by Inez Kelley
Warric lifted himself from her embrace, settling beside her. “I’m not going back.”
“You’re not?” Her cheeks rounded in joy and she scooted next to him, tucking the sheet around them both. “You’re home for good?”
“Yep. I mean, I’m sure Papa’ll have work for me. The title comes with responsibilities, so I expect he’ll have me doing some diplomatic things, but for the most part I’m home.”
Sweet, warm breath skated across his chest as she cuddled close. Her hair always smelled of lemons. She used the juice in her soap and he’d sent her a dozen fancy smooth-milled pale yellow cakes. He sent her soap, not diamonds, but she acted as if each small block were made of gold. Kya was different.
He looked into the open rafters of her bedchamber. The roof was wood, not thatch, and the walls sturdy stone. A single chimney made entirely of river rock was an expense she’d protested but he’d stood firm.
The small but cozy house was all she would allow. He’d wanted to buy her a manor home, install her there as a lady with a half dozen servants to see to her needs, but she wouldn’t have it. Every single thing she did, she took pride in, from the small garden out back to the curtains she’d sewn for the windows. Kya asked nothing of him except that he enjoy her company.
He supposed, by definition, she was his mistress but that title didn’t suit. She was the owner of the White Stag, yet worked alongside her girls as a barmaid, washed glasses with the kitchen help, tended bar when needed. She baked the best bread he’d ever tasted and could put the castle seamstress to shame.
A grin lifted his lips. Kya was merely Kya and she was his. And he was hers, if he wanted to examine it. She’d never asked if there were other women at Endicort. He could have half a dozen other women if he wanted. He wanted no woman other than her.
His stomach made a noise and she angled her head up, an adorable quirk to her mouth. “You’re hungry. I’ve some sliced beef in the chill box and some bread I baked this morning.”
“Sounds good,” he murmured, running his palm up her smooth back. She started to rise but he caught her hand. “You stay. I’ll get it and bring it back. Ale?”
She scrunched her nose. “There’s a jug if you like but the cider is fine for me. Or buttermilk, whichever you grab.”
Long lean arms stretched high above her head, rounding her full breasts beneath the sheet. He thought quickly about staying in bed and postponing their dinner but then his stomach growled. He needed food if he was going to make love with her again, and he was certainly going to do that.
Not bothering with his tunic or leggings, he strode out to the small kitchen nude. The fireplace cut into the center wall heated both this room and the bedchamber, and he took time to add several logs from the niche. Once it was again roaring, he crossed the wooden floor to the square box along the outside wall. A block of slowly melting ice had dripped a puddle along the slanted bottom. The outside drain hole let the weak moonlight through to a tiny point of white on a block of cheese. He snagged a basket off the block table and filled it with bread and beef, a wedge of the cheese and a small bowl of butter.
Yellow and red apples filled a larger bowl next to her stove and a sack of flour sat ready. His grabbed three apples while his mouth watered. When Kya baked, he would stuff himself full of whatever pastry she made. She laughed that no one ate as much apple pie as he did. He only ate hers. She knew exactly how he liked it, with the apples chunked, not sliced, and more nutmeg than cinnamon.
A dull throb began behind his eyes and he paused to rub the ache away before snagging the milk. He carried his bounty back to the bedchamber, bumping the door with his hip.
“Dinner is served, milady.”
Kya giggled. “Prince of the Land of Eldwyn serving as a butler—a completely naked butler. I think the king would be shocked.”
Warric bit into an apple, held it in his mouth as he sliced the bread. Once he had several slices, he finished biting the apple and chewed. “Nah, Papa’s steward is ugly as a hound’s ass. I, however, have been described as dashing.”
“Dashing? I see. And what other words have been used to describe you?”
Warric pretended to think hard. “Dashing is the most common, of course, but I have heard a few people use the term magnificent.”
Her chin quivered before a snorted laugh broke free. “You’re terrible.”
“Terrible, that’s another I’ve heard. Usually from my father and it accompanies his very loud and very regal yell. Batu’s his heir and I make it my personal mission to make sure he thanks God for that every day.”
“You enjoy tormenting them both.”
“Someone has to. That palace can get awfully boring. It’s why I grew the goatee. Papa hates it, says it makes me look evil.”
“No, not evil, just wickedly handsome.” She angled up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And I like the beard. It tickles.”
He wanted to tickle her in more ways than one but first he needed food. The thick bread crust tore between his teeth. The beef was lean and spiced with black pepper. It played well against the hearty bread and creamy butter. His chewing slowed. Tonight the crown had served salmon with mint butter and swan with cranberry stuffing. He couldn’t even name all the vegetables and pastries served. His tastes were far more simple.
A stray smudge of butter lined Kya’s lip and he leaned close, licking it away. Her skin gave sweetness to the spread. She wrapped a thin sliver of beef around a bit of cheese and fed him, teasing for several attempts before letting him catch the bite. Their entire bed-served dinner followed a similar playful route.
When she reclined back and rubbed her tummy, he smiled. He liked seeing her well fed. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed a meal so much.
“Kya.” He stroked her leg through the blanket. “May I stay tonight?”
