by Inez Kelley
“Then as an advisor, you fail.”
“Do I?” His pondering was composed. “I advise King Cator on the continuation of the crown and the strength of the Land of Eldwyn. Tradition and ritual are foremost in this endeavor.”
“At the expense of human lives.” Princess Rycca wore pink and ivory, the embodiment of feminine grace, but iron laced her frame. “Tradition will be the death of this monarchy and of all Eldwyn’s nobility. Change is needed, fresh blood, fresh ideas, fresh perspectives. We grow stale with our mighty traditions.”
He searched her face with studious calm. “Change comes from above and trickles down to the masses like water from the mountainside. The peasants follow the nobles, the nobles follow the monarchy. When you rule, you will be free to change the laws as you see fit, for the good or ill of all Eldwyn. You must not let selfishness blind you now.”
“Selfishness? Is it selfish to want a husband who actually likes women? Is it selfish to wish any child born of a marriage be hearty and strong?”
Ranier angled his head. “No. Those are not selfish reasons. But those alone are not why you protest. All young women have stars in their eyes, dream of a love that exceeds the songs in beauty. Many a bad match has been made when the blood pumps hot. Arranged marriages do have their place, Your Highness.”
Rycca jerked as if slapped. “As do I, apparently. And I have no stars in my eyes. Those were sold along with my hand because of an old man’s bigotry.”
“Enough!” The king rose from his throne. “I will hear no more.”
Only the edges of her hair showed Rycca’s trembling. Her face was cold but her voice was colder. “You hear only what you wish to, Father. So hear me now. I’m sorry I’m your daughter. I weep for Eldwyn’s future. My own is lost to me for the price of your prejudice.”
In a swirl of pink skirting and diaphanous veiling, Rycca strode from the audience hall, her bearing straight and stately, her cheeks lined with tears. Jana’s heart ached for the young princess. For all her jewels and velvet, she was little more than property to be auctioned.
The king stared after his daughter, misery and parental anguish thinning his lips. “Curse me, child, if it suits you, but one day you’ll see the right of it. I do this for you, not to you.”
Rycca stopped. “I don’t curse you, Father. I pity you.”
The king flinched. Ranier’s slender hands led the monarch back to his throne. He went, a husk of a man gutted by his child’s anger.
An invisible tug turned Jana. “We follow Rycca.”
Darach led her, his hand in hers, through a castle she’d grown up in but recognized very little of now. The décor was different, torches used in place of oil lanterns, tapestries hung over what now sported glass. Jana tried to dodge a servant carrying a washpail but the woman passed through her with an odd shiver. The princess never slowed, never looked back, two maids and a guard trailing in her wake.
Rycca’s chambers were decorated in ivory lace and silk. The princess entered, followed by her entourage in complete silence. The maids hurried to light candles then wrung their hands, awaiting a word. Darach and Jana took a spot along the far wall, near a display shelf holding elaborate glass roses.
“Leave me.” Rycca sank onto a plush chair before a gilded dressing table filled with perfume bottles and hair accessories. The maids left and the guard turned. “Dyal, stay.”
The guard halted, one hand on the door. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
“Close the door. I wish to speak without listening ears.”
The guard hesitated but obeyed, shutting the door with a soft catch. He crossed to the empty fireplace. “Shall I start a fire for you, Princess? It’s been a wet day. Your roses will be watered well this spring.”
Rycca didn’t answer, staring into the mirror. Dyal’s long blond hair was braided tight at his temples, an older style warriors had worn long ago to keep their hair from their eyes during battle. His royal blue tunic denoted his status as captain to the successor. It reached below his knees, with split sides laced tight and showing pale wool undergowning. His boots wrapped up to his thighs in strips of leather and buckles.
“Dyal, as my captain, you obey every order I give, do you not?” Rycca’s voice held undertones of desperation.
“I do, Princess.”
“Take me away.” Rycca spun, her wet cheeks bright. “Take me somewhere where no one knows my face. Please? I could be ready in an instant. I have enough gold to live a lifetime in some quiet place.”
