A murmur like the buzzing of flies drifted around the crowed anteroom. No one spoke directly to him. That, at least, had not changed. Men glanced toward him, then looked away. Ladies pointed their fans, then slammed them shut. They knew why they had been called here, and they were not happy. He hadn't expected them to be. Not that they would protest. Not publicly. The nobility wouldn't say anything. Nothing at all. They would just look right through him as if he didn't exist, just as they always had.
Seanen wondered, not for the first time, whether anything he had done or could ever do would change a thing. He hadn't cared, not before. Not when he'd been alone. He hadn't ever wanted to fit in with these people. Now he resented their bigotry, if not for himself, then for Yarwyn. She deserved so much more than he would ever be able to give her.
A hush fell over the room as Lady Lochinvar strode in, still tall and proud and straight despite her years. The magic still glittered strongly around her, giving her an aura, as if she stood basked in a pale light. Her small party of personal aides trailed after her, Tranorva in their lead, looking austere as ever.
Seanen marveled to think that he'd once found her fascinating. His eyes swept past her now, searching, seeking, coming to rest at last on the smallest member of the great Lady's party, the Ranger dressed in fine soft leather and polished Elvin mail of a deep emerald green. The ancient bow settled comfortably on her shoulder, its finish polished now to a bright silver gleam, its stones glowing softly, giving it a radiant blue light that mingled with the sheen of her mail to make her look as foreign and exotic as she was.
Yarwyn surveyed the crowded room, her eyes carefully avoiding his, her hands resting easily at her sides. She looked aloof, detached, almost uninterested, her expression a carefully maintained mask that he knew shielded the most passionate of hearts. He half expected her to use her magic to blend into the room, shifting slowly out of sight until she could make her escape.
Would she escape to him, to find her way back into his arms, or was she looking for an escape from him, regretting now the things she had allowed herself to say in moments of danger and passion?
If she left, deserted him now, he would have lost everything. The goals of a lifetime–revenge, retribution, vindication of his family name–these things meant nothing without his woman in his arms and by his side. He felt once again as that young boy had, standing before the woman who would decide his fate.
"Friends and fellow countrymen, it is my privilege to bring ye here this evening to share news of great import with ye. All of ye know of the heroic deeds accomplished in the recent war. Our armies have destroyed the power of the Orc nation, reducing their numbers to scattered tribes and populations surviving in the far reaches of the extreme north. Our peoples can once again travel freely across the tundra. The head of the Orc King stands guard on their pass, a warning to their kind for the future."
A cheer ran through the crowd, bubbling over as if the victory had been their own, and not bought with the lives of the paid mercenaries who had taken the place of their sons and their daughters. Seanen fought the anger that welled up inside him, washing it down with the taste of blood. He had spilled enough of it for all of them. One noble house, at least, had been well represented.
When the noise settled back to a comfortable level, Lady Lochinvar spoke again, her voice commanding silence from the room. "Our armies did not do their work alone. Our Northlanders fought side by side with the Humans, who brought great credit to their race. And while we attacked from the front, another battle took place within the castle."
There was no cheer this time, only a hush that settled over the crowd as they waited expectantly for Lady Lochinvar to continue. She had the gift of a storyteller, Seanen thought as the sound of her voice pulled her audience within the cold stone walls of the Orc King's castle.
"We were aware, when we chose to face the Orc King, that our losses would be high. We were aware that we could not face the Orc armies more than once with the resources and manpower we have available. Toward this end, and at great personal risk, two brave agents undertook to infiltrate the Orc King's castle, setting in motion the seed of our victory. It is my privilege to ask those two people to stand before us tonight, that we might show them our appreciation for a job well done. From the Elvin land of Talismar, I give ye Ambassador Yarwyn, of the Talismar Rangers."
Lord Mâkakao himself escorted Yarwyn to Lady Lochinvar's side. A warm round of applause greeted Yarwyn as she came to stand at the Lady's right hand.
