  He sighed. “I do not wish to fight. Can we not just dance?”

  “Fine.” She listened to the music. Sweet, haunting, resonant. It washed over her, a warmth that proved impossible to resist. Dara relaxed against Loren. Tears threatened again. “What’s this song?”

  ““Heart Eternal”. Granther wrote it for Granna. They play it every year.” He brushed an errant lock of hair from her cheek. “It is not meant to be a sad song.”

  “Not for some, mayhaps. But love leaves you vulnerable, weak.” She looked away, “It can be used against you.”

  He frowned. “Nay. True love makes us strong, gives us hope.”

  “When all you love are gone? What then?”

  “Then you find new love. We are not meant to be alone.” His gaze held hers, willing her to believe. In what, she didn’t know. “There are many kinds of love, and when one ends, another begins.”

  What did he imply? She searched his face for a clue to his thoughts. His words found a home deep within her, and the pain eased just a little. She bit her lip. “I’ve lost everyone so far. I don’t want to lose you too.” I don’t want to care about losing you too.

  For lose him she would, even if only to the passage of time and the reality of mortality.

  “Loss is the price of love. Fleeting time makes it sweeter. I would not forsake true happiness because I feared how long it would last, but rejoice in having found it.”

  What was he saying? Surely what they had—this slippery quicksand of mutual attraction—wasn’t anything as awe-inspiring as true love? She’d seen it, rare and priceless, with Fanny and Rufus, with Pari and Lorelei. She took a deep, shaky breath. As Loren pulled her closer, one hand clasping hers, the other resting on her hip, she thought about what he’d just said. She rested her free hand on his shoulder as he turned into the dance. It’s already too late. I already care too much about him.

  Dara assumed they would join the rest of the family, but Loren surprised her by leading her over to a quilt on the ground. “I thought some peace and quiet might be appreciated.” He smiled.

  “You were right.” She lowered herself to sit in the center of the quilt, tucking her legs beneath her.

  Loren joined her. “Still angry I brought you here?”

  “I was furious,” she admitted. “You with your lies and your bossy ways, just deciding what was best for me without so much as a by-your-leave.” She trembled. “I thought I was dead. I never thought you’d come back for me.”

  He stiffened. “I told you I would. I do not make promises I do not keep.”

  “I know that. But things happened so fast, I thought you’d return to avenge me, not rescue me.” She stared at him, hard. “I’ve seen death by fire. Not a nice way to go.”

  Loren gave her an inscrutable look she couldn’t even begin to decipher.

  “But now I’m relieved.” Her abrupt change back to the original subject made him blink. She floundered to explain. “Somehow it doesn’t seem so overwhelming here. With other hands and minds on the problem, it’s not such a personal responsibility. I trust your family to do what’s right for everyone.”

  “They shall. They see how all things must work together better than most.” Loren stared up at the sky. “The fireworks begin in a few minutes. Relax.”

  Trumpets heralded the beginning of the lightshow. She jumped at the first explosion, and Loren sat up to settle her betwixt his legs. She leaned back against his chest, relaxing in the security of his arms. The noise was tremendous, the smell of sulfur and smoke vaguely disturbing. Beautiful pinwheels and waterfalls of light, born in such violence, troubled her if she thought too hard about it. So she simply closed her mind. When it was over, she turned to see Loren staring at her with that disturbingly sober expression. “What?”

  “You were enjoying yourself. I did not wish to interrupt.” Loren was quiet for a moment. “Dara, we need to talk. Would you join me in the moonlit gardens? Please, it is important.”

  Her skin crawled with foreboding. A sudden impulse made her want to silence him, certain she did not want to hear whatever it was he wished to say. Nay, it wasn’t something he wanted to say. It was something he did not want to say, but something he was certain had to be said all the same. “How mysterious! Every time someone says ‘we need to talk’ it’s never good news.” She searched his face for a clue.

  His face gave naught away. He was probably a ruthless howgarth player. “Let Verdeen make your apologies.” He waved the maid over.

  “All right.” Dara handed her dance card to the maid. “We’re taking a walk.”

