I had to be careful though. For an erudite, inhabiting another was frighteningly effortless. If I chose, I could take control. I could alter events. I could turn my back on the Crown of Stones and save her. Simply thinking it had my heart in my throat.
That was all I could do, though: think. I couldn’t act on the temptation. There was no way to predict the outcome of ‘not’ using the Crown of Stones. Losing to the Langorians then, instead of later, could result in an even higher death toll. Altering my actions meant nothing if all I did was make things worse. And who’s to say Fate would even let me?
But I can have now. I can have this moment, this morning.
I could make our last time together what it should have been. Tell her how I felt. Say goodbye and let her go. Really let her go, the way I should have all those years ago.
Feeling like I’d wasted too much time already, I slid my hand up her thigh. I slid it back down, and on my second pass, she stirred. Yawning, stretching, her nipples brushed my back and I suddenly found it hard to breathe. After clinging to nothing but Aylagar’s ghost for years, feeling her now was nearly unbearable.
Her moan swept over my ear. “You’re awake early.”
I tried for more, but all I managed was a poignant, “Aylagar.”
“What’s wrong?” Rising onto one elbow, she sat up. “Are you trembling?” Her eyes tried to catch mine, but I wasn’t ready for that yet.
I turned my head. “Just a chill.”
Satisfied, she lay back down and nuzzled closer. Aylagar’s hand moved over my chest. Her fingers traversed my arm, caressing and wandering. She started kneading the muscles on my back and I flinched. “It still hurts?” she asked.
“Some,” I said. I’d forgotten I’d been injured the day before.
Gently, she rubbed the sore spot. “I shouldn’t have sent Broc away. The others don’t have near his skills.”
“No, you did the right thing. His children lost their mother. They need him now.”
“Gods, but you’re sexy when you’re selfless,” she purred.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Even if I was, with that big…” Aylagar’s hand roamed down between my legs, “ego you have, I’m not sure you’d notice.” She climbed over me and I shifted onto my back. Straddling me, her intentions were clear. But for a second or two, I just stared.
There was so much life in her. Cascading mass of black braids, plump breasts with nipples turned slightly upward, body tight; carved with muscle and accentuated by curves. Fierce eyes, habitually full of passion or rage, dominated her strong, exotic face.
I had to say it. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”
She laughed heartily. “We haven’t been asleep that long.” Still laughing, she kissed me. It was brief. I tried to pull her back for more, but she was preoccupied with the messy braid hanging over my shoulder. “It looks like you had quite a tussle last night, Soldier.” Aylagar gave the knotted strands a tug. “You should let me fix this.”
Tentatively, I reached up and touched my hair. It was hours before the Crown of Stones would mark me. This was the last time I would wake with it pure and white. The last time I would wake with her. “No,” I said. “Leave it.”
“We can’t have the Champion of Rella looking a disgrace on the battlefield.”
I grabbed Aylagar’s arms and jerked her closer. Her breath hit me quick and hot. I meant to shove my tongue in her mouth, but I got sidetracked by her eyes. Soulful and fiery, they pulled the words right out of me. “I love you.”
Going still, Aylagar blinked. “Gods, you do, don’t you?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
She sat up. “No, it’s just I…”
“Lied to me? Manipulated me? I know. But I loved you in spite of all of that.”
Uncertainty dented her brow. “Ian…”
“Come here.” I slid my hand around the small of her back and brought her down. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”
Aylagar nodded with an awkward, startled expression. It was a look not meant for her warrior features, and all I could think to drive it away was a kiss. But I wasn’t in the mood for the usual playfulness and wild desperation we were given to. I cupped her face in my hands and my mouth embraced hers with slow, tender affection.
It was a gamble. Most women would have cherished such a romantic gesture. Aylagar was different. She didn’t slow down often. A sense of vigilance gripped her at all times, even in sleep. At the slightest sound she would be up and ready for battle. She never appeared vulnerable or submissive. She was in constant motion, given to unpredictable fits of temper and passion. Doting or sentimentality aimed her way caused irritation. Compassion and kindness was not well received. That’s not to say the woman wasn’t capable of it herself when it was warranted, in small doses. Romance, however, was out of the question, which made it entirely possible Aylagar would see insult in my action and pull away.
