The Charmed Sphere

by Catherine Asaro

  “Is it all right?” he asked.

  “Good graces, no.” She whispered her response, so they wouldn’t wake up her two maids in the adjoining room. Thank goodness she had closed the door between her room and theirs. Then again, she had also closed the door to the parlor and now it stood open, a lighter rectangle in the shadows of her room.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked. “Brant put guards all around the suite.”

  “Secret passage.” He sounded smug. “Only Dawnfields know about it.”

  “You are very misbehaved, skulking around that way.”

  “Just a few minutes. Then I will go.”

  She heard a catch in his voice. “Are you all right?”

  “I keep having this damn nightmare.” Then he added, “My apology for my language.”

  Chime had heard far worse in Jacob’s Vale. “It is all right.” She knew she should tell him to leave, but instead she said, “Stay for a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” The bed rustled as he sat on its edge.

  She traced her finger over a polygon embroidered in the bedspread. A luminous gold circle formed above it and bathed Muller in light, making him look like an angel with his beautiful face, his tousled hair, and his robe clinging to his leanly muscled body.

  “Ah, love,” Chime murmured, appreciative.

  “I’ve been worrying about you,” he said.

  “I was sleeping well.” Her lips quirked upward. “Until a rogue snuck into my bedroom.”

  “Rogue!” He tried to glare at her, but his laugh ruined the effect. “You wound me, Chime.”

  She suddenly felt shy, having him in her bedroom. This was so improper it would give Brant Firestoke a heart attack. “You should go.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were here, that no one had run off with you.”

  She took his hand. Right now it was hard to care about protocols that had never felt natural to her in the first place. In the matrilineal culture where she had grown up, a girl from a landed family usually chose her own husband, who then moved into his wife’s family home. Protocol there required the woman not compromise the man’s honor by sneaking into his bedroom, but mention was rarely made of the reverse situation.

  “You look tired,” she said.

  “It is my nightmares.” He grimaced. “I dream an army from Harsdown marches on Aronsdale, rank after rank of inhuman soldiers, mage creatures created by darkness.” He sounded exhausted. “Or else I dream I’m Jarid and my parents are dying.”

  “I wish I could help.” She tugged his hand. “Come sit with me.”

  Muller scooted over until they were sitting against the headboard, leaning together. “It helps just to be with you.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “I feel safer with you here. After last night—” She shivered, wanting to forget the attack.

  “Hai, Chime.” He put his arm around her shoulders, his long fingers rubbing the flimsy cloth of her nightgown. “You are so warm and I am so cold. Work your magic on me.” He drew aside her hair and bent his head, pressing his lips against her neck.

  “You stop that,” Chime murmured. Her bird trilled at her voice. “You must leave before someone catches you and sends you to the dungeon.”

  He moved his lips to her ear. “I would risk any dungeon for you.”

  Chime ducked her head as his breath tickled her ear. He was rubbing her cheek with his, and when she turned her head, and he found her lips with his. As he kissed her, she slid her arms around his waist.

  “Lovely Chime.” He made the words a caress. Then he eased the two of them into the bed, under the covers.

  Chime knew she should tell him to stop. But he felt so very fine. Just a moment more. Then I will send him away.

  His hands moved on her body, tugging her nightgown, shaping her curves. She had admired his lithe beauty for so long now, wanting him, it really was impossible to stop. She rolled him onto his back, pinning him down. Laughing almost inaudibly, he lay still while she rained kisses on his face. Then he rolled her over and kissed her thoroughly, until her thoughts blended into a sensual fog.

  Muller touched her with an alluring mix of strength and shyness. By instinct, Chime created pleasure spells, heightening their lovemaking. In the daze of sensuality, she felt the truth: he had kissed very few women, just as she had done no more than tease a few boys in the orchards. They had each chosen to wait, though their differing cultures allowed otherwise for both of them. Knowing they came together new and fresh, by their own choice, sweetened their passion.

