by Dara Joy
“What if a woman doesn’t have or want a man?”
He shrugged. “She would still be protected.”
“No woman has ever decided to join the Charl?”
Lorgin shook his head.
Deana was surprised. “You’d think one of them would—just to say she did.”
He reached over, lacing his fingers through hers. “It is not that simple. One cannot decide to join the Charl. The decision is first made by destiny.”
“What do you mean?”
“The inherent abilities must be there. Most often such abilities run in lines of descent. Rarely, a new line is created, and someone whose ancestors were not of the Charl comes forward.”
Deana digested this information. “Why is Rejar so opposed to joining the Charl?”
“There has never been a Familiar who was Charl also.”
“But your father—”
“Is Charl. A fifth-level mystic. Rejar fights this side of himself. You must understand, he is totally of the Familiar. A child born of a Familiar which bears the mark of them”—he pointed to his eyes as he spoke, referring to Rejar’s dual colored eyes—“this child will be Familiar, inheriting all of their abilities.”
“Then Rejar has no…abilities from your father?”
“Not outwardly. But he has them. And more. Yaniff has sensed it in him. I have told you Rejar is unique. There has never been a child born of Charl and Familiar before.”
“How come? Familiars seem like a randy enough bunch.” He smiled at her observation.
“Except for casual relations, Familiars most often mate amongst themselves. Their abilities and strangeness sets them apart. In matters of permanent bonding, they have a tendency to keep to themselves. I think it is much the same on your world, Adeeann. In my brief time there, I have seen people shun that which was different or unknown.”
Deana nodded, knowing his words were, unfortunately, true. “Do the beings here realize what a rare and beautiful people these Familiars are?”
“They do. But still, the Familiar is both revered and denigrated, sought after and shunned.”
“You told me your father did not know Suleila was a Familiar. How could he not know?”
“It is a long story. Suffice it to say Suleila wanted to experience life for a while without being labeled. She disguised herself—but her intention was not to trick anyone; she just wanted a new experience.” Lorgin smiled ruefully. “She found it; or I should say, Krue found her. She was able to experience many new things.” He chuckled, remembering the stories Suleila had told him of Krue’s pursuit of her.
“Do you think Rejar will join you?”
“He says he will not. Yaniff has hopes.” Lorgin examined her face intently. “Perhaps our children, Adeeann, will be Charl.” Deana’s eyes widened.
Lorgin smiled poignantly, missing her shocked expression. “A daughter of yours might very well wish to be the first woman warrior of Aviara.”
Our children? Deana swallowed, suddenly very nervous. He was still enacting this fantasy of his. What if…“Lorgin—you said I wouldn’t have to worry about that.”
Lorgin looked away, shielding his hurt at her reaction to his words. He had all but asked her…
“You do not,” he said quietly.
She visibly relaxed. What was the matter with the man? Children. With him. She peeked over at him from beneath her lowered lashes. He was looking toward the window and did not see her studying him. Her heart began to pound in her chest as she gazed at his averted profile. So strong!
The perfect—
No.
She was not the right woman.
Not the woman destined to be his by a prophecy as old as time.
Not the “maestro” of the space/time continuum.
Her lips curled in poignant amusement. She was just Deana Jones. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong with him. She blinked the sudden dampness from her eyes.
If she had been this woman he had mistaken her for…
A vision popped into her mind: Lorgin, pastel eyes shining, laughing in delight as he lifted their child high in his arms, up, up above his head, while the child screamed in mock fear between giggles. The beautiful child turned to her, holding out its arms, as if to say, “Take me.”
Yes…
She reached out to the child…
A strange pulse flowed from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. For an instant it glowed around her and within her, subsiding as quickly as it had come. Deana gasped at the weird sensation as the vision dissolved.
Lorgin turned back to her. “What is it?”
She shook her head; she had to have imagined it. “Nothing.” She placed her hand over his on the bed; he turned his hand, warmly clasping hers. “Lorgin, about the xathu—I think Yaniff must have done something.”
Lorgin’s eyes shuttered. He knew where she was heading. She still did not accept who she was, or her life with him. “Yaniff did nothing. He told you of the dampening fields. Think you Yaniff would let me die if he could prevent it?” He stated all this very coldly, removing his hand from hers.
He leveled his intense lavender gaze on her. “It was you, Adeeann.”
Irritated by the situation, confused by conflicting emotions, Deana glared at Lorgin. “No! No! No! You’re wrong, you know. I am not who you think I am. Deana. My name is Deana. Why don’t you say it, Lorgin? I know you know it. Dee-ann-ah.”
Lorgin stared at her for several moments, not even blinking. It was rather unnerving. She wondered if he was going to completely lose his temper. He didn’t. After a moment, he calmly suggested, “Perhaps we should have something to eat before retiring.”
Deana let out a pent-up breath and nodded, strangely relieved he had chosen not to engage in a confrontation. She was terribly tired and not up to confronting him now about their situation.
Throughout their meal Lorgin said little, seeming very withdrawn. Deana wondered if he had concerns about convincing Traed to leave Zarrain. Traed did not seem the type to be easily convinced. She knew how important it was to Lorgin that he bring Traed back to Aviara. She broke the silence between them.
