Time Dancer

by Inez Kelley

  “I don’t like being fallible,” he muttered under his breath. Intellectually he understood her words but they were cold comfort. Their duty was supposed to be near completion. Now they had to start fresh and discover what role Warric played in it. Something chewed through his mind. There was a threat to the crown, a real and deadly presence that still lingered. Somehow, it had roots in the ancient heartmate spell. He felt that, still strong as ever in his essence. But he couldn’t figure out how.

  His fingers tightened to a fist as a wave of vulnerability washed through him. Unlike the blind void in time, here life galloped on around him, taunting him as things unfolded he couldn’t control or affect. In the vast expanse of the human realm, he was lost. He was a tracker, a guide. Being lost went against every grain of his existence.

  Some fundamental element in his core cracked. “I’m helpless.”

  Firm fingers grabbed his chin and yanked his head to face her. “No. You’re a spell, one formed with bone and magic, full of might and power. You showed me the truth in myself and taught me to dance through my dreams. You came for me when I was trapped in time. You’re a man with a gentle honor and a fierce pride who stood up for a small boy, who learns from his mistakes, who prizes honesty and integrity. You are not helpless.”

  A surge of confidence shored him up, sent waves of calm rippling through him. He would succeed. Nothing else was acceptable. Her love made him more than what he’d been at his creation, more than the sum of his parts. For her, he’d become more than magic, more than a man. That devotion would spur him forward and mold him even more.

  His heart swelled to an ache as he gazed into Jana’s cove-blue eyes. His thumb skated over her velvety smooth skin. “I’ll never be helpless with you at my side, nayeli.”

  “I love you, even if you are arrogant and demanding and sinfully masculine.” Her whispered words warmed his skin as she nuzzled along his jaw. “For a not-quite-real man, you make me think wickedly womanly thoughts.”

  Even through her cloak, the soft mounds of her breasts pressed into his chest. Instinctual and human urges converged, tightening his thighs. Dawn was a mere suggestion of pink along the frosty horizon. He cupped her behind, tugging her closer and letting his tongue trace along her neck. “Wicked is my favorite part of the human design.”

  She angled her head, giving him access to that tender spot along her jaw, then pushed him away with a reluctant groan. “We can’t. We have to get back to Thistlemount.”

  Darach banked his desire with a firm nod. “You’re right. Let’s complete this mission so we can go home.”

  The horse’s hooves cracked through the snow’s crusted top but his clawed paws made no sound as they headed into the blistering expanse of white. Harsh wind stirred the barren stretch of snow and tossed the edges of Jana’s cloak but Darach didn’t slow his race to the castle. Something brewed deep in his magic. It sounded like a hushed plea begging them to hurry before it was too late.

  * * *

  Morning crested in a wash of pink and cream and a bitter wind screaming from the north. Warric’s mouth was thick with paste. He blinked against the light. Sweat had dried to a clammy film along his brow. A residual soreness radiated from his sternum. He shifted.

  Kya was beside him in an instant. “Easy, my love.” She helped him sit upright, tucking pillows behind him. Her fingers flew over his face, checking for fever, and her eyes scoured his, looking for madness. Her fear was palpable. “What happened? You’ve been out cold for over a full day. I’ve been terrified, afraid to sleep in case you...”

  “I’m all right.” His voice grated with a scratch.

  She hurried to bring him a mug of tea sweetened with honey. The hot liquid cleared his throat and helped to clear his mind. He had no idea what happened. If this was his channeling powers surging, it manifested in a way he’d never imagined. He dared a brief glance inward and sighed in reprieve. The door was bolted tight and the channeling chaos as confused as he was about what had happened.

  Despite her protests, he rose and dressed. When his stomach rumbled, Kya stomped around the kitchen, muttering about how the next time he scared her like that she was taking a switch to his backside. He simply watched her with adoration while she made his favorite almond pancakes. They’d nearly finished cleaning up the dirty dishes when a harsh knock shook the door.

  Kya sighed. “I told that boy noontime. If he thinks I’ll pay him a copper more to shovel the snow because he came early, he’s wrong.”

