"I would, however," he said coyly, "like to have a drink of wine. Kittellan, the bottle I left, where is it?"
Kittellan’s eyes went wide and he shot a glance at Diesa. "It’s … it’s gone, M’lord," he whispered.
"I didn’t hear you," Scanlon said.
Kittellan drew himself up stiffly. "It’s gone, M’lord," he repeated in a louder voice.
"Gone? In two nights time? By yourself?"
Diesa took a deep breath. "I had some too, M’lord," she said, choosing her words carefully. "It helped a great deal with the pain. I may have had more than I intended."
A smile twitched at the corners of Scanlon’s mouth. Abruptly he lay back, clasping his hands beneath his head. "Well, no matter. I bought more in Kopen. Kittellan, why are you still here? Diesa, there are vegetables to be sorted and cleaned. Drake, bring me some wine and a glass."
The three slaves set to their tasks quickly. Drake shot a questioning and somewhat incriminating look at Kittellan, who shrugged, picked up his bow and quiver and left the camp. Drake took the wine to Scanlon, then busied himself with the horses, while Diesa silently began to prepare the vegetables.
Scanlon had brought potatoes, winter squash, beans, carrots, celeriac, leeks, onions, salsify and a variety of fruits. Diesa regarded the bounty with wide eyes. She had never seen such an abundance of fruits and vegetables in one place. And with not a scrap of meat in sight. Still, she wondered if it meant they would be without benefit of an inn for a length of time.
::Not at all.:: Scanlon entered her mind easily. ::But you need to eat better, and I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting that.::
Diesa looked at him suspiciously, but he merely smiled, toasted her with his glass and took another drink. He seemed remarkably relaxed and at ease, more so than she had ever seen him. It was almost as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. She sighed in confusion and returned to her work, strange memories assailing her thoughts.
An hour later Kittellan returned with a rabbit already skinned and gutted. Diesa smiled at him in appreciation and he winked at her before addressing Scanlon.
"Rabbit stew, M’lord?"
"Perfect," Scanlon replied, his voice sleepy.
"By your leave, M’lord," Kittellan continued, "may I help with the preparation? Rabbit stew is one thing I do well.’
"By all means, help." Scanlon yawned, lying back. "You too, Drake. Let me rest."
"Yes, M’lord." Drake joined Diesa and Kittellan near the fire.
"Look at this squash," Diesa cried, her eyes glowing. "And the carrots. Gods, I haven’t seen this many vegetables for months!"
"And for the stew, I’ll want some carrots, potatoes and leeks. Diesa, if you want the squash, we’ll boil it in the water first." Kittellan glanced toward Scanlon as though to ascertain if he were asleep, then gathered Drake in a fierce hug. "Gods, I missed you," he whispered.
"Did you?" Drake returned, his gaze on Diesa. She blushed and dropped her gaze to the vegetables. Drake picked up a knife and began to cut the rabbit into bite-sized chunks, his movements controlled but vicious.
Kittellan sighed. "Drake," he said softly. "I won’t lie to you. Diesa and I made love last night. But," he caught Drake’s arm, stopping the boy’s work, "that doesn’t change how I feel about you. Unless, of course, you say it does." He paused, waiting. "Drake?"
Drake set the knife down with a trembling hand. He looked at Kittellan, then Diesa. Tears gathered in his eyes.
Diesa sighed. "Drake, I’m sorry. We … we drank too much wine. It’s not as if it’s going to happen again. I promise. Gods, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
"Neither did I," Kittellan murmured, draping his arm about Drake’s shoulders. The boy began to cry and Kittellan pulled him close, stroking his hair.
Diesa frowned, thinking on her words. "The wine," she murmured, then looked to Kittellan thoughtfully. "It was the wine, Kitt, and I don’t just mean as a drink. Remember, I said it was spelled for pain? Well, I think it was spelled for more than that. This was out of character for both of us. You know that as well as I do. And if you would think on it, Drake, you would realize it too."
"Then why did…you and Kitt…" Drake trailed off with a weak shrug of his shoulders.
"I think Scanlon wanted us to make love," Diesa said quietly, her own words astonishing even her.
"Why?"
"What?" Kittellan said at the same time.
