“You could change,” she said. “You’d still be a king.”
“Ah,” he said, “but I want to be more than a king.”
“I don’t.”
“Of course not. You want to be a god.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to yourself. If you could give it all up, abandon your magic and go back where you came from, would you? Would you marry the man they chose for you and bear his sons and be a woman like any other in this empire? You were born to walk with gods. Look me in the face now and tell me you refuse it.”
She looked him in the face, oh yes. “I hate you.”
He never even flinched. “Of course you do. You were made for glory and splendor. You may hate that, and me, but you can’t deny it.”
She hit him hard. He rode with the blow, then as her hand began to draw back, he caught it and kissed the palm. Her fingers clawed. He laughed as he eluded them, caught her other hand, pinned them both and rose up over her. His eyes were full of laughter, and something else.
She would not call it tenderness. It was nothing as soft as that. He stooped and kissed her. She bit him. He licked the blood from his lip and grinned, and kissed her harder. Her back arched. She meant to twist away, truly she did. Not to wind herself so tightly with him that she could not tell where she ended and he began.
Euan Rohe left her pretending to sleep. It was very convincing, but he knew better. The guards were posted, the wards at their strongest. She would not be leaving this house again until she went to the Dance.
He kissed her softly. Her face did not change. He shook his head and smiled. She was a wild creature. He did not know that she would ever be precisely tame.
He could easily become obsessed with her. She was in the back of his mind always, even when, as tonight, he greeted the guests who had come in under cover of darkness.
The priests of the One brought with them a faint reek of carrion and a sense of cold stone. They were fresh from a sacrifice and full of power. When he looked into their shrouded faces, he saw Valeria lying naked in tumbled coverlets, ivory skin and blue-black hair and gold-flecked eyes growing warm as they rested on him. She smiled a slow, rich smile and held out her arms.
He brought himself sternly to order. Priests forswore the pleasure of the flesh. These would hardly be amused to discover that he had heard no word of what they said to him, because he was dreaming of an imperial female.
Euan was all too glad to leave them in the rooms that had been prepared for them. Every comfort had been removed, leaving only bare walls and bare floors, and no luxury to tempt them away from the path of holiness. Even before he shut the door behind him, they were in their circle, beginning the long chant that would not stop until the Dance was done.
That chant hummed in his bones. He had forces to gather and men of the warband to instruct, and Gothard to face sooner or later, to be sure all was in order. He put all that aside for another hour or two or three, and went back to Valeria.
She was still pretending to sleep, but he could feel the tension in her. He lay beside her and ran his hand down her back in long slow strokes. At first she was as stiff as one of Gothard’s stones, but little by little the stiffness melted away. He drew her to him, cradling her.
She sighed. He wanted her suddenly, fiercely, but he held himself perfectly still. If he took her now, it would be rape. He did not want to rape her—not now, not ever. He wanted her of her free will, wanting him as powerfully as he wanted her.
He breathed deep, inhaling her scent. She always smelled faintly of horses, which he found pungent on its own and not particularly pleasant, but in her it was deliciously arousing.
When the empire was his and she ruled on the Mountain, they would be a force to reckon with. These doubts now, these small fears and weak compunctions, would fade away. She was young, that was all, and about to change the world profoundly. That would terrify a veteran warrior, let alone a slip of a girl.
Euan would help her to be strong. She might not let him at first, but she would learn. They were meant to be, he and she. The One had brought them together. Even the white gods acknowledged it.
He kept his thoughts to himself, because it would drive her away if he voiced them. The time would come when he could tell her, but not while she was still bound by her old oaths and loyalties. The Dance would scour those away. Then she would have room in her heart for a new world and a familiar lover, and maybe for more. Maybe—
Tonight he dared not even shape the thought for fear he would ruin it. In his arms, finally, she had fallen asleep. It was a light sleep, full of twitches and murmured words, but it was better than nothing at all.
Chapter Forty-Three
One day until the Dance. One brief turn of the sun before it was all ended, one way or another.
The Hall of the Dance was deserted. Tomorrow it would be full of people. Admittance to the rite was a currency more precious than gold, and those who by rank or office were entitled to places in the galleries were besieged. Anyone in want of funds could buy or trade his place and go home a rich man. But in this hour there was no one there at all, except Briana.
She stood in the center of the arena. The sand was smoothed but not yet raked for the Dance. Servants would do that later today. Now, in the dim morning, she was alone but for the wail of wind and the lash of rain against the walls and roof. Those walls seemed to breathe, deep and slow, as the storm battered from without.
She turned slowly. The galleries rose on all sides. On the eastward wall, below a mosaic of the Mountain under the light of sun and moon, the royal box looked down on the pale grey sand. It was sand of the seashore, brought in from the harbor, perfectly ordinary and inexplicably divine.
The boundaries of her magic expanded to fill the hall. She looked up. Her father was standing in the royal box. He had not been there a moment before. He looked like a lamp that had burned low.
