Mistress of Winter

by Giles Carwyn

  “Enough!” she shouted to the sunrise. Some of the goats started, trotting a few steps away before turning back to the grass.

  Shara brought her hands up across her belly, across her breasts. A lover had not touched her for almost two decades. She pushed her hands down into her pubic hair, stiff with salt water. A gray strand glistened there, catching the morning light. With a frown, she pinched it between her fingers and yanked it out.

  “That is the first thing I’ll have to change,” she said, turning and leaving the goats to watch the sunrise without her.

  She started boldly up the hill to the place she had avoided since she swam ashore. The cottage was nestled in a grove of cypress atop a small rise. The steps that Shara had carved into the hill were still there, topped with flagstones and elegantly curving up to the porch.

  She used to sail here in the leaky old waterbug that Lawdon had left behind. As she stepped up the hill, she thought of those first trips, walking the shore alone, looking for stones to add to the foundation. She’d mixed the sand, clay, and dried grass she used to build the walls with her bare feet. This was where she first practiced the Floani form, running up and down the hills, carrying the heavy stones on her shoulder, never growing tired, never doubting for a moment that she and Brophy would make a life here, start their family here.

  Twenty-seven steps took her to the porch, and she paused there, looking into the little cottage that had no door. She could see the meticulously crafted fireplace against the far wall. The sunrise cast a slanted rectangle of light across the mortared stone, and the rest lay in shadow. But she could see it all in her imagination. She had built it. The wide hearth of blue marble from the Ohndarien quarries. The granite chimney, six feet across and tapering to a sturdy flue. She had placed every stone while envisioning Brophy and her making love by that fireplace.

  Realizing she was hesitating at the doorway, she strode into the cabin, plunging into cool darkness. Her eyes adjusted slowly, and she looked around. A bed frame without a mattress filled the southwestern corner, and a small breakfast table with two chairs sat on the opposite side. A wooden box full of stone-working tools sat by the door, next to a pickaxe, a hoe, a sledgehammer, and a dirt rake.

  She snorted. She could have finished the cabin five years ago, but the neatly stacked tools remained at-the-ready, gathering cobwebs. There was no door because she kept coming up with an excuse not to make one. If the tools remained, if there wasn’t a door, then the job wasn’t done. The house couldn’t feel empty if the work wasn’t finished.

  It was a pretty little cottage, built like the walls of Ohndarien. A hurricane couldn’t knock it down.

  Shara had never taken another lover, not even to fuel her magic, but she’d made love to Brophy countless times in his dream. She’d taken the energy they created there and brought it back to her studies, back to this island. Hours of keeping vigil over him created this place. Hours of sharing his dream, loving him again and again.

  But that dream had been a lie, her magic birthed from a lie.

  What did that make this house?

  “Was I wrong?” she murmured.

  She reached back across time, summoning a sweet moment outside the Hall of Windows during their innocence. She remembered telling him that she would take her final step and pass the Fifth Gate with Victeris. Brophy had blushed.

  Shara let out a laugh, ended in a sob. He had blushed. She remembered thinking how immature that was, but he’d loved her even then. And then he brought her out of darkness in the Wet Cells, when he was beaten, broken, exhausted. He had summoned the last of his strength to save her soul, taken her hand and pulled her back into the light.

  And that last moment atop the Hall of Windows, when the howls of demons swirled around them and storm clouds bunched overhead like black, muscled beasts, his last glance had been for her. “Stay close. I need you close,” he had said. Three times he’d said it as they rushed headlong toward their destiny. And then he looked into her eyes before he passed into the dream.

  No one could deny that he had loved her in that moment, loved her more than any woman could hope for.

  Yet now he sailed west with Arefaine Morgeon, the little girl he had snatched from an eternal doom, the child who had accomplished in a few days what Shara couldn’t manage in eighteen years.

  Shara could see them on the prow of the Emperor’s ship, looking toward the dark horizon as the sun rose behind them over the city he had forsaken. Arefaine stood at his side, perhaps even putting her pale hand over his.

