“A gift," he said with a smile.
"Thank you,” she murmured, feeling both pleased and embarrassed. She was increasingly uncomfortable with such gestures of familiarity from him, though she tried to tell herself that it was only because she was accustomed to the far more formal life of the court.
Then it seemed that Rina had to give her a present as well. She knew that Jocelyn liked perfumes and dragged her off to another stall, where pots of herbs and salves and oils covered a large table. Da- ken followed along after them.
Rina spoke in Kassid to the woman at the stall, then turned to Jocelyn. "She will create a scent that is just right for you.”
The woman scrutinized Jocelyn for a moment with bright black eyes, then began to mix various things together in a tiny pot. Jocelyn was excited. She’d tried creating scents herself a few times, but had never been satisfied with the results.
"Give her your hand,” Rina instructed.
Jocelyn did so and the woman rubbed a small amount of the concoction onto the inside of her wrist. Jocelyn inhaled it and exclaimed with delight. It was perfect. Then Rina took her hand and sniffed.
“Oh, that’s lovely—and it’s just right for you. Don't you think so, Father?”
Jocelyn, who had for once quite forgotten his presence, was caught by surprise as Rina lifted her hand to Daken, who obligingly bent over it.
"Yes, it is,” he agreed.
Their eyes met—and something shifted irrevocably in Jocelyn’s world. For one brief moment, she forgot who he was, who she was—and everything else. Liquid warmth surged through her, leaving in its wake a strange sort of languor, a ripe heaviness that she'd never felt before. She looked away, embarrassed over that reaction and fearful that he might somehow have guessed it.
Then Rina’s youthful enthusiasm came to her rescue. She tugged Jocelyn along to the food stalls, where they bought sweets and some soft cheese made from the milk of the strange creatures that produced the supple wool.
Jocelyn quickly set aside that disorienting moment with Daken as she enjoyed being carried along by Rina’s high spirits. Not since her own childhood had she been to a market. After that, things had been brought to the palace for her inspection, and the pure joy of exploration had been lost.
Then, as they began to walk back to the fortress, Rina paused to speak to some friends and Daken turned to her.
"Would you like to go for a ride, Jocelyn? I thought you might like to see the view you missed when you came here—if you’re feeling well enough, that is.”
Surprised by the invitation, she still nodded quickly. But she found herself hoping that Rina would join them even though she was fully aware of the irony of such a wish. For days now, she’d
been waiting for a time to speak with him alone— and now that it seemed she would have that opportunity, she feared it.
She sat down on a nearby bench while Daken went to fetch the horses and began to eat some of the marvelous sweets Rina had bought while the girl finished her discussion with her friends. When Rina came over to her, she told the girl that they were going riding, then invited her to join them.
“I don’t think Father would appreciate that just now,” Rina replied. "I think he wants you to himself for a while.”
Rina’s choice of words was undoubtedly the result of speaking a foreign tongue, but Jocelyn’s reaction was a warm flush that made her look away quickly as she pretended to be busy unwrapping another sweet.
Does she know—or has she guessed? Jocelyn’s fear of Kassid magic was never far from her mind, and now she wondered if they might all be able to read her mind. She couldn’t quite believe that, but decided that she must guard her thoughts and feelings even more than she usually did.
Then she saw Daken coming back across the courtyard, leading two of the ugly Kassid horses, and for just a moment, she saw him as she knew her people would see him—a huge man who radiated a carefully controlled power that surpassed anything she’d ever seen before.
Even if he refuses to ally his people with us, she thought, I must persuade him to accompany me back to the palace. She knew there had to be spies
at court, and any who saw him would surely carry such reports back to Arrat that he would be dissuaded from attacking.
This thought calmed her by forcing her mind back to the purpose of her visit here and made her determined that, even if Daken had intended this to be no more than a sightseeing ride, she would raise that purpose with him.
It was time to conclude her business here and go home. At no time since her arrival had she felt such a powerful urge to return to the familiar routine of the palace.
Daken stopped before her. "Are you certain that you feel well enough to ride?’’
She nodded. "And as you can see, I’m dressed for it as well." Beneath her cloak, she was wearing trousers.
He chuckled. “Much more practical than your previous riding clothes, although I doubt that you wear either in Ertria.”
She thought about the thin shift she'd been wearing when he’d found her and very belatedly became embarrassed about it. A treacherous flush began to creep through her skin and she quickly averted her face, reminding herself that it was far too late to be concerned about that now.
Daken lifted her into the big, comfortable Kassid saddle much as he might have done with a child. The brief contact between them left her dizzy, and she fought it by telling herself that he probably did think of her as a child. After all, she was closer in age to his daughter than she was to him.
That realization was very comforting.
They walked the horses across the courtyard and onto the bridge, where Jocelyn made the mistake of looking down into the ravine. She gasped as the dizziness returned—for a very different reason.