Still crouched before the hearth, Dyal bowed his head and the flames pulled more gold from the wheat in his hair. A small scar puckered his cheek near his left ear. Jana wondered how he got it. It looked fresh, perhaps only a few months old. She reached out but her hand passed through him.
“I can’t do that, even for you, Princess. You’re Eldwyn’s heir. Her future is in your hands. Change her, make her better, stronger. You can’t do that from some fantasy place that doesn’t exist.”
The last tiny flicker of hope died from Rycca’s eyes. They took on an emptiness that scared Jana. Dyal fed bits of kindling until the flames grew too high for the warm but dreary day. He brushed his hands along his legs and stood. Quiet acceptance wrapped around his low words.
“You will survive, Princess. Grow to an old age with the next generation taught by you, with your ways of thinking, your vision for Eldwyn. No husband can stop that.”
“And you, Dyal? Can you survive seeing me bound to another man, carry his son?”
His jaw flinched. “Your marriage bed is none of my concern unless any man do you harm.”
“Harm? Isn’t it harm to live a lie? To swear loyalty to a man I’ll never love?” She bolted from the chair. “Tell me it isn’t harm to lay beneath a husband in name when my heart’s in an orchard bursting with fall apples and a single kiss.”
“That should never have happened!” Dyal’s voice echoed with shame. “I had no right that day as I’ve none now.”
“I gave you that right when I gave you my heart.”
“I can claim neither.” He peeled her fingers from his arm, each movement stiff, as if it pained him. “If anyone knew, I’d be hanged. Forget that moment.”
“Can you forget? I can’t. Teach me how, Dyal. Teach me how to look at you and not wish I could touch you.” Her hand stroked through his hair and he didn’t pull away. “Teach me how to block your voice from my ears, to stop remembering your hand on mine. Teach me how to stop loving you.”
His eyes pinched tight. “I can’t. But we have to.”
“Why? Because my blood is purer than yours?” Rycca’s focus locked on the scar near his ear. “They both looked red to me the day you saved me from that boar. Whose blood stained my gown, mine or yours? I saw no difference. It was red, wet and plentiful.”
A dimple appeared along Dyal’s mouth. “Behold the passion of Princess Rycca Varon, Heir Apparent to the Ooman throne. There’s the fire that will burn new blood into Eldwyn’s lineage.” The smile faded. “But it won’t be mixed with mine.”
Jana’s eyes blurred. How could any father force his child into an unwanted marriage when she had this strong a love in her life? Dyal stood steady as stone, much like the man holding her hand now. She squeezed and Darach squeezed back.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “They each wish to belong to the other. Why can’t they?”
How could she explain outdated beliefs and rigid class lines that no longer existed? Jana rubbed her tense neck. “Old-fashioned concepts. It used to be thought that the nobility had purer blood than others or some such nonsense. Those ideas were discarded ages ago.”
Darach nodded to the couple by the fire. “Yet it shaped their lives.”
“And we were drawn here, to this moment,” Jana murmured. “Why? If Rycca and Dyal can’t marry, what answer is there?”
Her mind worked, churning questions with no answers. Dyal and Rycca moved in tortured silence. The one thing they wanted, each other, was the one thing they could
not have. Something in her chest ached for them, for the close proximity to a dream they couldn’t hold. She darted a fast glance at Darach.
Would she be able to recall the rough pads of his hands in forty summers? Would she forget the warmth that encased her fingers, the strength in his hold, the security in his touch? Could she ever forget the winter-mint taste of his lips?
She yanked her gaze away, unable to answer even those questions. Rycca had moved, settling on the edge of her high bed, looking like a lost lamb facing a pack of wolves. Rain beat at the shutters in a monotone hum.
“Sleep well, Princess.” Dyal headed for the door.
“Dyal?”
He stopped, scarred knuckles tight around the knob.
“Leave me your dagger and then you’re relieved. I shall have no more need of you.”
His spine inched straighter one notch at a time. He looked over his shoulder with calculating eyes. “What need of my blade have you, Princess?”
She turned her face away, toward the stone wall.
