Heart of the Wolf

by Saranne Dawson

  "These mountains are sacred to us. No war has ever been fought here, and it would be an insult to have an army in our land, even if we know we could destroy it with ease.”

  Her anger with him was spent. She knew she had manufactured it in any event. "I do not understand you, Daken. Just now, you spoke like a warrior— and yet you claim not to be a warrior at all."

  "Perhaps that is because only the very strongest can afford to let themselves appear to be weak," he suggested. "I do not think of myself or my men as warriors, and we feel no need to prove ourselves. We are who we are—who we have always been. And we have great faith in our heritage—our gifts from the gods.

  "If my people agree to this alliance as I believe they will, we will destroy Arrat and his army. We could do that even without Hammad’s army."

  For just a moment, Jocelyn could actually feel his pride, his certainty. "Yes,” she said after a brief silence, "I believe you could do that. My father believed it, too.”

  He picked up the carafe to pour them some more wine and she held out her cup, watching the firelight reflect off the gold and remembering again the golden drawings on the walls of that secret room.

  I want to tell him about it, she thought. / must trust him. How can I not, when he will save my empire?

  She raised her eyes from the wine cup, then drew in her breath sharply as her eyes met his. He had leaned close to her to pour the wine—and now did not move away. What she saw in those pale eyes stopped all words and all thoughts.

  With great slowness, he set down the carafe, then raised his hand to touch her cheek, his fingertips barely grazing it as he stared at her.

  "I want you, Jocelyn,” he said in a slow, quiet voice. "I can think of many reasons why this shouldn’t happen, but reason plays no part in it."

  She couldn’t speak. It felt as though her heart had suddenly leapt into her throat. When he withdrew his hand after a moment, she finally found her voice—to make a sound of protest. He did not move away from her, but merely turned his face to stare into the fire.

  “You are my guest, and I would never take advantage of that. You have no cause to fear me.”

  She realized then that he must have seen fear in her eyes and made another sound of protest, stronger this time. He turned back to her.

  "I don't fear you, Daken. I ..." She faltered, knowing too late that it would have been better to let him think that.

  “Maybe you don’t fear me, but you fear what might happen between us. That decision must be yours."

  "It would be wrong—foolish," she amended quickly. There couldn’t be anything wrong about what she felt now.

  "Foolish,” he repeated musingly, staring down at his wine cup. "Yes, it would be that."

  She was confused. He wasn't playing by the rules as she understood them. She’d been taught that men always sought to take advantage of a woman’s innocence, that they were insatiable creatures who lusted after every woman.

  “There is always some foolishness in love, I think," he went on after a long pause. “Though perhaps one should grow less foolish about it as one grows older."

  "L—love?” she stammered.

  He smiled at her and reached out to take her hand, enfolding it between both of his. "Yes, Jocelyn—love. There is one thing that I know age does bring—and that is the ability to distinguish between mere lust and love. It is, I think, a distinction women seem to learn at a much younger

  n

  age.

  "Are—are you saying that you love me, Daken?” she asked in an incredulous tone that still had a tiny quaver in it.

  "Love does not happen so quickly, Jocelyn. Only lust comes so fast. But I know that something more

  than lust exists between us even now.” He raised a dark brow.

  "Do you find it so difficult to believe that a man could fall in love with you—or is it only that you have heard those words too many times before? Or perhaps you think I’m too old for such things?"

  "No," she protested. "I mean, I don’t think of you as being old. I. . . I’ve just never been sure how you felt about me.”

  "And you are also not sure how you feel about me," he stated.

  Then, before she could begin to formulate a reply to that, he stood up and drew her to her feet as well.

  "Come. We should go back now—back where it is safer for both of us.”

  When he released her hand, she let it rest against his chest and tilted her head to stare up at him. She wanted only to hold onto this moment, to feel forever what she felt now. And then, as they stared at each other, she knew she wanted him to kiss her. Her lips parted slightly, although she had no words to say to him.

  His gaze lowered, resting on her parted lips and the pulse point that beat erratically in her throat. She felt the touch of his eyes as she might have felt his lips.

  He moved slightly, taking a half-step away from her and beginning to turn toward the door. But then he halted, turned back, and drew her almost roughly into his arms with a deep groan.

  Jocelyn’s world exploded in a white-hot blaze as his lips traced hungry, greedy kisses across her brow, her cheeks, her nose, and the eyes she closed because the world was spinning wildly.

  And then at last, he claimed her mouth, covering it with aching tenderness as his hand caressed her hair. She was totally surrounded by him, cradled within his broad shoulders as his hands slid slowly down to draw her more fully against him.

  She stiffened involuntarily as his tongue began to probe at hers in a gentle invasion that sent new shock waves through her. He withdrew quickly, but she reached up to grasp his head and pull him back again.