“Are you worried about Traed?”
His glittering eyes lanced her. “Partly.”
His poignant answer unnerved her. She lifted her cup to her mouth, noticed her hand shaking, and lowered it silently.
Her reaction did not escape him. Although he was disheartened at her continued nonacceptance of her situation, it was not Lorgin’s desire to upset her so. He reached across the table, covering her hand, steadying her.
“Yes. I am worried about Traed.”
Their eyes met. He was no longer removed from her; his expression as he watched her was once again warm. Deana blinked back the tears in her eyes. It was going to be all right. She smiled tremulously back at him, relieved.
Lorgin gently traced his thumb over the soft skin above her wrist.
“He is not the same, Adeeann. He has changed. The kind, laughing boy I knew has become a cold, distant man. I do not know if I can reach him. I do not know if there is anything left to reach.” Lorgin spoke the words regretfully, as if it pained him a great deal.
“I’m sorry, Lorgin.”
After they had eaten, Deana was relieved to discover a bathing room off their bedroom, gratefully immersing herself in the water. When she came out, crossing the room, she noticed that Lorgin had pulled a chair up to the window. His booted feet were crossed on the stone windowsill. He clutched a horn of keeran, staring into the night, seemingly thousands of miles away.
Not wanting to disturb him, she crawled under the covers, falling asleep almost immediately.
Hours later, Deana felt the bed dip as Lorgin got in. He rolled over to her at once, enfolding her in his arms.
“Adeeann…” he whispered.
There was anguish in his voice. Deana instinctively knew he was coming to her for solace. Not because he might not accomplish his quest, but because he feared his friend T
raed was lost.
She embraced him, running a soothing palm down his naked back. He was still slightly damp from his bath. His mouth covered hers in a bittersweet kiss. She returned the kiss, hugging him tight to her, if for no other reason than because he needed it and she wanted to alleviate his worries; she wanted to soothe him. He was her dear friend and more…
“Adeeann…” She put her fingers against his lips in the darkness.
“Shhh. It’s all right. Just love me tonight, Lorgin.”
He clutched her to him. “I love you every night, Adeeann.”
His mouth descended sweetly on her own.
When he entered her, she eased the way for him.
The woman entered his room, leaving the door open behind her. She boldly crossed the floor to stand before him. He gazed at her silently above the rim of his keeran.
She smiled seductively at him, releasing the catch on her robe. It shimmered to her feet in a satiny golden pool. No outward expression crossed his glacial features as he clinically observed her nude form with curiously flat eyes.
The woman’s spicy, sultry whisper caressed the room. “What is your wicked pleasure, my lord Traed?”
Traed’s ice green eyes briefly sparked, hinting at the powerful emotions boiling beneath the surface of this man.
Setting down his drink, he rose from his chair, his boots clinking across the stone floor. He kicked the door shut.
Soon the woman’s wanton moans of pleasure filtered through the thick door.
She begged him to stop.
But he would not…
Chapter Twelve
They had been at the keep a little over a week and the melting of Traed ta’al Theardar was not remotely on the horizon.
The man did not bend.
His routine, if such behavior could be called a routine, followed a disturbing pattern. He usually slept most of the day away, joining them in the late afternoon. He spoke only when spoken to, maintaining his distance with remote coolness. While not exactly insulting, he was barely civil. Just what the man did all night was anybody’s guess, as he retired to his chambers shortly after the evening meal.
Since their first night here, Lorgin never mentioned his despair over the situation, but Deana could tell he was concerned. In typical Lorgin fashion, he had decided to approach the problem patiently, hoping that over time some of the old Traed would surface. So far, the strategy wasn’t working. Since he had used much the same approach on her, Deana knew what the next step was. Confrontation Lorgin style. She wondered how long Lorgin would wait before he started pushing buttons.
She hadn’t seen too much of Rejar either. The wildcat had taken himself off to ignite the female population in and around the keep. Yesterday, he had mentioned something about a caravan camping outside the walls and she hadn’t seen him until dinner this evening. He was still smoking.
After their evening meal, Traed had excused himself and Lorgin had asked Rejar to accompany him for a walk around the keep. Just why anyone would choose to walk outside at night on Zarrain was a mystery to Deana.
She looked around the empty room, extremely bored. There wasn’t much to do here. She couldn’t read the language; there was no television or videos; hobbies were difficult to maintain while on a quest; and Lorgin was otherwise occupied. She sighed.
Earlier in the day, Lorgin had taken her into the square in the center of the keep. She had been fascinated by how these people lived. There was a small sacri for trading. Various craftsmen offered their services, depending on what you needed. Some of the women from the caravan were making interesting little pots out of a claylike material, although no one from the keep seemed interested in them, refusing to buy when the women tried to sell them. Perhaps she would see if she could buy some clay from the women tomorrow. At least she would have something to do in the evenings.