“Answer me, Rycca. What do you want with my knife?”
The lift on her lips was not a smile. It was a grim resolution. “I’ll never marry a man I don’t love. I’d rather die first.”
Lion-gold brows shot high and he flew to her, kneeling at her feet. “No, Rycca, never that. Swear to me you’ll never bring harm to yourself.”
“I’m already dead. If you won’t leave me yours, I’ll find another blade. They all do the same.”
“No!” Dyal’s hands shook as they cupped her cheeks. “Please. Don’t do this thing.”
“This way, the only kiss I take with me is yours.”
He kissed her hard, without grace or gentleness. Jana couldn’t tell if he cried with her or if it were her tears dampening his cheeks as they kissed and murmured private things she couldn’t hear and didn’t wish to. This moment was personal, and guilt niggled at being a voyeur to their misery.
The suddenness of Dyal jerking back and shaking Rycca made Jana gasp.
“Swear to me. If you ever loved me, swear it now. You will live. You’ll marry and become my queen. You’ll change the laws that call me a criminal for loving you. You’ll be there for me to watch from afar, loving you until I breathe my last. Promise me, Rycca.”
“Tomorrow I’ll be a princess whose destiny has been sold but tonight, Dyal, please, give me tonight. One memory to hold forever.”
His eyes crashed closed. “Damn you. I can’t. You’re to go to your husband a virgin.”
“He doesn’t like women.” An empty laugh wept from her. “I’ll be the damned Queen of Eldwyn one day. If I claim to be a virgin after six children and a dozen grandchildren, what man will dare say otherwise? That’s my bargain, Dyal. My life for one night in your arms.”
“You’re going to be the fiercest queen who ever sat on the throne.” One hand left her cheek and stroked down her neck. His whisper signaled defeat. “Long live the queen.”
He claimed her mouth and took her to the mattress. Jana’s jaw dropped and she whirled, turning her back on the bed. She tugged Darach around, moving to his other side to keep their hands clasped. He looked over his shoulder and she smacked his arm. “Stop that! This is a private matter. We shouldn’t be here for this.”
The shuffle of clothing being shed and the murmuring of new lovers filled the room but Jana kept her face trained on the keyhole of Darach’s borrowed tunic. “Why are we still here? Why hasn’t this scene faded away?”
“It’s not the time yet for us to leave. Something more must be learned.” The lines of his neck shifted as he turned his head back toward the bed. “Something must occur which answers your questions.”
“Stop looking! I know very well what’s occurring. I don’t need an answer to that.”
Darach swallowed hard. “There’s something to learn, Jana. It will reveal itself in time, this time, this place. We simply must wait.”
“Maybe they’re interrupted or discovered?” Jana looked around the room, hoping for anything to capture her interest. It was a normal young woman’s chambers. She’d seem the same trappings all her life, even in a different time.
She crossed to the roses and pulled Darach with her. Two dozen glass roses in every shade from cream to blood lined three shelves. Each was unique, with tiny painted leaves and unfurling petals. A garden in glass sparkled in the fire’s glow, and Jana marveled at what they might look like in full sunshine. The artisanship was exquisite. They looked freshly plucked. One even had a tiny drop of dew clinging to a petal. She could almost smell the heady scent of early morning blooms.
The quiet noises and loving murmurs grew slowly and Jana’s face heated. She’d just leave, step into the hall and give them some privacy. She tried to walk toward the door. Her feet wouldn’t move. Her answers were here, in this room.
“Damn,” she murmured.
Darach chuckled. “We must stay. But we could speak to each other, provide a wall of words.” He nodded toward the roses. “Why would a woman wish to keep flowers made of glass when the live plant is so much more beautiful?”
“Flowers die if you pluck them. Even if you don’t, their beauty is seasonal. Rycca tried to keep a little bit of that beauty, that’s all. These roses will never die.”
“They give no fragrance, attract no bees. They are imitations of the real thing.”
“They are.” Jana touched one rose. Her finger passed through it. “But they spark a memory of those live blossoms, remind me of how I love to walk in the gardens. There are dozens of rose bushes at Thistlemount. Maybe Rycca had them planted.”