He never assumed but always hoped. Occasionally she said no, usually if she had to be up at daybreak for some errand or the other. But most times she said yes. A naughty little light glimmered in her eye. “I’d hoped you would but won’t your father expect you there? If your brother’s life is being threatened, I’d imagine he’d want you close to home as well.”
Warric shrugged. “I’d rather be here with you.”
“You’re too good to me, Warric.”
“I like being good to you.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “I like being bad to you even more.”
“Well, I like that as well.” She laughed, circling his neck. He dipped his head to kiss her but she stiffened. “Wait, I nearly forgot. I have something for you.”
She scrambled from the bed, tucking the coverlet around her breasts. It trailed along the plank flooring like a train. Warric propped on the headboard and chuckled. “Your gown is getting dusty, milady.”
“Nonsense, I swept just this morning,” she called with her head tucked inside the wardrobe. She crawled back on the bed and handed him a small lump wrapped in faded linen. “It isn’t much but, well, I tried hard. I think it turned out well.”
His birthday was months away. Curious, he unwrapped the material, then stared. Perhaps twice the size of his money pouch, the leather pocket had fine stitches nearly invisible to the eye, and an ornate W decorated the flap. Two dozen tiny rivets dotted along the initial, giving it a masculine grace.
He flipped back the top and his mouth opened. Four separate compartments were lined in cotton, each in a different color—black, tan, green and red. He could see no seams yet the lining fitted snuggly against the bottom. It was beautiful in its functional simplicity.
“For your spell herbs. You’re forever complaining when the packets spill and mix together.” Kya shrugged, a pretty pinkness spreading along her cheeks. “I thought this might help keep them separate.”
“Why?”
“The black liner is for those things that might stain. The tan, well, some of those things in your pouch are pale. The green is f—”
“No, why are you giving me this?”
“You’ve given me so much and I...I just wanted to. I like the idea of you carrying a little bit of me with you.”
“You made it yourself?”
She nodded. “The leather was tough to sew. I went through four needles but I wanted it to be sturdy. I made a little mistake on the bottom. If you look close enough you can see where I had to take about a dozen stitches out and rewor—”
His kiss silenced her. Last birthday, his father had given him the finest saddle gold could buy. His mother had given him an ornate boot knife honed to a deadly edge. Batu had given him a book, a tale of magic throughout Eldwyn’s history. They all were wonderful and nice but not a one of them meant half as much as this bit of leather and cotton. Kya put her time, her heart, into each tiny stitch. She knew him, knew what he needed, and set about to make it just because he needed it.
He tried to say thank-you but his mouth was too busy tasting hers. She settled across his chest, dipping her tongue time and again against his. He rolled her beneath him, never taking his mouth from hers.
A thump followed by fast crackling forced his lips from hers and they both looked toward the fireplace. A huge log had rolled free from the blaze, the top of it in flames.
“Uh-oh.” He jumped from the bed and grabbed the edges not yet burning. He tucked it back into the pit and made sure it was secure, prodding it firmly into place with the iron poker.
“When did you get your butt painted?”
Cold slithered up his spine. Damn, he’d forgotten all about the marks. “Uh, a few weeks ago, I guess.”
“You guess? You don’t know when someone took a needle to your rump?” Her laugh was light but his back never lost its stiffness.
The mantel was a rough length of log, the bark sheared away but the edges left raw and knotted. He crossed his arms on it, burying his head. Searing heat assaulted the front of his thighs and his head began to pound. The mark on his left buttock was easy to not think about but when he did think of it, and all it implied, it chilled his blood to sluggish ice. The mark on the right frightened him even more.
Her laughter faded away. “Warric, what’s wrong?”
So soft, so pleading, her voice tugged at him. He’d never lied to her, never wanted to but this, could she understand this? He certainly didn’t. Swallowing his trepidation, he sucked in a bracing breath and went back to bed.
Kya’s dark eyes were wide. She grasped his hands. “Tell me.”
“Do you remember any stories of the Skullmen?”
She blinked. “Some. The High Captain killed the last band two summers before I was born, but my father told me about them. I know they were criminals who were bought before their death sentences could be carried out. Then Marchen released them to terrorize the entire country. Why?”
“Did he tell you about their leader?”
She shook her head and her hair swayed along her shoulders. He fisted the thick length, dragged his fingers through it. “The leader, he had marks painted along his skin, wards to protect him against magic.”
“So you emulated him?”
“Maybe,” he murmured. He forced his gaze to hers. “I don’t remember getting them. I woke one morning with my ass on fire. I thought for a minute I’d gotten blind-drunk and sat on a pin cushion, but I looked in the mirror and saw it. It’s a cat’s eye in a triangle.”
“So it’s for protection? Against what?”
“My mother.”
“Your mother? The queen? Why?”
Warric pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the pain to ease. “I know you’ve heard the legends about her being a spell and coming here to guard my father when he was a baby, about how she could be a huge black jaguar or a wisp of smoke. Kya, those are all true.”
Color blanched from her cheeks. He steeled himself for her fear, her ridicule, her gentle claims that she believed him while her eyes called him crazy. None of that happened.