  They’ll be lovers before they make landfall, Shara thought. Arefaine will catch him during a vulnerable moment, perhaps in his quarters, sitting on his bunk. She will sit next to him, and he will finally cry, finally release all of the pain inside him, and she will kiss away his tears. He will resist at first, but she will kiss him again, and he will slowly kiss her back. His hands will slide inside the folds of her robe, pushing it open. Her hands will slip into the front of his breeches, and his back will arch. Soon her naked thighs will be sliding across his body, lowering herself down onto him…

  Shara screamed. She turned and snatched up the pickaxe. The rake clattered to the ground as she spun and smashed the axe on the mantel of the fireplace. The metal bounced off with a sharp pang, and a lone chip of stone ricocheted off the ceiling.

  Letting out a long breath that became a wail, Shara channeled her rage, calling upon strength that no ordinary person could possess. She swung the pickaxe down on the mantel with a thundering blow.

  Metal clanged against stone, and the handle splintered. The axe rebounded, spun past her ear, and clattered across the floor. She hissed, falling to her knees. Blood seeped down her fingers from a deep gash on her palm.

  One drop. Two. Three, four. Blood dotted the stone, and she thought of the slaughtered goats, bleeding their lives onto the grass that had nurtured them.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Is that my fate? No matter what I do, am I marching toward my own sacrifice?

  What could she do? Rush after him? Stop Arefaine, kill her if need be, make Brophy…

  Make him what? Make him look at her that way again? You can’t help me! he’d said. Eighteen years I waited for you to come save me, and you never did. You left me in there! And she’s the one who saved me! She’s the only one who can help me now!

  A footstep scuffed the landing outside. Shara leapt to her feet, throwing a glamour over herself, covering her nakedness, covering the blood.

  “Hello?” a man said, squinting against the darkness as he filled the doorway. Blinking, he spotted her, caught his breath.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. His voice was young and rich, full of false confidence. “I heard a scream.”

  Shara watched him for a long moment, his cocksure grin, his broad shoulders, tanned skin, sun-kissed black hair, sea-blue eyes. He moved like a fighter, stood like royalty.

  He was Waveborn, perhaps a prince’s son. He wore a thin sword at his hip. A duelist.

  She touched the man with her magic. He had come here looking for her. And, already, he lusted for her.

  The silence stretched, and Shara felt as if she stood upon a pinnacle. Fall one way, and she stayed on this island forever, waiting for the knife. Fall the other, and…What?

  The man smiled, and Shara drank it like a cup of cold water.

  “Are you Shara-lani?”

  Slowly, she smiled, suddenly knowing which way she would fall.

  “I was,” she murmured in a throaty voice. She didn’t consciously command it, but she felt the magic at work around her, enhancing her glamour. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her body. He cleared his throat.

  Shara blinked lazily, and time slowed for her. This time she did not teeter with indecision. She owned this moment. She knew exactly what was going to happen now. And tomorrow. And the day after that, and the month and the year. Kings and exotic dishes. Dazzling gowns and conversations with the most brilliant minds of the age.

 
She let her magic surround them both. With every breath, she breathed him closer. With every heartbeat, she bound him to her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Looking for an answer. And I just found it.” She smiled wide, touched him on the shoulder. He twitched.

  “Do you want me?” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth, half-drunk on her magic, and managed to nod.

  “Come closer.”

  He stepped into the room, cleared his throat again. She caressed his muscled arm, bringing him close.

  “I don’t understand,” he whispered, barely able to make a sound.

  “Kiss me,” she said, touching her lips to the tip of his chin. “Kiss me, and you will.”

  He crushed her to him, finding her mouth with his, her tongue with his. Shara ripped open the back of his shirt, smearing his skin with her blood.