When the clamor had settled to an acceptable quiet, she spoke again. "When I asked Talismar for their assistance, they sent me the best that they had. Less than a fortnight gone, I stood before ye here in this room, and I gave that Ranger choice of all that we had to offer. She asked for but one man. To tell the truth of the matter, I could not have chosen a man better suited to the job. In the years ye have stood by my side, Seanen, thy name has come to be synonymous with loyalty and honor."
Her eyes scanned the crowd, daring anyone to register a challenge. Seanen half expected the Lord of some minor house to remind them all that honor was stripped from a man whose house had fallen into disgrace, but the room held silent.
Lady Lochinvar continued, as if her pause had only been for emphasis. "Once again, ye have offered thy life in my service. I have contemplated a suitable reward for thy valor. When the answer came to me, I realized it was long overdue. It gives me great pleasure to announce the cancellation of all debts against thy house and the restoration of thy rightful title. Lords and Ladies, I present Lord Seanen, House of Lindall."
The room exploded with noise. It was not a cheer, precisely, but more a roar of disbelief. Seanen felt as much as heard the sound, his pulse beating heavily in his temples as he swayed a bit unsteadily on his feet.
This was not what he had expected. An ambassadorship, perhaps even an appointment with military rank, anything that would give him a credible title within the hierarchy of her household, but not this. Such a thing had never been done before. Not in his lifetime. Perhaps not ever.
Lady Lochinvar was speaking again, her voice quieting the crowd. "Know ye all that there is basis for this honor beyond the sacrifice and loyalty Seanen himself has shown our peoples. In the treasury of the Orc King all that was thought lost has been recovered. A great dishonor was done House Lindall these many decades past, and my actions here today cannot hope to right those wrongs. I cannot give thee back the family ye have lost, Seanen, nor thy years of servitude in my household. I can offer little to make amends. House Lindall and all its lands and holdings are hereby returned to thee. A portion of the Orc King's treasury equal to the debt ye have paid shall be restored to thy accounts. In addition, an equal portion shall be settled upon ye as reward for thy part in this mission."
Seanen knew he should speak, should acknowledge the Lady's great generosity, but he could not find his voice. Words could not have made it past the great knot in his throat had he known what to say. He stood mute as a fool, unmoving, as the great Lady dismounted the dais to come to him, her hands extending to take his own frozen ones in her firm, warm grasp.
"Ye have been like a son to me, Seanen. As a boy I remember ye stood by thy account of thy grandfather's honor, refusing to bend even when the other boys used ye poorly for thy defiance. Many in thy place might have become bitter and wasted their lives. I am proud of the man ye have become. I am honored to name ye a member of my household. It is with great personal regret that I dismiss ye from my service to return ye to thine own."
Tears welled up in Seanen's eyes, obscuring his vision and threatening to overflow. He swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice. The words would not come. Instead he sank to one knee, his head bowed, his hands still clasped in the Lady's own. "I owe you my life, M'Lady, and all that I am," he managed. "My loyalty and my fealty will always be yours."
* * * * *
Yarwyn moved back in the crowd, losing herself in anonymity as the Lords and Ladies surrounded Seanen, offe
ring congratulations and asking already for variances and easements, anxious to cement their place against what had once been a powerful house, and would, from the feel of things, be so once again.
The ladies who had once eyed him with admiration only for his body eyed him now with deference, measuring him for a place at their tables, eager to introduce their daughters to him. The Lords sought to restore age old alliances, eying the boundaries of his holdings with the greed of their kind. All was as it had always been, except now Seanen was also a part of it.
A Lord in his own right. A man of great wealth, and power he would soon learn to wield as he had his battleaxe.
A Lord of a great house would no longer consort with tavern wenches and ladies of the night. A Lord would need a mistress to tend his keep, a woman to bear his children and tend to their education. A Lord would have eyes for a Lady. Perhaps Tranorva herself would look to him now, to form an alliance between their two houses.