"That’s why I didn’t bring you your own horse,” he said, moving closer to her and laying a steadying hand over hers as she grasped the reins. "Our horses are accustomed to this, but the men had to blindfold your horse to get it across.”
She kept her eyes straight ahead until they had reached the far side of the long bridge and tried not to think about the return trip. The rock-strewn bottom of the ravine had to be a thousand feet below them. And she’d once believed the outer walls of the palace to be as high above the surrounding land as it was possible to be!
They set out on the narrow trail, and both bridge and fortress were quickly lost from view. Despite her growing anxiety over the talk they must have, and despite her present uneasiness with him, Jocelyn was glad to be riding again. During those long weeks on the road, she’d thought she might never want to ride again in her life.
Daken remained silent as they trotted along the trail, where a thick fringe of firs rose along one side and a sheer wall of black stone thrust up on the other. She stared at that light-swallowing blackness.
“Does this stone exist anywhere else?" she asked him.
He appeared to be rather distracted, but presently shook his head. "I don’t think so. The word for it in our language means ‘stone of the gods’, and
our traditions say that it exists only here, in the place that was once their home."
Then how and why did it get from here to Ertria? she wondered silently. But perhaps he had provided the answer. She knew that her own people had once worshipped the Old Gods. Maybe that part of the palace was older than anyone thought and the stone had been brought there to create a place to worship them. But that still didn’t explain that strange writing, although it could explain the drawings of wolves, which had probably always roamed this place.
She was just beginning to think about wolves when he spoke again.
"It will snow tonight,” he said, peering up at the sky that was already beginning to fade from bright blue to a milky white.
"Tassa and Rina say that winter will come soon," she said, then after a moment's hesitation, added:
"And I must get back to Ertria before the trails become impassable.”
She had hoped her words would provide a
subtle reminder of her business here, but if they did, he chose to ignore it as he lapsed into silence once more.
The trail was narrow and he was riding ahead of her at the moment. She stared at his broad back and tried to fight down the fear that, despite all evidence to the contrary and in spite of his words, he was holding her prisoner here. She wanted very badly to trust this man—perhaps too badly, she thought now.
His continued silence as they rode along was unnerving. Daken wasn’t overly talkative, but neither was he usually so taciturn—or so distracted. Rather belatedly, she began to worry that he might already have made a decision not to help her and was finding it difficult to tell her that.
No sooner had that thought entered her mind than she began to consider how she could make him change his decision. But he interrupted her bleak thoughts by reining in his horse.
"Look, Jocelyn. This is what I tried to show you the night I brought you here."
She reined in her horse quickly. She’d been staring at the black wall to one side of the trail and had failed to notice the opening in the screen of firs to the other side.
"Ohh!” She gasped as she stared in the direction he indicated. The fortress loomed above them now—and she was seeing it for the first time in its entirety.
Except for the great fires in the urns and the bridge and the fading sunlight that still reflected off some of the windows, it would have been nearly invisible as it wrapped itself about the contours of the black mountain. She gazed upon it in speechless wonder and knew that no matter what sights she saw over the rest of her life, she could never hope to see anything that would equal this. She told him that, then added:
"Only the gods could have built it. I can truly see that now.” And she knew that she was silently acknowledging that the Kassid were all that legend
had made of them—and all they believed themselves to be. No one looking upon this sight could believe otherwise.
He turned to her with a slight smile. “But I think you came here not believing in us—or in our magic.”
She was startled by his words. "I. . . didn’t know what to believe. My father didn’t tell me that he’d met you until he ordered me to come here. Until then, I thought the Kassid were mere legend.”
He turned away to stare at his home. "Like most legends, some is truth and some is exaggeration.”
All the questions she wanted to ask remained caught in her throat. His tone and his abrupt lapse into silence again told her that she would gain no further information now.
Then he turned back to her again—and his expression made her blood run cold.
“There is no easy way to tell you this, Jocelyn. The Menoans have invaded Balek. They now control the Western Road.”
"No!" She cried, unable to believe it. "My father and Hammad said they couldn’t invade before spring."
"Which is undoubtedly why they chose to attack now,” he replied. "Surprise is a great advantage.”
"But the garrison?" Surely they hadn't taken it!
"They are some distance east of the garrison, but I have no doubt that they could take it as well. The number of men at the garrison has been allowed to dwindle over the years.”
He paused and stared hard at her. "I think you
do not yet understand their purpose in taking the Western Road."
It meant that she could not return to Ertria. But then she realized the larger implication.
"Coal! they have cut off the coal supply for Ertria—and winter is coming!”
Ertria had a few coal mines, but most of its fuel came from Balek. And the open plains of Ertria could provide very little firewood.
“Yes—and gold and silver as well. Without them, Hammad will have some difficulty in raising an army."
He paused briefly, then went on in a softer tone. "I think they also want to keep you from returning to Ertria. Their spies at court would have reported that you are here with us.”