  She wrapped the pink shawl around her shoulders and opened the door. A huge stern-faced Royal Guard blocked the light and looked over her head, directly at him. “Your Highness, I’ve been sent to bring you home.”

  “No.” Warric’s gut tightened. “I’m not leaving here. Tell my father I’ll be ba—”

  “The arrest order comes from the High Captain, with the queen’s seal.”

  Dread threatened to dislodge the pancakes from his belly. “Arrest? My mother? Why didn’t my father send the order?”

  The guard’s eyes dropped. “All I know is the king has taken to his bed and the queen is acting ruler now.”

  “Is my father...is it his heart?” Warric swallowed a jolt of concern. He couldn’t let his last words to his father be in anger.

  “I don’t know, milord.” The guard shuffled his feet.

  Kya slid her fingers over his lower back, giving her support. It grounded him. Papa couldn’t die, he was too stubborn. There’d be time to make repairs yet. For now, he must stay with Kya. “Tell my moth—”

  “My instructions are to not leave without you, Your Highness, and to use whatever means needed to see you are returned.”

  A clinking behind the man drew Warric’s gaze. Half a platoon of armored men had dismounted and stood ready to use force. Three stepped into the tiny cottage, overfilling it with large male bodies carrying a lot of weaponry. One knocked into the table, and the vase filled with his yellow roses crashed to the floor.

  An affronted burn charged through him. His mother sent a dozen soldiers after him? The king he could see, but his mother? Had he lost her trust as well? Enchantment hummed in his bones and he felt his eyes begin to glow. He put himself between Kya and the men.

  “You think you can arrest me?”

  Frigid wind whipped between his legs from behind with a whoosh. Something seemed off about that but he was too focused on the soldiers in front of him to think. The sergeant faced him, his stalwart devotion to duty erasing all fear. “Yes, milord. I know what you are, but I also know your weakness.”

  A muffled gasp whirled Warric around. A brawny knight had entered through the bedroom window. He held Kya to his chest, one meaty hand clamped over her mouth. Her dark eyes were wide in fear.

  “Let go of her.” Warric’s face grew hot with the urge to hurl fire.

  The second soldier drew his blade and held it to her cheek. “One magic blink and I cut her. Listen to the sergeant, milord. I don’t want to hurt her, but I will if I must. You need to return to Thistlemount now. The woman comes with you, never fear.”

  Rage boiled in his blood. He wasn’t ready yet. He needed time. He barely had control of the chaos, and he couldn’t explain what had happened last night. He was too dangerous to be around his family.

  Kya whimpered and his rage turned to fury. The soldier held her by the arm, his gloved grip digging into her skin. The dagger rested on the curve of her cheek, where the flesh was fullest. A white line formed as he pressed and her skin threatened to split.

  Black swirled in his sight and a malicious voice hissed in his ear. Kill them. Kill them all. She’s mine. He shook his head, trying to clear the temptation away. The headache slammed into him like a brick. Instinctively, he took a single step toward her.

  The honed-fine blade pricked her skin. A tiny drop of scarlet formed at the dagger tip. Warric held his hands up. “All right, I’ll go, but turn her loose before you cut her.”

  The guard shook his head. “Not until you’re with
your mother.”

  Someone grabbed his arms and forced his hands behind his back. Rope knotted tightly, biting into his wrists, trussing him like a goose for cooking. The chaotic force twisted inside him with hurricane strength. Holding it back took every drop of his will.

  “Let her get dressed, damn it! She can’t go out in just her shift.”

  The soldiers exchanged eye contact, then the one holding her nodded. “Outside for you. I’ll bring her out when she’s dressed. One word, Your Highness, one cry, and she feels my knife’s kiss. Hold tight to that magic and your temper if you want her unmarked.”

  They threw his cloak over his shoulders and shoved him into the snow like a common thief. He stumbled, his ankle twisting and rubbing against the jeweled dagger in his boot. Escape plans bubbled in his mind. If he could get Kya away, he could easily distract the guards with a few well-placed fireballs. They could hide until he was more in control. Maybe he’d take her into Quinlan province. The terrain there was cold and dry, with a sparse population. He’d be less likely to hurt anyone. But first he had to get his hands loose.