The crowd moved and surged like an ocean, pulling them farther and farther apart. It took no magic for her to slip from the room. There was magic enough in the new found nobility. These were not her people. She would never be one of them. It had been a mistake to allow herself to dream. Love was not meant for one of her kind. Tears stung her eyes as she pulled the door shut behind her.
* * * * *
She knocked back a draft of ale in the hopes that it would dull the pain. It didn't. The tavern's patrons eyed the stranger drinking alone at the bar suspiciously. The thin cloak did little to disguise the arsenal of small arms and the great bow slung over her back, and all appeared to be there for purposes other than ornament. They gave her a wide berth, her presence lending a somber quiet to the evening.
She wouldn't have welcomed their company anyway. There had been a time when a handsome man might have offered her a pint and stirred her interest, but she wasn't interested. Not tonight.
She should find a man. Any man would do. There were several here who might be persuaded, with a minimum of effort and a slight invitation. Unfortunately there was only one man who would ever own her heart, and he would soon forget her, moving on, as she'd always known he would. She wouldn't hold one man while she pretended to make love to another. She had her standards. They weren't very altruistic, but they were standards.
Yarwyn shoved the ale back across the bar half finished. The man she wanted was a Lord now. It was time to move on. Time to return to the life she'd been comfortable in before this assignment. She could learn to be comfortable there again. She was a Ranger, after all. She always had a plan.
Yarwyn sucked in her breath as two huge hands slid down the length of her arms. She'd have killed any other man for such audacity. Instead she forgot to breathe as the hands moved down, finally sliding around her waist.
"Yarwyn, I must speak to you."
As she turned in his arms to face him, all she could think of was that he'd come looking for her. No matter how gently he let her down, she had this. At least he'd come to her to say goodbye. She would not cry.
He moved against her, gathering her into his arms to kiss the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Forgive me, my love."
She swallowed her pride and her heart. "There is nothing to forgive."
"I know this is not what you wanted. I promised you desert and beaches and warmth, not the frozen tundras of Lindall. I can still give you that. Lindall has survived without me for many decades. Surely it cannot demand all of me now. We can work this out. The desert in the winter, the tundra in the summer. Spring and summer in Talismar if you wish. I've never been there. I hear it is very beautiful."
Perhaps it was the waves of emotions rolling off of him–fear and concern and something she'd come to recognize as love. Perhaps it was the ale. Yarwyn slipped off the stool and into his arms, tears streaming down her face. "I love you," was all that she could manage.
She felt his heart slam against his ribs as his arms convulsed around her. "I was afraid I'd lost you. I knew the crowd would scare you away, but I couldn't escape them, and when I did I couldn't find you."
"You found me now."
"Don't ever leave me again."
"Seanen, think what you're saying. You're a Lord of a great house. You need a Lady to stand beside you. You need–"
"I need you. Nothing else matters. If this frightens you, I will give it all away and renounce the title. What use is a grand bed in a great house without the woman I love to lie next to me at night? The houses, the lands–they mean nothing without you. You hold my heart. Wherever you are is my home."
Yarwyn closed her eyes as she sank against him, allowing him to scoop her up into his arms. "The desert in the winter, and the tundra in the summer. I could get used to that."
"And Talismar."
She smiled. "Talismar is beautiful in the spring."
"I've always wanted to see it. I hear the Elves walk in the trees."
"There are paths and bridges. I will show you."
"Yarwyn."
She loved the sound of her name on his tongue, the faint trace of his accent giving it an exotic twist. "Seanen," she whispered, watching his eyes grow as black as the night.
"I want you as I have no other woman. You are all there will ever be for me."
"And you for me."