  They made love in the earliest morning hours, before dawn touched the sky. Both of them stopped caring whether they achieved the perfection they believed everyone wanted from them. In letting go, in letting themselves be their own flawed selves, they found a love more satisfying than any perfection could have given them.

  24

  Charmed Hearts

  Winter settled its bleak mantle over the land. Blizzards covered Croft’s Vale and heaped drifts around the walls of Suncroft. On some days a dull overcast pressed the countryside; on others the sky turned an icy blue and the air seared with its chill bite.

  When they could make it through the snow, Chime and Iris went to the village with Della or Skylark. With their spells, they brought healing. When they could, they traveled to outlying farms. With their warmth and light, they helped hunters survive the harsh weather while finding game for their families or gathering firewood to replenish their stores.

  Chime wore a pendant around her neck, an emerald ball with twenty sides, her highest shape. Iris carried a sapphire orb with sixteen facets, too few sides, or so Chime thought. Nor did the color seem right, not exactly. A mage could use any spells below her own level, but her strongest work came from the highest shape and color she could draw on. The queen had yet to define her gifts, making it harder for her to use them. She struggled with spells, but those she did form had great power.

  So the mages of Suncroft did their best to ease the long, cold winter for their people.

  Sometimes Jarid came with them, against the wishes of his advisors. Other times he stayed at the castle, filling in the multitude of gaps in his education and dealing with his recovered senses. He spent hours each day practicing with a sword, learning a skill he had barely begun to practice as a boy of six. His strength and natural ability impressed Chime, but it was Muller, who had such great skill, she loved to watch, his muscles rippling as he parried with the king.

  Sometimes at night, when the castle slept, Jarid’s mood spells spread across the land, unfocused but resolute, seeking shapes in the hollows, dales and mountains, always searching, searching, for knowledge of King Varqelle and his dark mage.

  Muller drowsed, shifting Chime in his arms. It had been several weeks since he had managed to slip into her room, making their time together now even more of a gift than usual. He sighed, content with his betrothed asleep in his arms, his thoughts drifting. Her songbird trilled in its cage.

  The King’s Advisors wanted him and Chime to wait until spring to marry, purportedly because it would be a better time for the people to celebrate, which would, as Brant put it, “heighten morale among the populace.”

  Heighten morale indeed. Muller knew why they delayed the wedding. Now that he was no longer destined for the crown, they balked at marrying him to one of the most powerful mages alive. As his wife, Chime would have many obligations that distracted her from magecraft. She might even end up assuming some of Iris’s more mundane duties when the queen attended her responsibilities as the head mage in Aronsdale. The King’s Advisors would want a husband for Chime whose position and title didn’t interfere with her work. But they didn’t know. She had given him her promise.

  Chime stirred in his arms, her head against his thigh, one arm thrown across his legs, her other folded under her head, her cheek resting on her hand. Muller smiled, stroking her hair back from her head.

  “Lady Chime!” a woman called. With no warning, the door flew open. L
ight poured into the bedroom as Aria, Chime’s circle-maid, hurried inside carrying a candelabra, followed by Della No-Cozen. Beyond Della, down the hall, Brant waited in Chime’s parlor.

  “Lady, come!” Aria cried. “We must—oh, dear.” She stopped, her mouth open as she stared at Muller, his face and bare chest fully visible in the candlelight.

  “Ah, hell,” Muller said.

  “I am appalled.” Brant Firestoke paced in front of the two people seated on the brocaded sofa in Chime’s parlor. “Utterly appalled.”

  Chime was too groggy to comprehend half of what Brant said. It made no difference; she didn’t need comprehension to see that he was furious. Muller and her maid had helped her out of bed and thrown her into her nightgown and robe. Now she sat, blinking, her hair tousled all over the place. Della stood leaning against the wall, and Aria hovered in the doorway, looking anxious.

  Muller sat stiffly at Chime’s side, his robe covering him from shoulder to knees, though Aria and Della must have had quite an eyeful when they found him naked in her bed. He looked as bewildered as she felt. She couldn’t imagine a worse disaster in their betrothal.