  With a grunt, the stranger lifted her in his arms. He strode into the cabin and laid her on the wooden table. She gasped, turned her face to the dark ceiling as his hands grabbed at clothes that weren’t there. She dissolved the glamour, let him see all of her.

  With a guttural grunt, he ripped at the front of his pants, tearing the laces away. A roaring filled her ears, a wave of power curled over her, vast as the Great Ocean. She closed her eyes and leapt into it, just like Rellana said.

  She guided him to her, guided him inside her, and they both gasped at the union. His body crashed down on top of her, crushing her against the table, and she wrapped her legs around him, held him to her.

  He shuddered inside her, lost in climax almost immediately. She let out a deep-throated laugh and held on to him, didn’t let him spill over the edge. She grabbed his orgasm, wrested it from his control, and stretched the moment into a never-ending scream.

  She refused to let him go, and the stranger rode her, a beast in thrall to her will. Shara came with him suddenly, powerfully. Her laugh turned to a moan and joined his animal keening. She cycled her breath through all of the gates. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The energy burst through her, filling every extremity. She turned it to work, bid it fulfill her vision.

  Shara glanced over the stranger’s shoulder at her bloody hands, shivering as the magic flooded her. Her thin fingers grew thicker, smoother. Wrinkles disappeared before her eyes. The skin grew tight and plump and glowed with energy.

  Her laughter echoed in the small cabin.

  “Shall I make you a god?” she asked him.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” he cried, throwing himself into her over and over again, faster and faster, as if it would never end.

  CHAPTER 4

  Brophy faced east watching, waited for night to fall. The blue-white walls atop Ohndarien’s ridge were almost lost in the distance. He gripped the stern rail with iron fingers, feeling as if his heart was slowly being pulled from his body. His arms vibrated with strength. He wanted to rip the ship apart, wanted to tear his own hair out in bloody clumps.

  The little red light circled his head and landed on his shoulder. Brophy felt the subtle presence of his father’s soul, like a cool cloth on a fevered brow. He sighed and relaxed his grip on the rail.

  Brophy hadn’t meant to say those things to Shara. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, that the mere thought of her saved him over and over again during his nightmare, that he was doing this for them, but someone else’s words had spilled from his mouth. Someone else’s hand had knocked her to the ground.

  Leaving is the only gift I can give her, he thought. My only gift.

  The four Ohohhim ships rode a strong tailwind away from Ohndarien, the Emperor’s flagship in the lead. The ocean stretched out on all sides, a blank parchment ready to hold new writing, but all he could think about was Shara and the thin hope that he would someday return to her.

  He did not want to make this trip to Ohohhom with Arefaine, but he had to learn how she survived the corrupted sleep. He had to escape the voices in his head, the malice in his heart. Only then would he allow himself to return to where he belonged.

  He hated being trapped on the tiny ship with so many people. He wanted to flee into the wilderness, run from any human contact. His body longed for action, release. He’d been running through his nightmares for years. Standing still was unbearable.

  Craning his neck, he glanced up at the crow’s nest. But no, he couldn’t go up there. The memory of Shara and him standing together in the crow’s nest of the Kherish trader stood out sharply in his mind. That was their place. He would not go there. Not alone.

  The sails billowed full, and the ships charged over the waves. He turned his gaze back to the churning wake behind them.

  Wind whipped through Brophy’s blond curls. Swallowing, he reached inside his tunic, touched the leather thong that held the straight black feather Shara had given him on that Kherish ship so long ago. He’d worn it since their trip back from the Cinder. His hand tightened on it. What would have happened if his life had taken a different turn from that point? Who could he have become if they’d never gone to the Cinder and found the sleeping baby? Brophy shut his eyes to the past. There was no point. That boy, that life, was long gone. He could never feel that way again.

  Brophy’s thoughts were interrupted as someone crept up behind him. Quiet as the night, Arefaine joined him at the rail.

  “You’re missing a beautiful sunset,” she said, facing into the wind with him. Her long brown hair streamed behind her like a feathered cape. The orange glow of the sunset behind her brushed the swirling tresses with gold highlights.