  There was no way he could bring his dagger from his ankle without notice but his mantle did hide his hands. He closed his eyes and placed a smoldering spark deep in the twined hemp. Heat formed along his lower back and a small tendril of smoke drifted from the cloak edge. He tried to cover it with the steam from his mouth by talking.

  “What is my crime? Tell me what I’m charged with.”

  The sergeant’s thick upper lip tightened. “Assassination attempts of the Crowned Prince and the Princess Presumptive.”

  Warric made himself laugh, a wide cloud spilling from his lips. “Presumptive? You need better informants. My brother married Feena in secret before his exile. She’s a full-fledged princess now. The only Princess Presumptive is in there with a damn dagger at her face!”

  The guard blinked but said nothing more. Warric’s horse had been brought from Thistlemount. He couldn’t climb up with his hands tied so they’d sat a chunk of wood for him to step on. He rested his booted foot on the block but didn’t mount. Incredible heat blistered his back but he twisted his hands, trying to break the burning rope.

  He raised his voice to a yell. “Kya? Are you all right?”

  The door thrust open. She wore a dark rose gown that was rumpled and her hair was unbound and messy. A firm tilt to her head and furious glimmer in her eye made him grin. Kya was far too independent to take well to being mauled. God, he loved the grit in her. His mother would like her. The sudden thought sobered him.

  “Let go of me, you ox!” She jerked her elbow from the guard’s hold.

  “She doesn’t own a horse. Let her ride with me.”

  The sergeant snickered. “Not a chance in hell, Your Highness.”

  The rope gave way and dropped to the snow at his feet. Arms still behind his back, Warric palmed a fireball. “Kya, run!”

  Warric lobbed the fireball and her guard ducked back into the cottage. Pandemonium erupted. The guards started toward him but Warric was a half-step faster, anger and determination fueling his muscles. He tossed three more burning spheres at the approaching men, aiming at their feet. Everyone shied away from the blue-magic fire that didn’t melt the snow but roared with singeing heat.

  “Just stay back,” he cautioned. He kept his eyes trained on the sergeant but held his hand out to Kya. “Come on, love, quickly.”

  She bolted toward him. The guard lunged from the doorway, catching her around her knees. Kya fell with a shriek. A harsh thunk silenced the scream as her temple slammed into the wooden block. Silence echoed.

  “Kya?”

  No one moved. A shudder formed deep in his belly. The packed snow beneath her head widened in a crimson circle.

  Warric knelt, whispering her name. “Kya, please?”

  His hands trembled rolling her toward him. The dark fringe of her lashes lay closed and her mouth was parted a touch. No misty vapor wafted from those lips. A little wound, less than the length of his smallest finger, sliced across her temple. Bright red blood trickled into her hair.

  Her cheeks were cold. She didn’t have her shawl. Why hadn’t they let her grab her shawl? He’d wanted to get her a fine cloak but there hadn’t been time. Quilted brown, like the color of her eyes and lined with thick, warm fox fur. He could nearly see her face shining in delight with such a mantle.

  Nothing shone from her face now. It was blank, slack with death and empty of all life. Needlelike pain traced his bondmark. A flame settled there, scalding him. His bondmark was changing. Kya was gone.

  “No.” The whisper quivered then slid off his tongue.

  “I didn’t mean for her to fall. I swear to you, Your Highness, it was an accident,” the guard at her feet pleaded.

  Warric clutched her and wept in loss. His tears fell to her skin, slipping into death with her. He was supposed to protect her. She was supposed to save him. Now there was nothing left.

  Insanity crashed into him with a feral strength. His mind split wide and the chaos swarmed in. He didn’t fight it, didn’t care to fight it. If he’d lost Kya, he didn’t want to live, didn’t care where he ended up. The chaos took possession of his mind and his magic.

  The guard wept with regret, his hands pressed to his face. Hatred pumped to every inch of Warric’s body, the hunger for revenge baring his teeth and making his mouth salivate. This peon, this nothing who wasn’t fit to fall in her shadow, had killed her.