  He made a low sound of satisfaction as he resumed his slow exploration of her mouth. She arched to him as his hands slid still lower, pressing her to him. When she felt that hardness thrust against her, the world exploded anew—but she could not prevent the small cry that poured from her mouth into his.

  Immediately, she could feel him gathering together the unraveling threads of his self-control, and she wanted to protest, to tell him to ignore the fear she couldn’t seem to control, to take her quickly beyond that fear.

  But even as the words were struggling up to her throat, he was slowly moving away from her.

  Daken heard his ragged breathing as he slowly, unwillingly, released her. He was caught between a wanting so powerful that it rocked him to his very core and the increasingly loud clamor of his shame that he was taking advantage of her innocence.

  He hadn’t intended this when he’d brought her up here. He’d wanted only to show her the signaling device—and, admittedly, to enjoy the pleasure of her company for a time, away from the others.

  But as shame beat back the flames of desire, he admitted that even if he hadn’t intended it, he’d surely wanted it to happen. It was a very small distinction, but a necessary salve to his conscience.

  How could this woman—not of his own people, far too young for him, and as wrong for him as any woman could possibly be—have sent him spiraling back to the heated passion of adolescence?

  No, he thought, she has not sent me back to my youth, because even then I did not feel this. Then I merely lusted after a woman's body. Now I want this woman—all of her.

  He sent a silent cry of anguish to the gods. Why had they sent this woman to him, when they knew he must let her go? Why were they allowing him to glimpse something he could never have?

  He loped easily through the deep snowdrifts, then began the long ascent to the peak where a silvered moon hung suspended in the black night.

  His thick coat kept out most of the chill, and he ignored the rest as he reveled in that incomparable sense of freedom. How long had it been? Years now.

  When he finally reached the peak, the moon slipped behind a thin cloth of clouds. He stared out across the lower peaks and the deep ravines. The lights of the fortress gleamed in the blackness— distant now, as he’d wanted it.

  The other mind slipped over his, never quite covering it, but rather blend
ing with it, making him neither wholly himself nor completely other. The pain ebbed. The anguish waned. This is what he had sought and he welcomed it, knowing with the mind that was still his that it was only temporary.

  Chapter Six

  “The word for it in our language means a turning, a move toward spring,” Daken told her, casting a wry glance toward the window. Snow was falling thickly.

  "Often at this time, there is a period of warmer weather. But the festival goes on regardless of the weather.”

  They were alone in the great room of Daken’s suite, following a council meeting. Nearly two weeks had passed since that trip to the tower, and this was the first time she’d been alone with him since that fateful day.

  Daken had disappeared the day after their trip to the tower, and two days had passed before Jocelyn asked after him. At first, she’d thought he was merely avoiding her, but then, when he failed to appear for dinner and wasn’t present among the group that gathered for the evening, she began to suspect that it was more than that.

  Still, she had waited before inquiring because she feared that she might sound too eager, too interested. Tassa and Rina both knew that they had gone to the tower, and Jocelyn didn't want to arouse suspicions.

  When she’d finally asked Tassa on the morning of the third day, Tassa had said only that he was "away,” and Jocelyn had been unwilling to push the matter any further. Surely she couldn’t have meant away from the fortress—not in the midst of yet another snowstorm. Then she’d recalled his statement about using that room in the tower as a place to get away, to think. So she assumed he must have gone there—and she knew what must have been on his mind.

  He’d apparently returned sometime during the night of the fifth day. When she’d gone to bed that night, the door to his bedroom had been ajar, as it had been earlier. But when she’d gotten up the next morning, it was closed. He’d appeared late in the morning as she and Tassa were returning from the market that was held during the winter months in the Great Hall of the fortress.

  Jocelyn had been shocked at his appearance. He seemed thinner, almost haggard-looking, and she'd even noticed a slight tremor to his hands. But Tassa had said nothing, so Jocelyn too had remained silent.

  There was something else that had been different

  about him in those first few days after his return— something Jocelyn could feel, but could not explain, even to herself.

  Daken quickly reverted to normal, however, and although the incident remained in her mind as a worrisome mystery, she allowed it to diminish in importance as Daken once more seemed to go to considerable lengths to avoid being alone with her.

  As she drifted with her thoughts, he had been busy explaining the history and activities of the upcoming festival that was clearly an important event in the life of the Kassid.

  He fell silent, and she’d been so preoccupied that she didn’t know if he had finished or had simply guessed that she was less than attentive. Their eyes met, and she was about to apologize for her inattention when he spoke.

  "A message was received yesterday from the other fortresses. There, too, the debate over going to war continues. But I have sent word to them that a decision must be reached within a week.”

  "Within a week?” she echoed, feeling both apprehensive and eager. "But why?"

  "There are preparations to make if we are to go to war—and now that the Turning approaches, we have little time left.”

  Then he turned away from her and rested an arm against the mantel as he stared into the fireplace.

  "Are you having second thoughts?” she asked nervously. "Or do you think that the fact that they’re taking so long means that the decision will be against an alliance?”