  He wanted to grab the dark strands, yank her over the rail, and throw her in the sea. He gripped the rail tighter. He didn’t trust his hands.

  “I’m watching Ohndarien fade,” he finally said.

  “Does it make you sad?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he growled. One twist of the body, and he could crush her windpipe with his elbow. She’d never have time to stop it.

  “You need to rest, Brophy.”

  “I’ve been sleeping for eighteen years.”

  “That was not sleep.”

  “I lost an entire lifetime there,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to lose any more.”

  She smiled. “Imagine how I felt when I woke up.”

  He said nothing.

  “I could teach you the secrets of Nilani meditation.”

  He continued staring at the churning surf of their wake.

  “My teacher, Father Dewland, is the true master of the form, but he taught me how to lead someone into the trance. Once you’ve made the connection, you can always find your way back. It’s like losing your virginity.” She cleared her throat. “Or so I’ve been told.”

  Her pale hand closed over his, warm in the cold wind. “Shall we try it together?”

  He pulled his hand out from underneath hers and gripped the rail an inch away. He wanted to smash her face into the railing until the wood shattered, and she fell overboard. “Please go away. I’d really just like to be alone right now.”

  Arefaine’s chin rose slightly, and she swallowed. She withdrew her hand, and it hovered uncertainly before falling to her side.

  “Of course,” she murmured, nodding as she took one step backward. “I know you are in pain,” she said softly. “I only want to help you.”

  He nodded once.

  “There is food in the galley, if you are hungry,” she said, then left.

  Brophy stared at the swirling water until she had gone back belowdecks. He knew he should be kinder to her, but how could he? Everything was wrong. He had to put it right. He had to find the key.

  A window opened in the back of the ship underneath him. Narrowing his eyes, Brophy peered over the railing and saw a pair of pale, robed arms resting on the windowsill of the stateroom below. Brophy leaned farther over the rail and watched as the powdered face of the Emperor emerged, craning his neck around to look up at Brophy.

  Brophy’s brow wrinkled. The rest of the Ohohhim prostrate
d themselves before this man if he so much as looked their way. But the man was no god. Why should Brophy kneel to some pasty-faced weakling? He could rip the man in half with a single wrench of his hands.

  Brophy’s father circled around his head, and the howling voices faded into the background. With an effort of will, Brophy nodded graciously to the Ohohhim ruler.

  The Emperor smiled up at him with reserved warmth. Brophy could not read the man’s expression, but there was no pity in those black eyes. And no fear, either.

  “I’ve heard that a man who stands at the back of a ship doesn’t want to reach his destination,” the Emperor said.

  “Then why are you looking out the stern?” Brophy replied.

  The Ohohhim’s smile became more genuine. For a moment, he looked like a normal man with a powdered face. “Because my shipwright, in his infinite wisdom, built my stateroom at the widest part of the ship.”

  Brophy nodded. He felt that he should smile. Before all of this, he probably would have.

  “I will leave you to your thoughts,” the Emperor said. “I remember what it is like to wander in the darkness, casting about for the sleeve of Oh to lead me into the light.”

  Memories from Brophy’s previous life flickered in his mind. The Emperor had once been corrupted, a feral beast hanging from chains in the bowels of this very ship. Was this the same man? He must have been saved somehow by what Brophy had done in the Nightmare Battle. He thought of that night in the catacombs beneath the Hall of Windows when he nearly succumbed to the corruption. The voice of the Heartstone had called out to him then, had brought him safely into her presence. But there was no voice now. He had not heard her in all those years of nightmare and she was silent now, lost in her own sea of corruption.

  “I’ve never followed a sleeve before,” Brophy said. “But I’ve followed a voice. A beautiful voice.”

  The Emperor nodded. “And now you’ve found another lovely voice to lead you out of the darkness.”

  Brophy narrowed his eyes, catching the odd tone.