A Lamentation of Swans

by Desiree Acuna

  The fear evident in her pale face and taut features lightened fractionally when she caught sight of him and Drake and Faine waiting inside.

  The voices of the chanting priests rose as Gwyneth was brought into the chamber.

  Gone was the gown that she’d worn when she arrived, Caelin saw. In its place was a robe that barely covered her nakedness.

  Anger flashed through him. He tamped it with an effort, focused on pushing it from his mind. Dark magic, he knew, would use it against him and it was powerful enough in the room already that he felt its burn.

  Dragging her to the altar amidst the chants, the priests who’d brought her in lifted her by her wrists and ankles and placed her on the altar, clamping manacles to each before they released her.

  Calm, Caelin told himself. The manacles wouldn’t hurt her.

  She was shivering from both fear and cold he didn’t doubt, but mostly fear.

  Peace, he told himself, searching for the magic inside himself and commanding it to come forth, to protect.

  The chanting of the priests distracted him. He found his mind divided between his efforts to call his own magic forth and the attempt to decipher the language of the chant and understand it.

  They were summoning the black magic of the underworld and the overworld to open the gate between the two. For several moments, that realization shook him. If the gates opened—when the gates opened, Artimus would step through.

  They had to allow that if they were to have a chance of destroying him, but what if they couldn’t? What if they allowed the gates to open and found they weren’t strong enough, even with the three of them, to defeat Artimus and close the gates again?

  He opened his eyes, abruptly focusing on Gwyneth when he’d been at pains to keep her from his mind, realizing that he had to focus on her to protect her.

  Come to me, keepers of the magic of the light. I command thee! Come forth and protect Gwyneth from the darkness!

  Tuning out the sound of the priests’ voices until they became little more than an annoying buzz of sound, he trained his gaze on Gwyneth’s face and continued the chant in his mind.

  Come to me, keepers of the magic of the light. I command thee! Come forth and protect Gwyneth from the darkness!

  The light from above intensified until he knew without looking that the full moon had filled the window above the altar. Behind her, between the altar where she lay and the priests who’d put her there, a faint bluish glow appeared.

  The gates were opening!

  I command thee, keepers of the magic of the light! Come forth and protect this innocent from the dwellers of the darkness! Come to me! Give me the power of the light to banish the darkness!

  The blue light grew, intensified, until it was leaping toward the ceiling. It’s uncanny glow lit the features of the chanting priests behind it, fell across Gwyneth until she seemed to be consumed by it. Something slithered through the bluish light, something black and vile. A stench invaded the chamber as the gates up, of rotting flesh, of sulfur. As the blue light had before, the slithering snake-like tendrils grew. A face materialized in the murky haze and then a torso and arms. Wavering and indistinct at first, it swiftly attained form.

  Caelin knew it was Artimus even though he’d never seen the face before. The apparition rose above Gwyneth, stared down at her for a long moment and then grinned abruptly, staring straight at them. “You brought me the seed. How predictable! How delightful!”

  Caelin felt a jolt run through him.

  Artimus laughed abruptly. “You thought you would trick me? Me? You didn’t wonder why I sent the three of you when one would have done? I’ve no use for her maidenhead! I have a great deal of use for the seed of a dragon, an elf, and a unicorn—three of the most powerful of magics all combined in one body—a royal body.”

  “Gods!” Faine muttered in horror.

  “Focus!” Drake growled.

  “Ah!” Artimus chuckled, trailing a finger tipped with a long claw along the center of Gwyneth’s body from her throat to her groin. “You thought the three of you were strong enough to defeat me?”

  Caelin felt sweat break across his brow with the effort to focus on bringing forth his magic.

  Artimus abruptly settled over Gwyneth like a lover, coiling his snake like arms all around her, lifting her away from the stone so that she almost seemed to float.

  “Now!” Drake bellowed, abruptly throwing forth the magic he’d summoned in a single, powerful ball of light.