The nights were another matter. Then, she had plenty to do. Her face took on a dreamy expression as she thought about Lorgin’s lovemaking. She never forgot his words to her the first night they arrived here: I love you every night, Adeeann. He did, too. Mornings could never be ruled out. Sometimes in the afternoon. And, in between, whenever the mood struck him. She had never met anyone like him. The man had energy.
The scope and breadth of his knowledge amazed her. His inventiveness and spontaneity took her breath away. Every night with him, it was as if he were on his own personal quest with her. He rediscovered her every time he made love to her. What was the best just kept getting better. He commanded, demanded, cajoled, beguiled, enticed, and bewitched her. Lorgin was an incredibly passionate man. Some nights he was downright insatiable.
Face it, the man had a talent for being naughty.
A servant entered the room to light a fire, interrupting a fantasy she was having that involved Lorgin, whipped cream, and ropes. Her face flamed guiltily. Well, it wasn’t as if she had anything else to do! Except for Traed, she was the only person left here who—Traed.
Why not?
He was here. She was here. Maybe—just maybe—she could see something, do something Lorgin had missed. It was worth a try. She was starting to get tired of Zarrain. It was not the vacation spot of the year. Deana turned to the servant who had just finished making the fire.
“Where does Traed go in the evenings?”
The servant seemed surprised by her question. “He retires to his chambers.”
Deana’s idea didn’t seem so promising now—there was no way she would enter the man’s bedroom. “He goes to sleep?”
“No, mistress, he reads in his study.” At least the servant thought that was what he did. With a master as strange as his, one could never be sure.
His study! Good. “Could you show me how to get to his study?”
The servant blanched. “You cannot go there! No one goes there. He does not wish to be disturbed.”
Deana waved her hand. “Pfft! Anyone can be disturbed.” Especially Traed. Pun intended, she thought. “Just show me where this sanctum sanctorum is and you can go on your merry way disavowing any knowledge of the deed.”
“ ’Tis a most strange way you have of speaking, mistress.”
Deana gave the man an ironic look. “Relative, I’m sure. Now, which way is it?”
The brothers walked around the outside perimeter of the keep, paying no attention to the little squeaks and squishes beneath their boots.
“What do you think, Rejar?”
{I think I must be crazy to be walking around with you when I could be better occupied.} His heated eyes roamed a caravan campsite where a young woman was warming herself in front of a fire.
Annoyed, Lorgin chucked his younger brother on the side of his head to regain his attention. “This is important. Rein in your hungry ways to listen to me a moment.”
Rejar rubbed the side of his head. {I am listening!}
“What can we do about Traed?”
{We? I was under the impression this was your problem.}
“Then why are you here?”
Rejar grinned flippantly. {To annoy you.}
Lorgin gave him a stony look. “You are succeeding.” Rejar made a satisfied sound. “Rejar, I am losing my patience.”
It was a warning Rejar knew better than to ignore. He knew from a lifetime of experience with his brother that he would only get one warning. Rolling around in the night sand of Zarrain engaged in a fight with his brother held little appeal.
{Very well. You wish my opinion? I think the man is beyond your reach. He has locked himself in a wall of stone. How can you reach such a man?}
“There must be a way.”
{If there is, I know not of it.} Rejar’s eyes once more strayed to the girl by the fire.
“What could we do to make him more approachable? Surely the man has some—” Lorgin noticed that Rejar’s attention had strayed again. His eyes followed the path of his brother. Hmm… might it work? He chucked Rejar on the head again.
{Ow! Will you stop this!}
“You have giv
en me an idea.”
{I have?}
“Yes.” Lorgin nodded in the direction of the young woman. “You will take Traed carousing with you.”
{What? I will not!}
“Why not?” It seemed like a good idea to Lorgin. “He is a man—what better way to renew your friendship than to gift him with a night’s pleasure?”
{Have you lost your mind? First, I have never been friendly with Traed. He was your friend. Second, the man could freeze water with a glance—what kind of woman could I find for him? Third, you ask much of me to expect me to spend an entire evening in his dour company. If you are so enamored of this idea of yours, you do it.}
“I cannot go out for a night of carousing! I am mated, or have you forgotten?”
Rejar sighed. {I will not do it. Think of something else.}
“There is nothing else. You will do it.”
Rejar’s shoulders sagged as his head dropped forward. He stared at the ground morosely. Why could he not have been born the elder son? A night with Traed! Perhaps he could reason with his brother one more time.
{I tell you, Lorgin, the man is odd.}
“Which reminds me—The night of our arrival here you acted strange when Traed came into the room. Why?”
Rejar’s eyes skittered away from Lorgin’s. For someone who did not possess Familiar sense, Lorgin was amazingly acute. What could he tell him? “It was nothing…just…I have not seen Traed for so many years…I…thought he…looked different.”
Very convincing, Lorgin thought sarcastically. Besides the ridiculousness of his words, there was one thing Lorgin had always known about his brother. Whenever he was prevaricating or angry, he spoke aloud. And Rejar never even realized he did it. Not that Lorgin had any intention of giving that little piece of insight away to his brother. Well, whatever it was, Rejar would tell him in his own good time. He decided to let the matter drop for now.
The brothers headed back to the keep, one pleased with the outcome of their talk, the other totally dismal.