But she didn’t.
The kiss went on. She stretched out on top of me. Her limbs loosened. Her strong body softened. Breathing leisurely, hands roving with languor, her lips moved on mine with a sense of gentle warmth that she had shown no interest in, or inclination toward, before. The effect my proclamation had on her was undeniable.
Enjoying it, I rolled her over beneath me. Aylagar’s black skin was striking against the white furs, and I took the time to admire it. Drifting my hands over her body, mirroring the same unhurried show of affection as my kiss, I left nothing untouched. The contoured planes of her stomach, the curves of her sculpted thighs and arms, the soft hills and valleys of her breasts.
With mouth and fingers, I made new memories to overwrite the old.
Aylagar didn’t mind my diligence at all. In a remarkable moment of stillness, she languished like a cat too content to move. Reclining in silent submission, allowing me to give thorough attention to every shred of her, she was savoring the experience. Not even her breathing was noticeable. It only became so as I nudged her knees apart and sunk my face in between her legs. There was no keeping her still then.
Squirming as I licked her inner thighs, Aylagar’s hands plunged into my hair. Frustration tightened her grip. I knew what she wanted, what she needed. I knew far more than the brash, young soldier Aylagar thought was in her bed. That man had more immature swagger than was ever good for him. He was full of stamina and impatience, and straight-up, hot-blooded bravado. They were traits she and I had shared; pleasing each other hadn’t been a problem. But there were nuances that had escaped me back then, including the sheer satisfaction that could be found in immersing myself in a woman’s pleasure—without expectation. Performing selflessly wasn’t a tactic I’d given much thought to. I’d been more prone to focus on the rewards I might be due by letting her go first, or the power of leaving a woman quivering on the bed, begging for more. Now, with this incredible gift I’d been granted, to be with Aylagar again, one last time, I wanted only to please her.
Diving in, conducting a deep, thorough exploration, my tongue traveled slowly and precisely; foraging between damp furrows and around bends. It manipulated the supple, downy layers, darting in and out. I knew I’d found a rhythm she liked when Aylagar’s sinewy legs widened. Her hips arched. I opened her up then, like a puzzle box, relentlessly striving for the sweet prize lying inside. And she loved it. Rocking back and forth, clutching at the furs, she crushed her swollen, moist folds against my mouth.
Ensnared, I breathed in her scent. The taste of her was pure adrenaline. Her panting moans elicited a few of my own. She was demonstrating a complete lack of control that was incredibly arousing. It inspired me to devote my efforts to discovering the precise spot and the perfect amount of pressure that would send her over the edge.
It didn’t take long.
Her breath picked up. Her hands clenched. She gasped. “There.”
I concentrated my efforts as directed. Staying the course with an intensity and hunge
r Aylagar had never experienced from me before, I maneuvered my succulent treasure until it throbbed against my tongue.
She cried out. The spasms waned. Her grip opened slowly. Her sweatladen body slumped back like liquid onto the furs. I sat up, watching the muscles in her thighs shake. I was going to give her a minute. But the woman wanted no respite. Lifting her legs and wrapping them around me, Aylagar encouraged me toward her. I didn’t hesitate. She was eager and wet. I was painfully hard.
Gliding in with a shudder, I clung to her. I kept her close; like her body might vanish if my grip went slack. After a while, my foolish notion got lost to the pleasure and we spent the next hour touching, stroking, and savoring each other.
Finally, both of us depleted, I rolled off to lie beside her. I saw through the rip in the wall that morning was far along. I heard the men outside falling into line for inspection. The early ones had no doubt heard us. I didn’t care. I wasn’t ready to let her go.