  Warric laid Kya on the ground, his touch lingering on her nose, the button nose that would never wrinkle in impishness again. His hand stretched toward the bright sky and a chant filled his mouth—foreign and fierce, evil and enveloping.

  “Power, power, all to me.

  Earth, fire, wind and sea.

  Give me strength. Give me might.

  To my hand, power light.”

  The darker gray clouds from the north swirled in a rush. They converged above him, rumbling with an unnatural storm. The temperature plummeted from cold to freezing and the landscape turned from a winter wonderland to a desolate wasteland. A loud thunderclap crashed.

  Pink lightning cracked, splitting the now-dreary sky and hitting his open palm. Warric curled his fingers and trapped the lightning, giving form to the burning light. It crackled and snapped in his grip but took a physical shape like a whip—a deadly whip never conceived by any warlord.

  Sparks shot from the pink-lit flogger as he snapped it, learning the feel, feeling the hate take control. The fiery tip licked at the air. He struck the guard who’d killed her in the neck. Flames consumed him.

  “Burn, you bastard.” What-had-been-Warric laughed, but inside, behind a steel door of his own making, the lost lover wept.

  The channeling took full possession, flicking the magic whip with murderous rage. The air filled with cries for mercy. He had no mercy left. It had died with Kya. Bodies fell around him in smoldering lumps of charred flesh wearing his family colors. Two men ran. Vengeance fired from the lightning whip and they collapsed, flames chewing at flesh and skin.

  No one but him remained standing. Smoke drifted in dark plumes. His chest heaved with labored breath, his blood roared with maniacal power and his heart broke in bitter loss. Not enough.

  Agony ravaged through him. Every drop of heartache converged with abhorrence and he screamed at the spitting sky. The cottage exploded. Rock and wood shot up, fire and ash rained down. Heat blistered his skin but he kept shouting curses to the empty clouds. The barn detonated. A giant fireball scorched the sleeping garden. His violence destroyed everything in his sight. Everything but a lone rosebush heavy with supernatural color. That he left as a living memorial to Kya.

  Insanity brought a strange clarity. He should never have fought the channeling, shouldn’t have denied what he was. Before, the concept of rigid morality had bound his true power, shackled him inside a shell that wasn’t man enough to accept his lot. He was more than a mere channeler. He was the mightiest channeler who ever lived. He w
as a god.

  The periods of blackness he now remembered. The needle-painting on his ass to keep his bitch mother from knowing his path. Slipping powdered poison into a small round cake. Raining arrows down while he watched from the hillside. Sending conjured mountain lions in search of his shared blood. Each magic act had left him drained and weak, near collapse. Battling within himself had been torturous. Now he’d cast off those manacles of right and decent.

  More had to die, had to pay for what had been taken from him. His eyes turned toward Thistlemount. He’d level the castle until nothing but dust was left, dust and charred bones. Let them all taste the pain he’d been force-fed.

  Enough heart remained in him that he scooped Kya from the packed snow, cradling her with the most gentle care. She was his never-to-be-crowned princess. She deserved to be laid to rest next to his kin, kin that he would bury as he claimed what was his—all of the Land of Eldwyn.

  * * *

  The sun was but a crimson sliver over the mountaintops, spilling an unnatural hue across the land. A shiver trickled down Jana’s spine. Thistlemount’s bailey walls filled her not with relief but dread. She sat in complete stillness, staring at her home.

  “Something’s not right.”

  Darach shook the snow from his pelt then shifted, standing upright as a man. The blood-moon glow on his hair burnished it to mahogany. His face turned up. “I’m being summoned.”

  “Home?”

  “No.” He turned and faced the closed portcullis. A growl rumbled from his throat. “Evil calls me by name.”

  “By name?”

  “Yes.” Guardedness turned his muscles to stone. “Wait here.”

  “Oh, no.” Jana slithered off the mare’s back. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

  “Come then, and do as I say. This evil is... It doesn’t smell right.”

  Darach led her away from the main entry. They crept around the massive wall, into the shadows of the mountains, to the rear gate. A smaller entryway used for goods and livestock, it nonetheless had ironclad defenses. Or should have. The gate stood unbarred, cracked open an inch as if left for them to find. Fright danced on Jana’s nape.