A feminine gasp succumbed to a sweet moan and a bed rope creaked with a rhythmic whine. Darach glanced over his shoulder. Jana pinched his hand. He jerked his chin back and focused on Rycca’s roses, a high blush kissing across his cheeks. “I’m sorry, nayeli. It’s simply...curiosity.”
“Let’s give them what privacy we can.”
Darach looked at her. “At the tavern, why did you kiss me?”
“Oh, Darach, you don’t know, do you? You gave a child hope. You made sure Argot’s name continued through that boy. All of mankind could learn from you.”
“Argot was an honorable man.” Dark hair slid across his nape as he bowed his head. “I hope the boy at the tavern lives up to his new name.”
“Argot was an orphan, did you know that?”
Tiny lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Yes, he mentioned that...before he died. If he had no parents, who taught him right from wrong?”
“I don’t know. I think that most human beings have an innate goodness. It’s how they handle what life hands them that shapes who they are, no matter what station they’re born into.”
“I handled the attackers too harshly, killed a young man who may have been able to change.” Shifting on his feet, he looked away from the roses, to the blank stone wall. “Argot wouldn’t have made that mistake.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, Darach. You know about my mistake with Anic. I promise not to judge you if you’ll give me the same promise.”
He faced her, the sincerity on his face holding her captive. “I promise.”
“When you leave, I’ll miss you.” Needing to touch him, she brushed an invisible bit of lint from his shoulder.
A strong hand cupped her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek. “You are the only thing in this world worth remembering, nayeli.”
So softly spoken, those words stole into her heart and stitched the final seam, sealing him forever inside her. Even if he was only here for a short while, it was time she had with him, time she’d never forget. When she was old and bent with age, with more lines on her face than in a book, his voice would rock her to sleep.
Her hand raised from his shoulder to his lips. Warm satin.
He murmured her name, then his tongue slipped into her mouth as he had slipped into her life, with an explosion of power and a gentle lick. The minty bite of coldest winter sizzled hot from his lips. One arm wound around his ne
ck. A possessive clutch tugged her to his chest and forced a small gasp from her mouth. He nibbled the sound away.
The clasp at his nape annoyed her and she plucked it loose, freeing his hair to her fingers. If his lips were satin, his hair was silk. The only two soft things about him entranced her. She let everything go, burying herself in the complexities of him, of stone and satin, of granite and silk, of innocence and boldness.
Dyal’s groan broke into their circle. The black began to intrude. The firelit chambers faded into the spread of nothingness. Answers to questions rushed her mind.
“Of course! Now it makes sense.” Excitement quickened her breath. “The loving was complete. The answer came with its end. A child, Darach. If Rycca carried Dyal’s child into marriage, the bloodline changed.”
Lines carved around his mouth. “But she’s to marry another man?”
“Yes, well, I suppose she wouldn’t be the first woman to pass another man’s bastard off as her husband’s.” Jana fought a sudden yawn, but it escaped. She covered her mouth as it stretched through her. “But that doesn’t seem quite right. Cator Ooman was the last king before Segur rule. Rycca has to marry a Segur. What was her promised lord’s name?”
“Mergot, no family name was given. Perhaps it was Segur.”
“No, Segur didn’t appear on the lexicon until they took the crown. So who does she marry and is she carrying Dyal’s child? Is the blood curse in Dyal’s bloodline or the Segur line? We’ve more questions than when we began.”
“We have more pieces to a puzzle. The answers are here, waiting for us to discover them.” One strong finger followed the curve of her jaw. “This dance has drained you after the journey. We will try again after you rest.”
“I want to know. I can go on.”
“Dancing in time is draining but bridging to a new bloodline is twice as risky. Do not overtire yourself. It’s too easy to become trapped in the past and lost forever.”
“What does that mean?”
He pulled his shoulders back. “If your spirit travels along a bloodline other than your own and you’re lost, your body—which remains in your time—will weaken and die. Most time dancers have perished this way. You must take care, nayeli. When you’re fatigued, return to your time.”