"I don’t know." She shrugged and shook her head. "Maybe he was questioning your relationship with Drake. Or me. I just don’t know. But it’s odd, very odd. He leaves us alone in a cozy little nest, with tainted wine. It doesn’t make sense." She paused, her mind spinning. "Kitt, why don’t you fetch the water? I want to talk to Drake alone for a moment."
Kittellan nodded, gave Drake a kiss on the cheek, then rose and walked away. Diesa took Drake’s hand, squeezing it gently, forcing him to look at her. "Drake, listen to me. I’ve known of Kitt’s preference since I first met him. That’s not to say I haven’t lusted after his body. I have. But I would never intrude on another person’s relationship intentionally. Never. I love Kittellan, that’s true, and I know he loves me, but not in the same way he loves you."
"And you think Scanlon arranged this to happen?" Drake murmured as if he weren’t quite ready to believe it.
Diesa nodded. "I think he did, although I couldn’t say why. Drake, don’t turn your back on Kittellan. He needs you. He loves you. And I know you love him. If you pull away from him now you’ll break his heart. Please, Drake?"
Drake’s gaze searched her face warily. At last he nodded, giving her a small smile. He returned his attention to the rabbit. "Did Kittellan mention anything about the three of us?" he asked quietly, keeping his gaze averted.
Diesa went red. "Well, actually, he did. But I suspect that was the wine as well."
Drake’s smile widened a bit. "No, that was Kitt."
"Really?" Diesa gasped.
Drake looked up at her shyly. "It was just a thought."
"And I’m afraid that is all it will stay," Diesa replied. She looked up as Kittellan returned with the water. He settled it over the fire to boil and turned his gaze on Drake.
"Well? Do I move my blanket tonight?" he asked softly.
Drake grinned. "Not unless it’s closer," he replied. "I missed you as well."
Kittellan smiled, relief washing over his face. He shot a glance at Scanlon, then kissed Drake full on the lips. "Until later then."
"You two stop it!" Diesa snapped. "If this stew isn’t ready for dinner, there’ll be no later for any of us."
They laughed and lowered their heads to their tasks.
* * *
It was not until much later when they had settled for the night that the full impact of what Scanlon had done hit Diesa. Oddly, it came at the same moment her hangover left. More magic. The strange euphoria she had felt all day was no doubt a residual effect of the tainted wine. And now all the happiness from the previous night when she had held Kittellan in her arms, had given and accepted passion, was gone. Gone, leaving her empty and cold inside, feeling used in some strange game. She wondered if Kittellan felt the same way, if he viewed her differently, if their friendship would ever be the same. She wondered if Drake would truly forgive Kittellan for his transgression or if that relationship would shatter as well.
She turned onto her side with an angry sigh, then winced. On top of everything else, her pain had returned and despite her most valiant tries, her dryad magic was having no effect. Yet there was no way she would ask for Scanlon’s assistance. Not after what he had done. She would not suffer herself to his healing again, no matter what.
Her gaze drifted across the fire toward Kittellan and Drake. They were very still, although close together, and Diesa pulled their voices to her with her magic. Kittellan was crying very softly and uttering words of apology and shame. Drake was doing his best to comfort him with gentle words of acceptance and forgiveness. Diesa let the magic
go, afraid she would hear a condemnation she couldn’t handle. Damn you, Scanlon, she thought furiously, you’ve torn us apart. Was that your goal? To separate us because we have each other and you have no one? She looked toward the elf, reaching for his mind with her magic.
And abruptly he took it, binding it to powerlessness once more. Diesa gasped and jerked to a sitting position. ::No!:: she cried out to him.
::If you can’t control your magic, you may not have it,:: Scanlon replied calmly.
::It’s mine!:: Diesa retorted. ::I need it! Just as you need yours! Give it back!:: There was no reply. ::Scanlon, give it back!:: she shrieked again. Still he did not answer and she threw herself down in a rage, then cried out as pain from her wound reminded her of its presence. ::I hate you, elf!:: she thought wildly. ::And since you’ve apparently shut me out, I’ll tell you what I think of you. You’re selfish and evil and cold …::
::And your master and an elf,:: he interrupted. ::Take care, Diesa.::
Diesa rolled onto her stomach letting the pain from her healing wound scatter her thoughts. In a sudden fit of anger she pushed up on her hands, hoping that the tender skin inside her gut would tear and she could simply lie there and bleed to death.
