Time Dancer

by Inez Kelley

  He fixed his gaze on the dagger-shaped letter opener on the corner of the desk. Pain had slammed into him like an axe blade after he left Kya, and he’d awoken an hour ago in an abandoned hut. What had happened during those lost hours? Or was it lost days? What day was it? He needed answers before he could tell his father anything.

  “Batu isn’t going to die. Everything will be fine.” A wish and a lie slipped off his tongue with the same gilded ease. “Last night, I got drunk and passed out. Can I just go to my chambers and lie down?”

  He was getting too used to that look of disappointment in his father’s eyes and turned his head. Maybe he wasn’t as serious as Batu, but he’d never bring true shame to the family name. It hurt that his father always assumed the worst of him. In belligerent fashion, Warric always lived down to his expectations.

  “Fine. But don’t leave the grounds.”

  His father’s displeasure rankled but it was a minor annoyance as he sprinted up the stairs. The maids had cleaned his chambers but none dared touch the odd bits he’d left strewn around. He knew some called him strange and he was actually quite happy with the description. It afforded him more privacy. But privacy also meant he had to tend to his own belongings. The boxes from his Endicort chambers sat stacked along the wall where he’d piled them. He groaned and threw himself onto the fully made bed.

  He’d lost more time. Trying to remember only made his head ache more. He rolled over and blocked the sunlight with a pillow. The gold braid on a book spine caught the late morning sunshine and he hefted the pillow aside. The book on magic’s history was one he wanted to read but with schoolwork, he’d never had the time. He ran his finger over the title.

  Magic. It lived in him, was as much a part of him as his bones but yet, no matter how much he learned, he’d never match his mother’s innate talent. He couldn’t. He had been born human. She’d been born from fire, from a distant realm he’d almost chalked up to fantasy until Darach had been called.

  He idly flipped the pages, glancing at the drawings, sketches and renditions, letting the words blur by without focus. One etching snagged his attention. A charcoal-drawn head, split down the center, whirls and stars exploding out of the gash. His heart hammered as he read. It was all there—the pain, the blackouts, the actions he couldn’t recall. Somewhere in his mind, a puzzle piece clicked into place.

  He slammed the heavy book shut and jumped from the bed. He paced, twisting each piece of information until a clearer picture formed. What grew sent waves of sourness through his belly. He’d been looking at his headaches wrong. There was nothing wrong with his body. There was something very wrong with his magic.

  His feet barely skimmed the carpet runner as he sped toward the tower room. His mother might be able to answer his questions, but she would also try to protect him like a suckling child. He didn’t need her protection, he needed answers. He also knew who else could give them to him.

  “Mama?” He tapped on the open door of her workroom. The new door had been sanded smooth but it remained unpainted as of yet.

  Queen Myla turned with a smile. “Warric, where have you been? I was ready to send the guards searching for you.”

  “Off being completely irresponsible and wicked.” He returned her smile easily if falsely.

  She tilted her head. “Have you been needling your father again? Why do you insist on painting the bleakest picture possible of yourself for him?”

  All his answers seemed too light: because it’s fun, because it gives me an identity other than as the spare to the heir, because it’s one way to get attention from Papa without taking it from Batu. He’d been doing it so long he never even thought about it. It just came out.

  Warric fiddled with a pestle. “He expects it. If I suddenly turned all serious he’d have me sent to the healer.”

  A shade passed over her eyes, and a wrinkle bloomed between her brows. She reached out to stroke his hair. “Are you all right? Something seems different about you these last few months. I no longer see your path.”

  Uneasiness tightened the painted muscles on his ass. Deliberately casual, he sniffed. “I’m coming into my magic more, maybe that’s why.”

  “Perhaps,” she murmured. Every hair on his body twitched as she scrutinized him.

  “I’m not going back to school,” he announced. “But I was doing some experiments I’d like to finish. Can I take some supplies from here to do them?”

  A regal wave of her hand granted permission and he started gathering ingredients, herbs and powders. He piled them in a stray basket from under the table until it nearly overflowed. She eyed the growing collection with a narrowed gaze. “What are you trying to do?”