There was almost no power left in him, but he was still the emperor. The strands of the empire ran through his hands. The strength of the earth was in him. Even akasha could not touch that.
She began to slow and deepen her breathing. The power pulsed with it, focused by the power of this place. Even a hundred years after the last Great Dance, every stone was steeped in magic.
Into the surging rhythm came a new force. She had left Kerrec sleeping in the garden, as he had done almost without interruption since the failed attack on Gothard. He was awake now, and mounted on Petra.
The stallion entered in that slow, cadenced pace which was so distinctive of his kind. They brought with them a wave of strength that nearly flung Briana flat.
Hastily she opened herself to it. It was weak in places, and sometimes it wavered, or else it was too strong. It could never quite find its balance. Kerrec’s face was white and set.
It would have to be enough. Briana wove a net of wards and bindings surrounding the Hall and working its way into the earth below. She wrought it of air and water and fire, and sealed it with the power of earth. There was stone magic in it, and fire magic. Horse magic pulsed white in front of her, with more behind it—a power she could not quite grasp, but she was keenly aware of its existence.
It was a long labor, and intricate. Her head began to ache some time before she was done. She clung to Petra’s neck. His hooves were sunk in the sand as if rooted in it. Kerrec on his back was trembling so hard his teeth chattered.
Kerrec’s control was slipping, shredding. She could not afford to lose it. Petra’s raw power was too strong. Unrestrained, it would destroy the structure she was building.
She gritted her teeth and held on. Her father was perfectly motionless above her. He could not anchor her. He had too little magic left. She needed—she had to—
The power beyond Petra was like a firm hand enclosing hers. She thought she saw eyes, not quite green, not quite brown, flecked with gold. They were a little puzzled and a little blurred as if with sleep or dream, but there was no fear in them. They fed her strength
with effortless ease.
There was something—she had seen—
It was like the deep healing inside of Kerrec, which was still there, still working its subtle magic. Briana had never known anything like it.
If it was treacherous—
She had to trust it. She had no choice. She was not strong enough alone, and Kerrec was weakening fast. Without this new power, she would fail.
She used it ruthlessly. It offered no resistance.
She dropped out of the working with an abrupt and stomach-wrenching swoop. The web of magic was not as perfect as she could have wished, but it was the best she could do. The traps were laid and the snares set. The rest was in the hands of the gods.
Kerrec was still conscious. That surprised her. Even more surprising was the fact that he seemed to be drawing strength from a deep well.
She almost hated to take him out of the Hall, but Petra had the same thought she did. People would be coming soon. They all had to be out of sight before anyone saw either Kerrec or the stallion.
Their father was gone from the royal box. Briana decided not to go after him. He had more sense at the moment, she hoped, than Kerrec, and she wanted her brother to be safely hidden.
Whatever Kerrec thought of her plans, Petra carried him where Briana needed him to go. The way they took was known only to the emperor’s family and a select few members of the imperial guard—a passage under the earth from the Hall to the palace, which happened to emerge not far from Briana’s garden. Its doors were sealed to the imperial blood. No one not of that lineage could unlock them.
That, unfortunately, would not keep them safe from Gothard. Briana hazarded the last of her strength and laid a spell on both doors, a variation on the original working. This one fixed itself on barbarian blood, and barred the doors to it. Gothard could pass the first spell but not the second. However he intended to come into the Hall, it would not be that way.
Then she had to rest. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had no choice. Although she meant to retreat to her own rooms, she never managed to get so far. She sat on Kerrec’s bed for a moment, and woke with the wan daylight fading and stars flickering through the ragged scud of cloud.
She leaped up in a near-panic. There was a banquet in court, there were final preparations to oversee, there was—
Kerrec was sitting at the worktable with his feet up on it, ankles crossed. “His Majesty sent a message,” he said. “He’s officiating at dinner tonight. You’re to put in an appearance, but not until the wine and the dancing. ‘Wear your gaudiest finery,’ he said. ‘If this is the end of the house of Aurelius, let them remember that we were glorious.’”
“Are those your words or his?” Briana demanded.
“His,” Kerrec said. “I’m the one without the sense of humor, remember?”
“So is he.” Briana stretched the knots out of her muscles. She was hungry enough to sink her teeth into Petra, if he had been there. She had to settle for the platter that was waiting, with enough food on it to feed a small army.
The hot dishes were still steaming and the cold ones still chilly on the tongue. She slanted a glance at Kerrec. “Did you—”
“Who knew how useful a servant’s tabard could be?” he answered obliquely.
“You should be in worse state than I am,” she said, reaching for a warm loaf of bread stuffed with cheese and olives and savory sausage.
Kerrec shrugged. “It was the Hall,” he said, “and Petra. I think—in fact I know—I can ride tomorrow. I can be in the Dance.”
Briana went absolutely still. “You what?”
“I can ride the Dance,” he said with deliberate patience.
“No,” she said. “You can’t.”
“I can.” He uncrossed his ankles and lowered his feet, leaning toward her. His eyes were unnaturally bright. “Don’t you see? The Hall healed me. I remember the patterns.” He tapped his forehead with a finger that shook ever so slightly. “It’s all in here. It’s all come back. I can ride the Dance.”