A strong hand snatched her up by the back of her tunic and spun her around. Scanlon glared at her, pure fury in his eyes. For the first time Diesa actually felt fear looking into the cold, gray depths and, without warning, her knees buckled. He caught her up easily, his grip tight and full of rage. "You will not die, Diesa de Tyronmen, Princess of Omerron, until I say you will," he seethed.
Diesa’s eyes went wide, her face white. He knew! He knew who she was, what she was! And still he made her his slave! A sob of shocked disbelief caught in her throat and she stared up at him even as he brought a sleep spell crashing down around her.
* * *
Scanlon released her from the sleep spell early the next morning. She woke groggy and confused to the smell of cooking meat and vegetables. Kittellan busily tended breakfast while Drake prepared the morning tea. Scanlon, as usual, watched the preparations with a careful eye and brought his gaze to Diesa when she sat up. She regarded him with a frown, vaguely recalling a confrontation but not fully remembering the conflict.
"M’lord, my apologies," she mumbled, trying to free herself from her blankets to tend to breakfast.
"Stay!" Scanlon commanded and Diesa froze, her heart pounding.
"M’lord?" she whispered.
Scanlon studied her for a few moments. "You are only just recovering from a rather nasty wound. Take it slowly."
Diesa sat back, her frown deepening. She touched her abdomen, confusion raging through her. The events of the last several days were jumbled. She couldn’t remember clearly what had happened, or when. She knew only that she had been with child and that she had tried to take her own life. "Then … the child? Is it gone?"
Scanlon nodded. "It is. Drake, take Diesa some tea."
"Aye, M’lord." Drake hurried toward her with a mug of steaming tea. He gave her a quick smile.
"Kittellan, you may serve breakfast now," Scanlon said.
"Aye, M’lord." Kittellan divided the meal into four servings, bringing Scanlon’s first, then Diesa’s.
She looked at the potato and sausage mixture with a grimace. "Kittellan," she reminded him, "I don’t eat meat."
"Today," Scanlon said, "you will. And every day hereafter you will have at least one serving of meat. You may make your choice as to which meal."
"But, M’lord, I …"
Scanlon silenced her with a look, took his plate and his tea, and moved away from them. Diesa stared down at her plate in disgust.
"Go on," Drake urged. "It won’t kill you to eat it."
Kittellan glanced sideways at Scanlon, then back at Diesa and gestured from her plate to his.
"For each piece she gives to you, Kittellan, you will be punished," Scanlon announced in a low voice.
Kittellan sighed softly, grimaced and shrugged his shoulders in resignation. Diesa took a deep breath and forced a bit of sausage into her mouth. It felt greasy and lumpy and she gagged, her eyes watering. She managed to swallow it, then took a quick, searing drink of tea, burning her tongue and throat.
"I can’t eat this," she whispered to Kittellan. "I just can’t."
"You have to," Kittellan whispered back. "Please try."
"I did try." Diesa pushed the meat to one side, managing to eat the grease-coated potatoes.
Kittellan and Drake finished their meals and gathered up the dishes. Kittellan reached for Diesa’s.
"Kittellan!" Scanlon’s voice raised the hair on the back of Diesa’s neck. "Diesa has not finished."
"M’lord, please," Diesa begged. "I am dryad. You know I do not eat meat."
"You are three quarters human," Scanlon replied. "You are recovering from a serious wound. Your body needs the strength that only meat can afford. Eat." His gaze shifted to the boys. "I believe you have work to do!" he snapped, then looked back at Diesa.
She glared back at him. "I won’t."
"You will." His voice was deathly calm.
Her arm suddenly moved of its accord and she watched in horror as her fork speared a chunk of sausage, brought it to her mouth and slipped it in. She gagged again and tried to spit it out but her mouth would not open. She had no option but to swallow.
"Do I continue, or do you?" Scanlon asked calmly.
Diesa clenched her jaw in anger. "I will!" she retorted hotly. She furiously stabbed up all of the remaining pieces of meat, shoved them into her mouth at one time and swallowed hard. It only took a moment for her body to return them, along with everything else she had eaten.
Scanlon sighed and turned away. "We will try again at lunch," he said and walked toward the horses.