They made it as far as the orchard in the gardens behind Lord Mâkakao's great house. The grass was still young and fresh with the smell of spring, and the flowers crushed beneath them to give off a fragrance unrivaled by the riches of scented oils. As he sank into her, hard and hot and burning with need, Yarwyn opened herself to him, body and soul, knowing that they fit together as perfectly as the flowers and the bees that came to drink their nectar.
Her body rose up to meet him, slick and wet with desire, aching to be filled as he ached to fill her. She could feel the love and the lust combine within him, building toward the point of no return. Her body responded in kind, meeting him thrust for thrust. She demanded even as she gave, pulling him into her depths, crying out his name as she tightened around him, shaking with need as he brought her to climax over and over again, then shattering as he spilled his seed into her with a hot, fiery gush that left him spent and gasping for breath in her arms.
And if another watched from a window above the gardens, held prisoner as much by his own desires as the restraints they'd fitted him with, they sank into the glory of the night, blissfully unaware.
A Sorcerer's Seduction
Way of The Wolf Book IV
Prologue
"Tell me about the gods, Mother."
"Ye know the gods, child."
The tiny hand grasped hers. "Tell me again."
Evalayna laughed, catching the tumble of hair that cascaded over her shoulder as she bent to draw in the dirt. "All right. Once more then ye go to sleep."
Bright green eyes reflected the firelight, so young and innocent. Evalayna kissed her black-haired child on the forehead. "Say it with me, Mia~Ell."
The small voice chanted softly beside her as she drew.
Eight diamonds form the star.
One for the Wind, the breath of life.
Two for Water, that lends us sustenance.
Three for The Wolf, Endurance and Faithfulness.
Four for The Bear, Courage and Strength.
Five for the Cat, Swift and Cunning.
Six for the Falcon, Freedom and Vision.
They come together in the centre,
Earth, Our Mother.
"The poetry is better in Elvin," the mother mused. The child was silent for a moment… a rare thing in a child. Evalayna waited patiently. At last the child spoke.
"We've only named seven, Mother. Sea, Wind, Rain, Wolf, Bear, Cat and Falcon. That's only six points, with Earth in the centre to make seven. But there are eight diamonds. That means there's room for nine gods. What about the other two points on our star?"
The mother's eyes flicked over the child's face. "The other two–the shadow-points–are always with us, thou
gh we name them not. They are Chaos and Destruction...we acknowledge them, but we do no' choose to serve them. Doest thou understand the difference?"
The child gnawed pensively on the end of the stick. "Those two, the shadow-points, those are why we're here, aren't they? Chaos and Destruction are stronger than our gods, and we're running away."
"Chaos and Destruction can never win, Mia~Ell. We are no' running away. We will wait here in the mountains for thy father, who battles even now against the forces of darkness. The shadow-gods will no' win."
"What if Father doesn't come for us?"
"Father will come. He is a great Warrior, as ye shall one day be, Tranorva. Go to sleep now. Think no more on the gods."
But as she stared into the shadows, Evalayna wondered…They were only two, those shadow-gods, but they were powerful.
They were the authors of doubt.
* * * * *
Sometime in the night he found her, the Fey creature that had been bound to her at her birth. The light touch of a hand on her shoulder roused her. She couldn't ask, couldn't say the words, but he shook his head once, the tumble of blonde hair a halo around his head in the darkness.
"We must go," was all Shammall said.
"Go where? I have nowhere to go. I no longer have a home."
"I will take you back to your mother. The Lord Lochinvar is old. There is no successor to his House. He will accept Tranorva as his own. Tranorva is young. She will learn to call him father."
Evalayna had never been one to cry. She didn't cry now. "I will accept my mother's generosity," she responded wryly, "for the sake of my daughter. Tranorva shall call this man Father. She shall lead his army into battle. She shall be the heir that he requires. But I shall never take to his bed."
Shammall merely inclined his head.
Evalayna packed up her few belongings and bundled them over her shoulder. As Shammall bent to scoop up the sleeping child, she laid her hand on his arm. "How old are ye, Shammall?"
Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I Page 16