  “About five different things. Don’t worry. I won’t blow myself up.” He dropped a swift kiss on her cheek, picked up his basket and headed toward the door. His feet slowed, then he turned and just watched her.

  Queen Myla was fierce and ferocious, with a fast temper and faster strike. Some called her eccentric, others feared her, all respected her power. But she’d been the one to kiss his scraped knees and dry his tears, rocking him when sleep would not come. The first words he could recall were in a haunting language as he cuddled on her lap. She’d laughed at his first stumbling attempts at magic, teaching him the proper basics long before he left for training.

  His father’s disapproval he could stomach but never hers. “Mama?” She faced him with a raised brow. “I love you.”

  Her mouth bowed. “Warric, I don’t think you’ve said that to me since you were a little boy.”

  “I just want you to know.” The basket creaked as he squeezed it. “I need you to know that.”

  He closed the door before she could question him. He wanted a bath and a fresh set of clothes. Some food wouldn’t be turned away either. But he needed answers more. He could leave now and head west, toward the melee fields. This late in the year, the open plain would be deserted and he could—

  A spike of agony sliced into his skull and he dropped the basket, scattering tiny leaves and vials across the hall floor. He lurched toward the closest door, the maids’ closet filled with rags and buckets, mops and brooms. Clutching his head, he dropped to his knees. He dragged a bucket closer as his stomach surged but only dry heaved.

  “No!” Black swirled around the rim of his sight and he fought it.

  The black won.

  * * *

  The mountain lion leaped with no growl to announce his presence. Jana screamed as the streak of deep gold lunged toward them, sinewy muscles hunching and stretching. Darach’s bellow accompanied his counterattack. The clash shook the ice from the trees. Cat met bear in a blur of claws, fangs and fur.

  The horses shied from the fight. Jana jammed her heels tight and pulled on the reins to control the flight instinct. Dark yellow lunged. Batu already had his sword out, striking without mercy toward the cat’s head. The massive feline twisted at the last moment and Batu’s momentum nearly unseated him. A paw darted out, catching Jana’s cloak edge and raking her horse’s side. The animal squealed as Batu whirled and swung again. His aim landed true, cleaving into the cat’s side, but no blood spilled.

  The mountain lion vanished with a soft pop.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  Darach’s grizzly grappled with two lions, one biting at his feet, the other clinging to his hunched back. He feinted, drawing the cats away from the horses. Red dotted the snow but it all came from the bear. Jana pointed to a third lion creeping in low, preparing to pounce.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Batu spat. “Mountain lions aren’t pack hunters.”

  “They also don’t disappear when killed.” Jana swung her bow from her shoulder and reached for her quiver. The third lion sprung at Darach’s neck and Batu kneed his horse, racing toward the fight.

  Darach ripped the cat from his neck, his lethal five-inch claws splitting the cat’s belly wide. It disappeared without a whimper. Snow churned beneath the horse’s hooves as Batu shouted a ba
ttle cry and speared the cat at the grizzly’s feet. It too vanished. Three more mountain lions appeared in the tree line, all barreling toward them. Batu abandoned his panicked horse. Limping, he and a huge grizzly fought against magical lions that kept coming.

  Jana let her arrow fly. The first sank deep into one feline shoulder. The animal was gone but her arrow fell to the snow. She notched again. Every time her bowstring sang, the arrow hit true. Mountain lions appeared and disappeared like bubbles from a soapy bath. Twice Jana gathered fallen arrows, ducking razor-sharp claws and fangs, then retreating to kneel and fire. Still the animals came. It seemed an impossible magical battle that no one would win.

  The cracking of crusted snow yanked her focus to the right. A huge feline stalked toward her, shoulders rolling with her gait. Jana pulled the bowstring back and a malevolent smile lifted the cat’s lips, twitching long whiskers and showing deadly teeth.

  “Jana.”

  The meowed name raised gooseflesh along her skin. Evil intelligence shone in cat-gold eyes. She froze, finger hooked in the string tight by her cheek. “Who are you?”