Diesa threw her plate down and gulped the rest of her tea, ignoring the burn of the hot liquid as Kittellan looked her way. "What’s wrong with him?" she whispered. "Why must he find ways to torment me?"
"I don’t think he meant to torment you," Kittellan said.
"Then what?"
"I think it’s as he said. You have a bad wound and your body needs strength."
Diesa stared at him, aghast. "Now you’re defending him, Kitt?"
Kittellan sighed and dipped her plate into boiling water. "I’m trying to understand him, Diesa, something you might consider."
Diesa shook her head wearily. "I will never understand him," she murmured. "And I can not believe he has any other reason for his actions than to make my life miserable." She looked at them, memories resurfacing. "Speaking of understanding, are you two all right?"
They exchanged quick glances and Drake grinned. "We’re fine," he said quietly. "It’s been resolved, Diesa."
"Not without some pain, however," Kittellan added.
"Then you felt it too?" Diesa asked. "When the spell wore off?"
Kittellan nodded, his blue eyes sad. "I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be with you. I know how I felt and I had Drake for comfort."
Diesa grimaced. "And I had Scanlon," she said, her tone biting and sarcastic. "Did you not witness the scene last night?" The rest of her memory cleared all at once—the confrontation, the announcement of her name and title.
They looked puzzled and shook their heads. "I heard nothing," Kittellan said.
"I was asleep," Drake put in.
"Aye, and that no doubt was his magic as well," Diesa said quietly.
"Perhaps you should spend less time talking," Scanlon interrupted loudly, "and more time working. We will continue on today."
They mumbled their apologies and set to work. In less than an hour, they were packed and ready to leave.
They rode at a slow pace for several days, stopping early each night and leaving late in the morning. Diesa took her daily obligatory serving of meat in sullen silence, though she found, much to her annoyance, that Scanlon was right. It was increasing her strength.
As they rode, the weather cleared, the air warmed, and Di
esa actually found she enjoyed the ride. The countryside was beautiful, vast prairies of tall grasses and wildflowers. Scanlon had taken to giving them an hour’s worth of liberty every day, an hour in which to do whatever they pleased. Diesa was fairly sure she knew how Kittellan and Drake spent their hour in the tall grass and she always took care to walk the opposite direction.
The group followed a ridge and from its western side Diesa could see the ocean stretching out to the distant horizon. She spent most of her liberty sitting among the wildflowers staring at the vast sea before her. She often wondered what was at its end, what type of people lived there and what lives they lived. She wondered if they had slavery or if all were free to choose their own lives and their own paths. It would be a grand world indeed. Perhaps a world that a bastard princess could disappear into.
She looked up, her ears catching the faint strains of music. It was harp music, beautiful and lilting, played with a sure hand. Diesa rose, surveyed her surroundings, saw nothing and sat back down. Probably some local herdsman calming his flock, she thought, then giggled to herself. Calming his flock, due to the presence of a wicked, evil, cold-hearted elf.
The music stopped and Diesa sighed. Her hour was most likely gone. She rose and went back to camp.
The next day they moved on and again, Diesa heard the music. Again she looked and saw no one. Perhaps the herd had moved as well. She shrugged it off and simply enjoyed the sweet sounds. But the next day when the music began again after yet another day’s travel she began to search in earnest for its source. She found it quickly and with a shock. It was Scanlon.
He looked up at her approach and smiled. "Even wicked, evil, cold-hearted elves have their weaknesses," he said quietly as his fingers continued to move gently over the strings.
Diesa felt a blush creep into her cheeks but she ignored his biting sarcasm. "I didn’t know you had a harp, M’lord," she said. "You play beautifully."
"I bought it in Kopen," Scanlon replied. "You like music then?"
"I do. Kyran used to play music for me, only his choice was the flute. I think I like this better." She sat down on a large boulder to listen. The music seemed to fill her, to awaken a memory deep within her heart, a memory of shared love and tenderness. Only it wasn’t Kyran she thought of. Or even De’el. She frowned. Kittellan then? Her night of love with Kittellan? Diesa wondered again why Scanlon had done what he’d done. If it was to drive a wedge between his three slaves, it hadn’t worked. They were closer than ever. Diesa had fallen as much in love with Drake as with Kittellan, though she had not accepted Kittellan’s offer of triad lovemaking.
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