  Gritting his teeth, Caelin threw his own at the command, as did Faine. A blinding white light moved in a wave from them, encompassing the entire altar and both Gwyneth and Artimus.

  Panic erupted amongst the priests. Crying out, gasping in horror as the light washed through the chamber, some merely threw up their hands to shield themselves from the light, shrinking away from it, but many of them rushed to abandon the temple, slamming into one another in their frantic haste. Some tripped and fell beneath the panicked wave and were trampled by others.

  “Push him away, Gwyneth! Use your magic, girl! Summon it to fight him! Don’t let him rip your soul from your body! He wants your body for himself!”

  Gwyneth uttered a choked sound as if she was strangling. “Can’t!”

  “You can! He gave you the power at your birth! Thrust him from you! Call your own powers forth and thrust him away! You can crush him!”

  The light wavered. They could see the light emanating from Gwyneth battering against the darkness that was Artimus, but the light was weak and growing steadily weaker. They had chained her to her death, Caelin though in sudden horror. They’d bound him to her with their power and she couldn’t break free. He couldn’t escape the light without her. He would take her with him! “She can’t do it!” Caelin bellowed. “She isn’t strong enough yet.”

  “Children! Protect your mother!” Drake bellowed abruptly.

  The words had barely left his mouth when the light emanating from Gwyneth intensified, grew, began to swallow the darkness. Artimus screamed in rage. “The child is mine to command! Mine! She is mine! It is my spell that collected the powers of the fathers. For me! Give me your body, you bitch!”

  “No!” Gwyneth screamed at him.

  Abruptly the tug of war between Gwyneth and Artimus ended. The light exploded in the chamber like a starburst, killing the priests who hadn’t had the presence of mind to flee as soon as they saw that the light was swallowing the darkness.

  The torches went out as the light dispersed, leaving them in a profound darkness broken only by the feeble light of the moon as it moved across the window above.

  Caelin was too frozen with doubt to move for several moments. When Drake surged forward, however, he moved, rushing to the altar to stare down at Gwyneth.

  “She’s breathing,” Drake said, his voice hoarse.

  Caelin glanced at him, swallowing a little sickly. Moving to her wrists as Drake unshackled her ankles, he unlocked them and pulled her hands free of the restraints. She was perfectly limp and he felt cold dread wash through him. Had they placed too much faith in her strength?

  * * * *

  The sunlight against her eyelids drew Gwyneth toward consciousness. With awareness her mind instantly leapt to the fear she’d taken with her that she would never see the sun again when she’d felt herself falling into a deep, dark hole. Pleasure flickered through her and she opened her eyes, peering through her lashes at the blue sky above her.

  “Good morning, my pet.”

  Blinking away the dregs of sleep, Gwyneth turned at the sound of his voice, a smile already curling her lips. “Drake,” she said, discovering her voice sounded hoarse and her throat felt scoured.

  He settled beside her, propping on his arm. “Two days you’ve slept. We’d begun to fear you would not awaken.”

  “Two?” No wonder she felt as if she’d dried up! She frowned, trying to think why she might have slept for two days. Dread began to filter through her before the memories surfaced. She moved her hand t
o her belly, cupping it. “Is the baby alright?”

  Drake’s face darkened. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Babies,” he said gently.

  Gwyneth stared at him blankly. “Babies?” she echoed.

  Drake shrugged. “The only thing more powerful than a dragon, an elf, and a unicorn is all three.”

  She struggled with that a moment. “You think there’s one of each? In here?”

  “Will you hit me with something if I say that I know there is one each … in there?”

  She thought it over. Slowly a sense of euphoria took hold of her and as it did, she felt a smile curl her lips. “Really?”

  Drake cocked his head, studying her a little curiously. “You do not seem upset.”

  Gwyneth chuckled. “Because I’m not. You’re certain they’re alright?”

  He frowned. “They were strong enough to help you fight Artimus off. I think they’re alright.”