  “Perhaps we should let them go back to their rooms,” Della said tiredly. “We can continue this tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” Muller pounced on the idea. “Let us do that.”

  Brant stopped in front of them. “We have nothing to continue. This betrothal of yours is ended.” He glowered at Chime. “We have selected a groom for you, young lady.”

  “No!” Muller jumped to his feet. Although he was taller than Brant, he had neither the older man’s broad-shouldered physique nor aura of power. Even so, he looked ready to take on Brant right then and there. “Chime and I have to marry now.”

  Brant crossed his arms. “You cannot marry her. She isn’t a virgin.”

  “Oh for heaven sakes,” Chime said. “Neither is Muller.”

  To her unmitigated surprise, Della laughed. When Brant glared, the mage mistress closed her mouth, though her eyes still danced. It wasn’t what Chime expected from her no-nonsense mentor.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Brant told Chime.

  “Whatever for?” Chime asked. “I’m not the one who barged into my bedroom while I was peacefully asleep.”

  “I would hardly call the misbehavior we discovered ‘sleeping.’”

  “Of course we were sleeping,” Chime said sweetly. “We were already done misbehaving.”

  Muller made a choked sound, and Della’s face turned red, though Chime suspected it was because the mage mistress was struggling not to laugh.

  “Very amusing, Chime,” Brant said. “It changes nothing. You are no longer fit to marry a Dawnfield heir.”

  Chime stopped smiling. She stood up and faced him, aware of his greater height and presence, and how unsubstantial she probably looked in her robe. It didn’t matter. She lifted her chin. “I am ‘fit’ to marry whomever I choose.”

  “You should have considered that before you lay with a man before marriage.”

  “This is ludicrous,” Muller said. “I’m the one betrothed to her.”

  “Not anymore,” Brant said.

  Della came forward. “We shouldn’t make any hasty decisions tonight. We have other concerns.”

  “What concerns?” Muller asked.

  “Perhaps,” Chime said tartly, “they refer to the concerns that prompted them to bring half of Aronsdale into my bedroom in the middle of the night.”

  “Chime.” Della frowned at her.

  Brant looked as if he were counting silently to himself. After a moment he spoke in a quieter voice. “Lady Chime, the king believes you are in danger. We thought we were rescuing you.” He frowned at Muller. When the younger man raised his eyebrows, Brant turned back to Chime. “Perhaps we were.”

  “Very funny,” Muller said.

  “Why does Jarid think I am in danger?” Chime asked.

  Brant paused. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, so where is he?” Muller asked.

  “With Iris,” Della said. “He had a nightmare.”

  “Hai,” Chime murmured, glancing at Muller. “Don’t we all.”

  Brant spoke to Muller. “You are having nightmares?”

  “Nothing unusual.” He went on before Brant could probe further. “Perhaps Jarid overreacted.”

  “I don’t think so,” Della said. “He goes into a trace sometimes during his spells. His dream happened then.”

  “But I’m fine.” Chime gave Brant a sour look. “Unless you count all this noise and tumult.”

  “Why didn’t Jarid come himself?” Muller asked.

  “He is still in the trance,” Della said. “Iris fears to wake him.”

  Chime squinted at her. “Why?”

  It was Muller who answered. “If he is startled as he awakes, he can’t always control his power. He starts fires.”

  “Ma’am?” a voice said behind them.

  Chime turned to see Aria. “Yes?”

  The maid came forward. “I am sorry to disturb you.” She hesitated, glancing at Della and Brant.

  “It is all right,” Chime said.

  “Your bird, ma’am,” Aria said.

  Chime blinked. “My songbird?”

  Her face paled. “Perhaps you should come see.”

  Brant frowned. “What bird is this?”

  “I keep it in my room.” Chime headed for the hall. Over her shoulder, she said, “My betrothed gave it to me.” Brant glowered at her.