  “We shall be in the moonlit gardens,” Loren told Verdeen. “We are to be interrupted only in the event of an emergency.”

  “Aye, Highness.”

  They had to have a serious conversation here in the garden, after last night? She quivered, recalling the kiss that had all but melted her bones. She was half-afraid he’d choose the same bench—she’d never be able to concentrate. But he took her to the other side of the garden, to a marble bench bathed in a golden light that somehow managed to convey warmth and reassurance.

  “Here, sit with me.” Loren pulled Dara down aside him.

  Dara perched on the edge. “What’s wrong?”

  Loren’s face was serious and uncertain in the dappled moonlight. “I know your mother died when you were very young. Did Fanny or Rufus tell you anything about your family history? Your mother and grandmother’s heritage?”

  Dara frowned, thinking hard. “Not really, nay. Just that they were great healers, like me.”

  “Did you never wonder at your differences from other people? Your sense-casting, your magical healing abilities that come from within, your sensitivity to iron?”

  She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. “Sometimes. ’Tis hard to be different from everyone else, especially when they’re so intolerant. To have to do everything connected with power or the Lady in secret…” Her voice trailed off, then she took a deep breath. “Hengist can’t protect us forever.”

  Loren nodded. “The One Truth. The fires. Dara, did you not notice the fire did not harm you?”

  “You rescued me afore it could.” He had come back for her, risked life and limb to do so. He and Hani`ena might have been killed—and it would have been all her fault.

  “Nay, Dara.” The intensity of his stare made the breath catch in her throat. “The ropes burned through. Hani`ena’s mane and tail singed. My hands and face blistered; I healed them in the thicket the following night. You were untouched.”

  She reached out to caress his healed cheek. ’Twas like he’d never been harmed. “What are you saying?”

  “Iron can harm you. Fire cannot.”

  Fear built up. This was a new kind of dread. She didn’t want him to say any more. Dara tried to swallow it down. He was trying to tell her something she needed to hear. “What are you saying?”

  “Remember how the clan shamans treated you?”

  She frowned, trying to remember specifics beyond the healing. “Like an honored
guest?”

  “Very honored. Like a guardian. Remember their words about your people coming from those very mountains, about how long it had been since your kind was there, about your affinity with the other guardian spirits?”

  Nay. Blood roared in her ears. “Guardians aren’t human.”

  Loren shook his head, placed his hands on her shoulders. “Nay, Dara. They are not.”

  “But I am. Look at me.” She held up her hands. “Five fingers, two arms, skin. I walk. I talk. Do I look like a wolf or a bear? I am not a guardian.”

  “I am looking.” Loren’s hands tightened. “You’re beautiful, compassionate and brave. You care about others—you put their welfare above your own, even face death to protect another. Like a guardian. Your father was human, Dara. Your mother, and all afore her, were draconian queens. Shapeshifters. You are half human—and half dragon.”

  Breathe. She panted until she was dizzy, tried to slow the pulse hammering through her body until she wanted to jump out of her skin to escape it. “Dragon,” she repeated like a simpleton. Nay. “You’re mad. I can’t shapeshift.”

  “Nay, you are but half dragon. Your human blood prevents full shapeshifting. But on the battlefield when you hit the Boars with the power shockwave?”

  Oh, Lord and Lady. He would bring up that mistake. “I lost control.” Such a slip could have gotten them both killed.

  “You shimmered when you did it. I guess your human half prevented the transformation your dragon half attempted.”

  She shuddered. Naynaynay. Lady, make him stop. I don’t want to hear anymore. “I’m not human.”

  He brushed the very human red hair from her face. Dragons didn’t have hair. They had scales, wings, teeth and flames. She had none of those. He was wrong. Wrongwrongwrong. This was all a bad dream.

  “Nay, Dara. You are not,” he stated gently. “But neither am I. Does that make me less of a person?”

  Time to wake up… “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Aye, it is.” He pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her.

  She clung to him, grateful for his support. He rubbed comforting circles on her back with his hands. The hands of a warrior. Strong, with sword calluses. Capable. Warm. So warm…