  He shook his head without turning. "No, my belief is still the same, and I think the people will agree with me. But I am not looking forward to going to war."

  "It may not come to war," she suggested hopefully. "If Arrat learns that you have allied yourself with us—"

  “We cannot depend on that," he said, cutting her off. Then he turned toward her again, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he gave her a level look.

  "Jocelyn, if my people do decide against an alliance, you must stay here until it is over."

  "I can’t," she protested, certain now that he must believe his people were going to decide against it. “If there is to be war, I must ..."

  "You must what?" he asked harshly as she faltered. "You must go back to be killed or captured? There is nothing you can do. War is a man’s affair. And Hammad will need every man he can find to fight it. If you are there, he will be forced to withhold a large force to defend the palace and protect you."

  "No!” she cried, even though she knew what he said was true. "I am empress and I must be there with my people.”

  He shook his head. "As empress, your first duty should be to keep yourself alive—and out of Arrat’s hands. He probably wouldn’t kill you, but you may wish that he had.”

  She wrapped her arms about herself and shuddered as she conjured up an image of that odious little man.

  "I cannot stay here," she said succinctly, "Regardless of the outcome.”

  "And I will not permit you to return to certain death or capture,” he stated with equal firmness.

  She lifted her chin and looked coldly at him. "You have just admitted to holding me prisoner here, Daken.”

  He shook his head. "Only winter holds you prisoner now.”

  "But if your people agree to an alliance, then you will permit me to return—even though there could still be war?”

  "I would prefer that you remain here in either event, but I am willing to take you back to the palace if we fight alongside your army.”

  “That makes no sense. I would still be in danger."

  "No. Your own guards and some of my men could protect you adequately. Besides, it would not then be a lengthy war, and the enemy will never reach the city.”

  "Daken, you will forgive me if I say that I don’t quite understand your certainty that you will win— that you can summon the magic you’ve spoken about. Hammad told me once that the worst mistake a commander can make is to underestimate the strength and talents of his enemies.”

  "Under ordinary circumstances, Hammad would be right. But when the Kassid fight, the circumstances aren’t ordinary."

  She regarded him with something close to amusement. Those words were the closest she’d ever heard him come to boasting.

  "That is no idle boast, Jocelyn,” he said softly.

  “Perhaps not—but neither is it necessarily the truth. How can you be certain that the spirits of your ancestors will agree with the decision of your people? You told me that your magic lies in their presence in battle. But what if they don't think this is a necessary war?”

  "Their spirits live on in us. If we choose war, they will be with us. Perhaps you will come to believe that soon.”

  Jocelyn was about to ask him what he meant by that, but Jakka, his aide, walked into the room at that moment and she took the opportunity instead to excuse herself.

  She admired his unquestioning faith in a magic he’d never seen, but she couldn’t bring herself to share it. She continued to believe that the benefit of an alliance with the Kassid lay in the legends of their prowess—not in the reality of their presence.

  When Jocelyn awoke on the day before the beginning of the festival, she was nearly willing to cast aside her doubts about Kassid magic. After days of leaden skies and regular snowfalls, the weather had abruptly begun to change late the previous day. And now, as she stood at her windows, she saw brilliant blue skies. Then there was an impatient rapping at her door, and she quickly put on her robe and opened it to admit a very happy and excited Rina.

  “Do you see, Jocelyn?” The girl grinned, gesturing to the windows. "The weather has changed. Hurry now. There is much to be done."

  And so the Empress of Ertria, Balek, and sundry

  scattered islands spent the day in the kitchen—a place she�
�d seen only once or twice at home, and then only as a child.

  During the festival, she learned, people drifted from one home to another throughout the fortress, partaking of whatever food and drink was being offered.

  She was amazed at the quantity and variety of foods the Kassid had, even in the midst of winter. The winter garden was only one part of their ingenuity. Until the snows became too deep, the men went on numerous hunting and fishing trips, and much of what they brought back was stored frozen in deep snow, to be thawed and eaten during the long winter. The rest of it was preserved by ancient methods that left it tender and spicy—much more tasty than the preserved meats and fish sometimes served at the palace.

  Daken appeared regularly during the day to deliver the frozen meats and fish and to bring Tassa a cask of wine for her special cakes. Jocelyn smiled at what was obviously a long-standing game between him and Rina to see if she could prevent his sneaking off with various delicacies.

  On his first trip, though, he apparently felt it his duty to remind her that she needn’t take part in the work.

  "And what else would I do?” she asked him with a smile. "I’m not an empress here, Daken, and there is much to be done."

  Their eyes met—and neither of them looked away. Another, silent, conversation began then, an acknowledgement that neither of them had forgot-

  ten that day in the tower—no matter how much they’d tried to pretend otherwise.

  How much longer can we go on like this? she asked silently. When will this hunger consume us both?