  Chime entered her bedroom with Aria and Della. When Muller tried to follow them into the forbidden bower, Brant grabbed his arm. Reddening, Muller stayed with him at the doorway.

  Chime went to the gold cage hanging near the window—and gave a cry. The bird lay on the bottom of the cage.

  “Everyone, out of the room!” Della’s voice cut through Chime’s dismay. “Now!” Before Chime could object, Della was propelling her toward the door. Aria had to run to keep up.

  As Della pushed them out into the hall, Brant hauled Muller toward the parlor. “Keep going,” Brant said. “Out of the suite.”

  Chime’s pulse leapt, as much from confusion as their sudden exit. They ran into the hall outside, away from her suite.

  “What happened?” Chime asked, out of breath.

  Now that they had escaped the suite, Brant slowed down enough to answer her. “Your bird was a mine-dove. Miners used them to detect poisonous fumes back before mages figured out how to do it themselves.”

  “It didn’t look sick,” Chime said as they walked along the hall. “It looked dead.”

  “Yes.” Della’s quiet agreement struck Chime more than would have any exclamation. “Had you and Muller been in the room, you could also have been affected.”

  “Saints,” Muller muttered.

  “But it didn’t bother us in the parlor,” Chime said.

  “The gas was probably released in your bedroom, too little to drift out to where we were,” Della said. “At least not enough to cause us discomfort. The bird was also a lot smaller.”

  Brant frowned at Chime. “What about your maids?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Aria and Reed, who were a ways back, following them. “What about them?”

  “How well do you know them?”

  “They would never hurt me!”

  “You wouldn’t be the first noblewoman with such trust,” Brant said dryly. “Nor the first to die for it.”

  “I used mood spells when we interviewed them,” Della said. “They are loyal to Lady Chime.”

  “Yes.” Chime glared at Brant.

  Muller put her arm around Chime’s shoulders. “We must protect her.”

  “And precisely how are we supposed to protect any of you,” Della demanded, “if you traipse around in the middle of the night, sneaking away to your betrothed.”

  “She is no longer his betrothed,” Brant said.

  Muller glared at him. “Like hell.”

  “We need to ensure both of you
are safe,” Della said.

  “If someone can poison us in our own beds,” Chime asked, “how can we ever be safe?”

  No one had an answer.

  Iris paced the parlor of the royal suite, her hair tumbling down her back, her heavy robe and layered sleeping gown swirling around her legs. Chime stood with Muller, watching the queen and twisting her hands in the sash of her robe. Fieldson, Brant, and Della waited by the twelve-sided table where Iris went over documents during the day. Skylark stood by the door, her lined face drawn with fatigue, her long white hair unbraided.

  The queen stopped in front of Skylark. “How can you be sure this bird died of sleeping gas?”

  The healer answered with composure, though unease showed on her face. “The gas left its mark on the bird, one strong enough that I felt ill when I focused my spell. It is the same sense I have when I check for gas in the mines.”

  Iris nodded, then turned to the maids, Aria and Reed, who sat huddled together on the brocaded sofa. “Neither of you felt anything?”

  “No, Your Majesty!” Aria watched her with wide eyes. “Nothing, ma’am. I swear.”

  Chime spoke with care, hoping she didn’t insult Iris as she had so often in the past. She didn’t want the queen to hold those past exchanges against her maids. “I will vouch for Aria and Reed.” In her side vision, she saw them watching her anxiously. “I have felt their moods. They are loyal.”

  “Very well.” Iris said no more.

  Relief swept over Chime, and surprise too, given her strained relations with the queen.

  “So we have no suspects?” Iris asked.

  “Not yet,” Brant said.

  Della looked around at them all. “We never found any leads on whoever tried to kidnap Chime last summer, either.”

  Brant frowned. “In both cases, they broke into the castle without our knowing and escaped without being caught.”

  Fieldson spoke. “It implies an expertise in covert operations that most people don’t have.”

  “Who does?” Della asked.

  He glanced at her. “Trained army officers.”

  “Could they come from Harsdown?” Iris said.