“Surely you can,” she said, “if you seclude yourself for the next eight days, fast, meditate and muster your powers.”
“I don’t need any of that,” he said.
“You’re drunk,” she said. “Your magic’s coming back. It’s made you giddy.”
“I am perfectly sober,” he said with dignity, “and I can ride the Dance.”
“Look at yourself,” she said. “Listen. And think. We need you most outside of the Dance. You know what we planned. We have to do it. Otherwise—”
“This may be the only Great Dance I ever ride.”
She looked into his eyes. The pain there made her throat catch. “Kerrec,” she said, “brother, you know what we have to do. We need you badly. We can’t do it without you.”
“Can’t you?”
“No. Especially now, with your strength coming back. We need that. We need what you are, and what you know. And,” she said, “what you’ll do to those who thought you were thoroughly maimed and as good as dead, when they see you alive and well and sitting beside your father.”
He did not smile at the thought. That was beyond him. But his face softened ever so slightly.
She pressed her advantage. “Without you we’d never have known that our brother is plotting against us. You may have already saved the Dance, even without what you may be able to do from outside it, to protect it.”
He scowled straight through her. He was thinking. Good. Some of his old self was finally coming back, however brittle and shaky it was. His whole heart and soul must be yearning toward the Dance, but he had to know that she was right.
“Everything happens for a reason,” she said. “Nothing is random. We have to believe that you are here because you are meant to be here. Whatever the gods will, this is part of it.”
“Now you’re talking like a priest,” he said.
“Oh, no,” she said, “though I remind myself a little too vividly of the Chief Augur.”
He almost smiled at that. “You should go,” he said. “You have a banquet to attend.”
“I will go,” she said, “but you will stay, and I will make sure of it. There will be no creeping out to do as you please. Am I understood?”
He sighed. “Completely,” he said.
She still did not trust him, but her guards were on the alert. They were mages, and while they might not be stronger than Kerrec, they were well trained in looking after obstreperous charges.
She embraced him suddenly, startling him, and said, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Is sleeping permitted?”
“If you do it here,” she said, “you may do it all you like.”
He was not happy, but she thought he would be sensible. In any case the sun had set. She had to hurry or she would be late for her father’s banquet.
Chapter Forty-Four
The earth held its breath. Dawn came late and slow, thick with fog, but the storm of wind and rain had blown away. Sailors and weathermasters said that the sun would burn through as the morning went on. Maybe that was too much to hope for, but any respite from days of storm was welcome.
Even before the sun rose, every niche and gallery of the Hall was full. People were standing along the walls and perching on the balconies. They overflowed through the gates and out into the great square, hundreds, thousands of them.
Pillars or small towers stood at intervals all around the square, with heralds mounted on them. They would pass word from the Hall of what went on there, and relay the Augurs’ interpretations for the empire to hear.
Inside the Hall, the sense of anticipation was rising. An hour before noon, the riders would emerge from their long seclusion. Most of the people had brought food, drink and cushions or stools to sit on. Hawkers of bread and beer, wine and cakes and sausages, were relegated to the square outside, but a good quantity of their wares had found their way into the Hall.
The royal box was empty until midmorning. The emperor himself would ma
ke an entrance just before the riders, but Briana, attended by Demetria and one other, took her place somewhat early.
She took her time settling in the chair to the right of the throne, arranging her tiers of skirts and waiting for the assembly to realize that her second companion was not a guard. The uniform was somewhat similar, but his coat was a deeper shade of crimson, and it was edged with gold. Each button was a golden sun, the belt clasped with the golden image of a stallion in the Dance. It was the full dress regalia of a First Rider, identical to what the crowd would see when the riders entered.
There was a chair for Kerrec on the other side of the throne, but he chose to stand just behind Briana. His hand was steady on her shoulder. He seemed perfectly calm, as if he had come to terms with the fact that he would not be riding the Dance.
She mistrusted that calm, but there was nothing she could say to challenge it. She watched and waited as the stir began to run through the crowd, faces staring and voices rising in astonishment. People who were close enough could see the cuts and bruises still healing on his face, and notice that he held himself just a little too stiffly.
Briana kept her smile to herself. The court knew that the prince Ambrosius had been Called to the Mountain, but his presence here and now, at her back, was completely unexpected. No one knew what to make of it.
She could neither see nor sense Gothard anywhere in the Hall. He was entitled to a place in the imperial box, but she did not expect that he would take it. For what he planned to do, he would want to be free in the Hall, not isolated above it all. He would reckon that with the emperor powerless and his sister happily ignorant, there would be no trouble from that quarter.
She hoped that wherever he was, he would see Kerrec in time to be thoroughly thrown off balance. Meanwhile the court was startled enough. The speculation had begun. Alliances were already shifting and consciences being examined, while the lords of the empire absorbed this new and enigmatic development.
The Mountain's Call Page 31