  “Kat...ina.”

  “My mother is dead!” She released the arrow.

  The broadhead tore into the muscled chest. The cat panted a laugh before it vanished, the undamaged arrow falling to the ground. Jana shook, staring at the shaft protruding from snow. She never heard the second animal leap.

  Pure feline force took her to the ground. A claw raked her shoulder. Snow filled her mouth and she spat, spinning with her small dagger in her hand. She thrust up before her turn was complete. The blade sank into thick fur, biting through a tightly bound neck. The cat chuckled with a purr then was gone.

  Jana jerked upright, scrambling for her bow. Her fingers were going numb with cold. Huge boot-encased feet sent snow flying as Batu skidded to a stop beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Jana panted. “You?”

  “I’ll live,” he spat into the woods, “if just to piss off whoever is doing this.”

  Darach’s bear he threw yet another lion aside, his wide head tilted back with a bellow. The feline’s spine cracked against a sturdy maple trunk before vanishing. In a purple swirl, Darach transformed into a man and pointed behind them. Five lions crept from the south. They uncoiled sleek bodies and, as one troop, pounced through the snow, eating the distance. He was too far away to help them.

  “No!” He stomped his foot and a quake spread out.

  Mother Earth responded to his call with a vehemence. The snow shimmied, sliding like sand in a box. Jana’s knees vibrated and Batu wobbled on his feet. A crack split the terrain. The gaping mouth of Mother Earth swallowed ice, snow and feline with a demonlike bite. Then her jaws clamped tight, rocky teeth slamming shut. Ice dropping from the trees filled the now calm air. Jana gaped at the shallow depression in the pristine snow. Earth slept once more. The magic sent a shudder through Jana.

  Darach melted into the ground then seconds later rose from the ground to stand before her. No scrape or cut marred his face. He tore her cloak and tunic away from her shoulder and his lips peeled in a snarl.

  “It’s just a scratch,” she soothed him.

  “Magic tricks,” Batu sneered. Fresh blood trickled from a line on his cheek and his good arm sported a collection of tooth scrapes. “Fucking deadly magic tricks. Those mountain lions were no more real than my shadow but they could’ve killed us.”

  “It talked,” Jana whispered. “The lion...she said she was my mother.”

  Batu snorted. “Yeah, whatever. Mine said it was Argot. It’s someone messing with our heads, that’s all.”

  “Well, he succeeded.”

  “He did not,” Darach said. “You didn’t hesitate to shoot the cat. You knew it wasn’t your mother.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. My mother loved me.” She stepped away and gathered the remaining arrows littering the ground. Tossing her hair out of her face, she caught Darach’s stare. “What?”

  “You shoot well.”

  The compliment made her smile. “I do.”

  “Nobody beats Jana at accuracy. But in distance, I can whip her ass.” Batu chuckled.

  Jana tossed a handful of snow at him. “I may not have the strength of a man but my eye is better.”

  “Your eyes are beautiful,” Darach murmured.

  The last man who had called her beautiful died beneath her kiss. That knowledge stole her smile. “Thank you.”

  The Crowned Prince wiped his face with snow, cleaning the blood away. Jana wondered if he realized how he’d changed in so few days. He’d always carried himself with a regal presence, an innate fiber of royalty lifting his chin. But now he’d been bloodied and fought back, stood firm when faced with adversity. It gave a new maturity to his eyes, a new polish to his invisible crown. He’d grown in spirit, in experience and in self-realization.

  She turned to Darach. He too had changed. That newborn innocence had peeled away one harsh layer at a time until his face carried a man’s perception. He’d learned from his mistakes. He’d seen cruelty and death, faced both, and still kept to his vow to protect them.

  They had changed, had she? Had she been tempered to hardened steel as they had or had she grown brittle and cracked? Sucking in a calming breath, she looked up and wondered. She had no idea. The unknown chilled her more than the snow-flecked air.