“Well, that actually makes a lot of sense, if you think about it. You’re her son. Your magic is stronger than nearly anyone’s. And the king marrying a woman with no lands, no family? It’s completely understandable if they’d known each other all his life. But why would you need protection from your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not remember dropping your breeches and letting someone jab needles in your ass then rub charcoal paste into it?”
Raking a hand through his hair, he forced the rest out. “When the headaches...when the pain gets too bad, I black out. I’ve lost hours, days a time or two. I wake in a strange place occasionally and have no idea how I got there. I’ve had friends tell me of conversations we’ve had, arguments, one fistfight, but I never remember any of it.”
Forcing a knot from his throat, he dared look at her. “I don’t remember most of this past week. I got home yesterday but I left Endicort six days before. And tonight, I woke up in a barn out near the east of Thistlemount with my ass killing me. I’d hoped I was just thrown from my horse and landed on some rocks but I wasn’t. Kya, the second mark, the bear claw? I got it today. Somewhere. I don’t know where. And I don’t know why.”
Something darted across her face. “When you’re hurting, your eyes change.”
“Change?” He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“They nearly glow. I thought it...well, I’ve seen you work spells before. They glow then too, so I never really thought...”
The skin on her hands wasn’t lily-smooth. Kya was not a pampered lady. She worked for her coin, preferring to use her wits and her strength rather than earn it on her back as so many women would have. Warric had been her first lover and it was a gift he treasured more than all the jewels in the crown. That firm hand stroked up his bare spine.
“Warric, please. Talk to the castle healer. Maybe this one will know more. I’m worried. Headaches are one thing but this... I’m frightened for you. Maybe your moth—”
“No!” Volume he hadn’t intended echoed and she cringed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. No. Mama can’t help with this. I’ll figure it out on my own. Trust me, please, Kya.”
She cupped his cheek. The jabbing pain in his skull lessened under her touch and he pressed a kiss to her palm. He asked for her trust and she gave it when he hadn’t the first clue what might be wrong with him. The thought humbled him.
Using his mind, he snuffed the candle and took her mouth, lowering her to the mattress. Her lips opened under his and he whispered into her kiss, “I just need you. You’re my healer, Kya. Heal me.”
* * *
“Wake. You are safe, my charge.” Darach’s voice echoed in the quiet room with the cadence of falling rain. This time he hadn’t touched her but stood at the foot of her bed. “What did you dream?”
Gooseflesh erupted along her skin and she turned, hiding her face in the pillow. Giving words to the dreams had always made them worse. She’d stopped talking about them long ago, trying to rob them of the power they held over her. But Darach said her dreams held everything.
Her trembling fingers pushed back the blanket. “Will you stoke the fire? I need the light to be able to talk about it.”
In seconds it seemed, the fireplace cast bright light into the room. Firelight loved him. It caressed the contours of his face with flickering fingers. She fisted her hands and wrapped her arms around her waist to hide their shaking. She would give him no more cause to think she was weak.
“There’s nothing there. Only blackness. Cold, empty black. But there are voices. Hundred and hundreds, talking, crying, screaming, laughing.” A shudder worked loose from her spine.
“Darkness and voices frighten you? They are harmless.”
“Yeah,” she muttered. Deeply instilled fear coiled up her spine. Her shoulders drew back with a cleansing breath. “It reminds me of the Abyss. Do you know what that is?”
He shook his head.
“The Abyss is... Only the most evil are banished there after death. It’s the other side of life but not the happy place where yo
ur family waits. It’s cold, black emptiness until the dead come for you, drag you into the pits of fire and spend eternity torturing your spirit. There’s no relief from the pain.”
“And the voices you hear? That makes you think these dead souls are searching for you?”
“They never stop screaming and I can’t run from them.”
“You need to run toward them, my charge.”
“Toward them? Into the Abyss?” She gaped. “No.”
“What you hear is not the dead calling, not as you believe. It is not your Abyss. You must go to them if we are to undo this curse.”
“What curse?”
“A gift turned curse. One that weakened every generation until all that is left of a once-proud bloodline stands within these walls.”
“The heartmate bonds?” She rubbed her forehead. “How does that threaten the crown? It can’t plot murder.”
“No, it cannot, but the two are tied in some way,” Darach agreed. “You have a magic you have not yet touched, my charge. It calls to you in your dreams.”
“They’re just nightmares.”
“The Segur blood sings to you when the blood of others makes you ill. The darkness calls out to you in your slumber. You see backward, what has already been. Only you felt compelled to seek magic as a guide to aid your prince. You knew it could be no other, that only you could do this. What does that sound like, my charge?”
Her head shook frantically. Fear heaved in her chest, and her fist curled tight. Darach must be mistaken. He had to be. She struggled to find her voice but her throat constricted too tightly. Something ominous rang in his voice, something terrifying that sounded like the truth. Not even the roaring fire crackling in the fireplace could dispel the sudden cold that circled the room.
Darach’s voice echoed though it was barely above a whisper. “You, Jana Haruk, are one who comes once in a millennium. You are a time dancer.”
He was insane. Something had gone wrong during the summoning call and he’d arrived with no common sense whatsoever.