  Gwyneth felt her excitement crash at that. She pushed herself upright and looked around. Discovering that she was lying on a pallet beneath a tree in a wooded area, she frowned. “What happened to Artimus?”

  “We defeated him, destroyed him. He opened the gate. We prevented him from returning—or from taking a body that would allow him to remain here, in the overworld. There was no place for his soul to go and the light destroyed him.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “He died long ago—his body. I confess, it threw me that he’d commanded that we bring you. Why, I wondered, would he want a woman’s body when, in this world, they have no power at all to speak of? They are the chattel of men.

  “Then, when I realized that you were the lost princess, I understood. You are the last of your line, the last of the Belmors. You are the heir to the throne.

  “That was only part of it, of course. The beauty of his plan was that he could become so powerful no one could threaten him, merely by taking your body and holding your soul captive and the souls of our sons—the dragon, the elf, and the unicorn. Then he would have so much power no one could oppose him.”

  Gwyneth gaped at him. As soon as he’d mentioned the lost princess and began to talk of heirs and rulers, he’d completely lost her. “I’m a serf.”

  “Nay! You were raised as a serf. You were used as a serf, but you were not born a serf. You were born to rule. If your family had lived, then you would’ve been wed to the ruler of another realm to bring more power to your family. Artimus saw to it than none of the others lived, however—only you—because he could use you as he couldn’t the others.”

  Dismay filled Gwyneth. She wasn’t certain why, but a sense of impending doom began to settle heavily over her that was almost more frightening than when she’d believed that she would die.

  She didn’t feel like a queen! She didn’t want to be a queen! She just wanted to be a mother.

  “What of King Gerald?” she asked abruptly as it occurred to her that the last time she’d seen him he was still very much alive.

  Drake’s lips curled in distaste. “Your uncle? I suppose we will have to deal with ….” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “He will have to be dealt with. He’s a threat to the throne. He has fled the realm for now, fearing retribution from Artimus, but it will not be long before he learns that Artimus was destroyed and he will think that he can take back the throne of Wynsmere.”

  “My uncle?” Gwyneth echoed in dismay, feeling for several moments as if she would throw up. “That terrible man was my uncle?”

  Drake looked at her with sympathy. “Your father’s brother. Once King John had produced such a strong line of succession, however, he knew that the day would never come when he sat upon the throne—not without treachery, and he was obviously willing to betray his family, his brother. I would like to say that Artimus tricked him in some way, but I do not believe that was the case.”

  Gwyneth felt like crying. “Was there no one in my family who was not vile? Artimus was bad enough, but at least I did not grow up seeing the terrible things he did. King Gerald ….”

  “Your mother was a great lady,” Drake said gently. “She was known far and wide for her beauty, her generosity, and her kind heart. The little princes—would have been great men if they had lived, because your father—your true father—King John was the greatest ruler Wynsmere has ever known.”

  Gwyneth looked at him hopefully. “Then … Artimus wasn’t my father?”

  “I do not believe that he was,” Drake said after a slight hesitation. “I have seen nothing of him in you.”

  Gwyneth’s brows twitched together. “The magic?”

  “I cannot say except to say that the magic within you is white magic, not black magic—mayhap from your mother as it grew stronger when you conceived and that is not uncommon among witches. She was not known for it, but that does not rule out the possibility that she was a carrier of magic. Caelin suspected that Artimus had created you as a lure. It’s possible that that is where your magic springs from, the seed of magic that he had to use to create the spell.”

  Gwyneth stared at him unhappily as that sank in. She suddenly didn’t care where the magic had come from. She suddenly felt like weeping. Her chest felt as if it was being crushed by sorrow. She wanted to deny it, but it made so much sense that she found she couldn’t.

  She’d been created as a lure to capture the seed Artimus wanted. It hadn’t been her they’d been drawn to any of the time. It wasn’t her they found so irresistible. It had never been her that they’d wanted. It was only the magic that had pulled them to her!