“Come here.” Pulling her closer, Aylagar curled up, resting her damp head on my chest. Her breathing had calmed. One hand played distractedly, outlining the muscles on my stomach. Aylagar showed no signs of moving, and I wondered what was running through her mind. She had to notice the difference in me. I certainly saw it in her. For Aylagar to let time escape, to lie with me so long after instead of rushing to get up, to not be hurrying to wash and dress while shouting orders at her men through the tent walls, felt completely foreign. And so damn final.
I kissed the top of her head and tried not to count the hours until she died.
“Say it again,” she said.
I smiled to myself. “I love you.”
Still, she didn’t reply. I hadn’t expected her to, but the relief of confessing it the first time didn’t come. There was no nervous thrill as to how she might react. Only an unsettled melancholy about what was, and a wondering about what might have been. Both were tangents I’d never dared entertain back then.
As a young man I believed Queen Aylagar the most compelling, passionate woman alive. The nights in her arms were sometimes the only thing that got me up the next day. Her allure wasn’t forced. It wasn’t an act. She was stunning and strong and confident. She didn’t care what anyone thought. Refined and demanding when necessary, bawdy and common when the mood struck; Aylagar’s strict yet generous dealings with her men had always garnered respect. Though my unmatched longevity in her bed bought me no end of jealous ribbings and brawls, I’d never held any illusion we could be more. She was Queen. I was her servant. Aside from my occasional use of unauthorized magic, I’d followed her orders even when I questioned them. I’d worshipped her. I would have given anything to be the one that died instead of her. But was that love?
I suddenly wasn’t so sure.
My mind was churning. It shifted from Aylagar to the crown, to my father. I thought of Jarryd and Sienn and the turbulent events of the last few years. One disquieting thought spiraled into another and the room clouded. The furs blurred. Aylagar’s body followed. My thoughts were darting. I couldn’t hold onto them.
I felt groggy, unsettled. The spell was unraveling.
I tried to stay, to refocus, but it was too late. Sucked out of my younger self blindingly swift; the void rushed by. I fixated quickly on the camp, picturing the tent walls around me, the pallet beneath me; Kya wandering past, snuffling the grass and wishing the stalks weren’t dead.
I landed in my body with a gasp. Sitting up, covered in sweat and pulling in air like I hadn’t breathed in a week, I yanked off my drenched shirt and threw it across the tent. Grabbing the bottle next to me, I decided against throwing it and downed half the contents in one long, impatient swallow.
It didn’t help. I’d fucked up.
My unresolved issues with Aylagar were more of a subconscious draw than my connection to the Crown of Stones. I should have known.
At least I’d done what I could to make her last morning happy. But my moment of self-indulgence was over. I had to go back and do it right. If I’d truly banished the power to what my mind perceived was its origin (and stuffed the present auras into a past version of the crown), I had to get it out and bring it back to the present. And I had to do it fast. I wasn’t about to stick around and watch them die all over again.
“Okay,” I breathed. “One more time.”
Shaking out my muscles, I lay back down. I closed my eyes and took my mind to one of the most feared places I’d ever been. It was a split second in time, a crossroads of my past that I’d replayed in my head more than any other. It was also one of my last clear memories of the day I found the Crown of Stones. The moment before everything died, including most of me. I didn’t want to face it.
Yet, if I could reunite the crown with its magic, maybe with time and training, I could learn how to harness it without harm. I could make up for the damage my father had done. Build a place for our people the way he wanted, before bitterness and greed and Draken twisted his soul. It was the promise he made and then broke to his followers. As his son, fulfilling it was on me now. As a Reth, so was the safekeeping of the crown.
The ground began to shake and I jumped. Sound exploded around me. Death and dust assaulted my nostrils. I coughed on the thick air.
Flinging open my eyes, I was there. I was in my younger self again, lying on the broken earth with a throat so parched I could barely swallow. My bruised limbs ached from endless hours of combat. Hair and clothes caked in a foul blend of mud, sweat, and assorted, splattered remains—I reeked. Exhaustion and overuse had set all the muscles I owned to shaking. Knuckles split wide, hands numb; I peeled my stiff, stained fingers off my sword. It felt like they were breaking. My whole body did as the quake bumped and tossed me. I’d forgotten its strength. How deafening the noise, as a field full of men shouted and floundered on the grass.