  * * *

  Warric came aware slowly, little details slipping into his consciousness. He was warm. Whatever he lay on was soft. It smelled of lemons and apples with a hint of woman. He rolled, stretched and realized he was nude. He jerked upright.

  “You’re awake.” The sunny smile Kya gave him couldn’t hide the concern in her eyes. She laid the poker aside and crossed to the bed.

  He collapsed back against the pillows. “Oh God, I...what day is it?”

  “Wednesday.” She wrinkled her nose. “Did you black out again?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his cheek and the bristly whiskers irritated him. He needed to shave before his goatee turned into a full beard. “How’d I get here?”

  “Your horse, I assume, since it’s in the shed.” Kya took his hand and brought his knuckles to her mouth. “I found you here but couldn’t wake you. I made some supper. Are you hungry?”

  He was starving. He nodded and looked around. “Where are my clothes?”

  Her giggle lifted some of his dread. “In the wash tub. You need a bath. I’ve been keeping water hot. Come on, get up. A bath, a shave and some food and you can then tell me what the hell’s going on with you.”

  The steely glint in her eyes rocked him to his core. Kya had never demanded anything from him before. It made him feel awkward at times, as if she were afraid to question him. He followed her like a schoolboy, doing her bidding and washing behind his ears.

  The razor was old but freshly sharpened. Her late father’s clothing fit a bit loosely but he liked the soft feel of the cotton and paused to stroke the tunic sleeve. She’d washed this tunic hundreds of times, had worked the fibers to a comfortable texture. He’d never known the man but sent a silent thank-you for both the clothing and the love Kya gave freely.

  His head snapped up as his chest raged. A burn scored above his heart and he knew before he peeled the tunic neck away to look. The wide line of the Segur bonding mark branded his skin. Kya was his heartmate.

  Mouthwatering scents of roasted chicken and brown bread hung in the air. She was bent over, lifting the pan from the stove belly as he approached. The hot metal barely touched the trivet before he had her back against the wall, his tongue diving into her mouth. A surprised gasp warmed his lips then she hooked her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  “If you think to escape talking by getting me into bed, think again, milord. And let me go before the bread burns.”

  “I love you.”

  Her face went slack. A subtle tremor began along her arms. “Warric, please don’t.” She pushed at him but he stood firm. “I’ve never asked you for anything.
I can’t bear to be mocked.”

  “I’m not mocking, Kya.” He never dropped his eyes but jerked the lacings at his neck loose, opening the keyhole. A soft inhale tickled his chin as she stared at his bond, at her brand on his skin.

  “Those marks are real? I thought they were a legend.” Amazement rounded her cheeks. “Oh, Warric, I’ve loved you forever.”

  The bread scorched but neither cared. They chopped the bottom layer off and ate in a silence filled with a thousand looks. The end of the meal carried an ominous gloom. He pushed it aside, drying dishes as she washed, a task he’d never done before but one that gave him something to do other than talk.

  She sat at the table and waited. A warmth spread along his bones. This was Kya, his Kya, his quiet strength. She waited, never pushing, just letting him find his own path straight to her. An ache formed in his skull. “I have to go.”

  “Warric!”

  “Please, Kya. Give me a few hours. I’ll tell you everything but I need to do something first.”

  A gentle nod shifted firelight along her dark hair, pulling day from darkest night. In a burst of fear, he rushed to her, kneeling before her and gripping her hands. “I’ll come back and we’ll talk. Things are spinning out of control and I don’t want to hurt you.”

  That pert little nose scrunched again. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I know that.”

  She might know it but the fear stayed with him. His cloak hung on a wall peg next to her shawl and he wasted several seconds just fingering the knitted yarn. He’d not been unconscious long and dusk had just fallen. In a saddlebag, the things from his mother’s workroom chilled him. He didn’t remember gathering them from the floor. What else had he done?

  A stiff crust of snow crunched beneath his horse’s hooves as he sped toward the west. Wind sliced at his cheeks but his mind burned with spells, with wordings, with charms he had to master the first try. There could be no second attempt. He’d never dared dream of trying to reach so high but he knew no other person who might give him answers.