  She wanted to throw herself upon Drake’s chest and beg him to reassure her, to tell her that he cared for her. She wanted to feel the warmth of his arms and his affection as she had so many times before.

  She supposed it was just as well that she heard Faine and Caelin returning. It kept her from playing the fool and shaming herself.

  They embarrassed her by kneeling.

  “Your highness,” Caelin said with cool respect. “Faine and I have taken the liberty of finding suitable clothing for you to wear. The realm is in chaos since Gerald fled. We made it known that the princess had been found.”

  She glanced at him in dismay that deepened when he mentioned that they’d told everyone that she was the lost princess. “But … we don’t know for sure! I might not be her! What if I am not?”

  “The mark on your hip will be your proof, Your Highness. It is true an imposter could tattoo the fleur de lis. Everyone knows that the royal children were marked upon their birth with the royal emblem, but only a handful know the exact size and color and the details within the mark. That was kept secret. I have confidence—we all do—that it will be seen that yours is the mark of the true princess.”

  She didn’t feel like a princess! She didn’t want to be a princess!

  Because she knew if she was that she wouldn’t be allowed to marry as she pleased. She wouldn’t be allowed to have lovers. She wouldn’t be allowed to have them! Nothing the world had to offer could compensate her for the loss of them!

  But she had lost them already! More accurately, she supposed, she had never had them. “So I am to dress like a princess and go to Belmor and then they will decide if I am really a princess and if I am, then I will be queen?” she asked numbly.

  “We will escort you back to Belmor,” Drake said. “We would be honored to have the task of protecting Your Royal Highness.”

  Gwyneth swallowed a little convulsively. “Until you can give me into someone else’s keeping?”

  “We will always be honored to be called upon, Your Highness. You need only send for me at any time—or the others,” Faine added hastily when Drake and Caelin glared at him.

  Gwyneth had stared at him for almost a full minute before it finally pierced the cloud of misery enveloping her that he was different and it took another minute after that to realize how he was different. “You aren’t a unicorn!” Heat flooded her cheeks. “I mean, its daylight and you’re in human form!”

  He smiled. “T
he choice is mine. Destroying Artimus freed me.”

  Gwyneth glanced at Drake and Caelin, shamed that she’d been so wrapped up in her own misery that she hadn’t thought about theirs. “Your daughter? Your mother? They are freed, too?”

  “He took his black magic with him,” Caelin said solemnly. “Thank you, Your Highness, for thinking of my mother. Her soul is free. We would never have succeeded without your help.”

  “Maud’s daughter,” Drake corrected her. “I said that he had taken my mate’s egg and held her daughter. I did not say that she was my daughter.”

  Confusion and embarrassment flickered through Gwyneth. “I didn’t really do anything.”

  Drake smiled a little lopsidedly. “Granted, you had help—the babes lent their strength to protect—but it was you who did the most.”

  Gwyneth frowned. “You said ‘children, protect your mother’. You commanded them. I remember.”

  “And they responded,” he said, smiling, “the command was for you. I knew that you would find the strength you needed to protect your babes.”

  Warmth filled her at that. Smiling, she placed her hand over the womb where they slept. She was pleased to know that she’d helped them destroy Artimus, helped them to gain their freedom, but she was comforted—nay, proud of herself—to know that she hadn’t failed her babes, that she’d found the strength she needed to protect them. “It was love,” she murmured.

  She saw that they were looking at her strangely when she looked up at them.

  “A mother’s love is the strongest magic there is,” Drake said slowly, his voice sounding strange.

  The men exchanged a look. “If you feel up to the journey, Your Highness, we should get going,” Caelin said.

  Nodding, Gwyneth took the finery they’d brought her and looked it over. “I need to bathe first,” she said decisively. “Is there anywhere that I might bathe?”

  They looked uncomfortable. “There is a lake,” Faine said doubtfully, “but that’s hardly a place for a queen.”