Shutting it all out, I put my weapon down and looked into the crevice. The crown was still mostly buried. Only a sliver was visible. It was pulsing.
I inched forward to the crumbling edge of the fissure. The ground rolled harder. The crack widened. A large chunk of dirt fell away, exposing more stone. Loosening the clumps, I clawed at the dirt wall until I’d uncovered enough of the artifact to get a good hold. Then I stared at it.
I took a deep breath and stared some more.
I wasn’t as naïve this time. I knew what it meant to make contact with the Crown of Stones. I knew what it did to me. I was aware how eager the power was to please. How impatient it was to get out. Having gone untouched for hundreds of years, it wasn’t interested in taking no for an answer.
I took one last slow, steady breath, and reached for it. Skin met stone, and our collision triggered a massive spike of power. I didn’t even realize it was the obsidian section of the circle I was touching until a gust of vibration leapt off the stone and onto my fingers. Sweeping across my hand, the black aura traveled upward, following the path of the scars that painted my body in the present. Traversing arm, shoulder, neck, face, and head astoundingly fast, the obsidian delivered a shock to my nerves that left me winded and invigorated. Badly, my body wanted another go around with whatever that just was.
That didn’t mean I’d failed to notice the significance of the moment. Had this, my first contact with the crown, determined the placement of the scars that would mark me in the future? Had Fate just laid the groundwork for my transformation to come? Or had the crown somehow sensed I was here usurping my past self?
I didn’t like the answers to any of those questions.
Locking away the disturbing thoughts, I wrapped my fingers firmly around the Crown of Stones and pulled it free. I’d been concerned the next step might prove troublesome. I had no idea how to identify the two entities, not to mention separate them. But as I scooted back from the hole with the circlet in my grasp, it became clear. There was the power as it had been the first time I held it. Then, there was the surplus, jammed into the melded stones.
Jillyan was right. The magic I used to heal Neela Arcana nearly
three years ago, and threw away in disgust, had indeed landed here. There was no way to mistake it. Now that I had another to compare it to, I recognized the difference.
Like its vessel, the magic of my time was imperfect. Without the shard on my body back at camp, there was a deficiency, a hiccup in the pattern of vibrations. It was a flaw in the stream of power that the original crown didn’t have.
It was my foothold.
Encouraged, I latched onto the distinctive strain of power and took it all in one great gulp. Body pulsing, crowded with light and heat, my veins bulged with the nine auras. My skin stretched like it was ripping apart. It was a deep, sensual pain. I tried not to lose myself in it, to think past the sensation.
I was still striving for clarity when the other, original current came knocking.
Refusing to be excluded, it battered down my door and slid in with insistence. Power and pleasure twofold rolled through me then in jolting waves; laying waste, ravaging, turning me inside out as they fought to make room. It was unabashed and beautiful. I tried to get up, and I could hardly stand. I wasn’t even sure if the ground was still beneath me. Everything had melted away; the quake, the soldiers, my own body. All that remained were the auras circulating through me, licking at my nerves. The wealth of power they offered surpassed imagination. I could do so much with it. Wielding twice the crown’s magic, I could destroy more than two armies. I could destroy the world.
I could rebuild it. Make it how it should be. I can make things better.
I didn’t need Malaq. I could unite the realms.
It needs to be done. To hell with those that can’t see it. I’ll make them see.
I’ll make them understand.
Progress doesn’t come without a price.
My blood ran cold. Those were my father’s words.
It unnerved me; thinking like him. But I understood now what gripped him. I also knew where he went wrong. Jem wasn’t strong enough to resist the seduction that came with so much power. It was just too great. So was the responsibility.
He wasn’t strong enough for that either. But I had to be.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 34