"But I’m not that important," she protested, "Not while . . She stopped as she saw the look on his face. And then she knew. She gripped the reins tightly as her blood ran cold.
“My father," she said in a choked voice.
He reached out to her, then stopped and instead swung quickly out of his saddle. He lifted her from her horse and swung her to the ground, then folded her into his arms.
"He’s gone, Jocelyn. He died a week after you left."
For long moments, she let him hold her. A huge emptiness gaped within her. He’d known; she was sure of that now. He’d known he wouldn’t live to see her again. Perhaps he’d even sent her away in part to spare her those final days.
She’d believed that she’d been preparing herself for this, that when it happened, she would be ready to accept it. But she'd been wrong.
In the midst of her pain, she found both anger and denial. Abruptly, she pushed out of Daken’s arms.
"How do you know this, Daken? Where do you get your information?” This could be some sort of ruse on his part.
“Word had already reached the garrison when my men returned the bodies of your Guards.”
"Then you’ve known for more than two weeks— and you didn’t tell me!” She shouted the accusation at him, trembling with anger.
"You weren’t well, Jocelyn,” he replied evenly.
"And how do you know about the Menoans?" She demanded, still unable to control her anger.
"We have our sources. I merely waited for confirmation before telling you."
"Who are your sources? I demand that you tell me who’s been spying for you.”
He smiled at her, the indulgent smile of a parent confronting a tempermental child. "You demand? For one who has been behaving as though you believe I might be some sort of demon, you’ve become very bold, little one.”
His gently chiding tone had the effect of calming her anger. Instead, she drew herself up haughtily.
"I came here to ask for your help, Daken. My father said you were an honorable man and he thought you might help us. But that doesn’t mean that I have to trust you as he did.”
"You’re wrong about that,” he said quietly. "You must trust me more—because you’re here, in my land and under my protection.”
Jocelyn felt tears stinging her eyes, tears for her father and for herself. Tears of anger and frustration and pain. Her father was gone. Her lands had been invaded. Her people would freeze this winter. And she was the prisoner of a man who might well be plotting against her even as he pretended to console her.
But she would not let herself shed those tears now. She held them back with an act of sheer will and walked back to her horse, swinging herself into the saddle without waiting for his assistance. Then she set off back to his fortress.
Daken watched her struggle to control herself and her agile leap onto the horse, and he thought— certainly not for the first time—that there was far more to this woman than jewelry and perfumes and the fine clothes he’d seen among her belongings.
As he mounted his horse to follow her, he recalled that moment when he’d first seen her, fleeing into a strange land in her nightclothes, surely knowing that she would be caught. And he recalled too her vain attempts to struggle to her feet when they’d caught up with her. She must surely have believed she was facing death—but she hadn’t faced it with a bowed head or with pleas.
There was great pride and courage within her, as her father had said—and intelligence as well. But he found himself seeking more, wanting to see the woman beneath that cool reserve, even though he knew it was a dangerous quest.
During the long winter, there would be important decisions to be made. His people would depend upon his judgment, even though the decision would ultimately be theirs. And he could not afford to let his own judgment be clouded by desire for a woman who could never be his.
Still, as he thought again about that long-ago conversation with her father, he wondered if Maikel might not have had just such a hope.
Chapter Four
Jocelyn remained in
her room for two days. Trays of food were left outside her door, and she took care to eat most of it, certain that if she didn’t, Daken would force his way into the room.
She grieved for her father, but that grief was all mixed up with Daken’s other news of the enemy invasion. Her mind would drift from memories of her father to her fears for her empire’s uncertain future—and that would give way at some point to an irrational belief that her father had betrayed her by leaving her now. Then she’d promptly feel ashamed of those thoughts and return to the good memories, only to start the cycle all over again.
After a time, she reminded herself that her father had entrusted an awesome responsibility to her— a responsibility he might well have chosen to give to one of her male cousins. She knew that his advi-
sors had counseled him to do just that—with the possible exception of Hammad, who had more than once expressed his belief that she was capable of ruling.
How certain she’d been that she was indeed ready to rule—and how naive that now seemed. During the past year, she’d increasingly made decisions without first consulting her father, but she saw now that she’d been able to make those decisions only because he’d been there.
She, who had always before prided herself on her strength—disdaining the traditional female role— now began to think of herself as being no stronger than the silly, simpering women of the court.
And invariably, when she thought of her own weakness, her mind would turn to the one man who personified strength—Daken. Then she would give in to brief bursts of hatred for him, condemning him for being who he was and thereby making her seem ineffectual by comparison.
But regardless of these feelings, she knew she could not ignore him. Not only was she his guest— or prisoner, for she couldn’t quite rid herself of that uncertainty about his intentions—but so much now depended upon him. War, which had heretofore been only a threat, was now a reality, and Jocelyn left off her pain and grief to face that reality.
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