Heart of the Wolf

by Saranne Dawson

  “But for weeks now, I think I have been hearing them. It’s hard to explain—and harder still to determine if they’re real or merely my own hopes.” He paused, looked away, then turned back to her.

  "I think that a way will be found for us to be together—to stay together.”

  She drew in her breath sharply as hope flared brightly within her. But just as quickly, it died again—not quite becoming cold, but no more than a faint, glowing ember.

  "But how?”

  He shook his head. “That I don’t know. If the gods are whispering to me, they are not pointing the way. That is why I still doubt it.”

  There is no way, she wanted to shout. The only way that could happen would be if Arrat succeeds in conquering the empire and I am forced into exile here. But if that happens, even the Kassid will no longer be invulnerable and war will come sooner or later to the Dark Mountains as well.

  "I spoke of this with one of the elders," he went on. "She has heard these whispers many times over her life, and they have always been accurate. She has no notion of what it might mean, but she re-

  minded me that many of our people have always believed that there is magic that was lost over the years—more gifts from the gods that have fallen away, perhaps from lack of need."

  Jocelyn said nothing. She did not dare let herself hope. She had come to accept that the Kassid had magic, but she could not believe that that magic could help the two of them. She considered it highly likely that Daken had been right when he’d said that the gods paid no attention to them as individuals.

  They finished their lunch and sat for a time before the fire. Daken piled up the pillows and drew her onto his lap and what began as mere kisses and caresses quickly escalated. They had only to be in each other's presence to feel that hunger, and touching as they were now stoked those fires to dangerous levels.

  When he began to peel away the thick Kassid sweater she had worn beneath her cloak, she put out a hand to stop him.

  "Someone might come.”

  He pulled the sweater over her head, then smoothed down her hair and kissed her. "No one will come. This is my private place, and the midday message time has passed.”

  "But those men were here this morning," she pointed out as her voice grew husky with desire.

  "And I knew they would be," he said, now beginning to pull off her heavy woolen trousers. "No one comes up here other than at midday without first asking my permission."

  He stripped off her remaining clothes, then rid

  himself of his own. Her fear of discovery merged into a fierce hunger as she stared at that big, hard body she'd come to know so well.

  His eyes glowed in the firelight as he saw her watching him. They enjoyed this game—staying apart when their bodies clamored to be together. She was half-reclining on her heavy cloak, and now he did the same, keeping them tantalizingly close, yet apart. Almost always, it was she who could stand it no longer. When he teased her about it, she told him it was his age that made the difference, reminding him in her own teasing that he’d once thought himself too old for her.

  Today was no exception. By the time she moved to him with a cry, her body had become so voluptuously heavy with wanting that she could barely move.

  He lifted her quickly atop him and entered her with a deep groan, proving that his need did indeed match hers. Together, they rode the wild storm of passion as cries and groans echoed from the stone walls.

  But if they lived for these wild joinings, they enjoyed too the quiet aftermath, lying together as their bodies slowly separated. He drew her down beside him and caressed her heated flesh that even now gave forth a muted response.

  Then, after a time, he propped himself on one elbow and stared down at her intently. "Marry me, Jocelyn."

  “M—marry you? But . . .”

  He stilled her with a kiss, then began to toy with a few strands of her hair as he continued to stare

  at her. "There will never be anyone else for either of us; we both know that. It is all we have to give each other.

  "There is another reason as well—a reason dictated by our positions. It is all well and good that Arrat will soon know we have formed an alliance, but alliances can be broken. An alliance formed through marriage, on the other hand, is a bond that cannot be broken. If Arrat knows we are married, he might well think twice about making war against you."

  She felt a sudden anger at his calm, reasonable words, though she could not dispute them. "You sound like any other ruler, Daken—making a marriage for political reasons."

  “That is your way, not ours," he pointed out gently. "I meant only that there is an advantage in the marriage that we should consider beyond the commitment we make to each other.”

  “You’re right," she said after a moment. And he was right—about all of it. But would making that commitment mean less pain or more? In the end, she decided it would make little difference, except that they would be telling all what they already knew—that they belonged together even if they were to be forever kept apart.

  "But when I am gone,” she said, finding the words difficult to say, "not right away, but in time, won’t you want other women?” She’d always understood men to be that way.

  He didn't answer immediately, but she saw the hurt in his eyes and looked away. He reached out to draw her back again.

  “Jocelyn, there will be no other women—and there wouldn’t be even if we didn’t marry. I’ve known that for a long time—even before I took you into my bed."

  When she opened her mouth to speak, he put a finger to her lips. “I know what you’re going to say—that I probably felt the same way when Erina died. You’re wrong. I didn’t think about other women for a long time, of course, but there was never that certainty that I feel now. What we have found comes only once in a lifetime to a very few, and it is enough for me that I have had it for a while. Living in the memory of what we’ve had will make me happier than sharing my bed with another woman."

  She hadn’t intended to cry. She was always careful not to let him see her pain, lest it make his worse. But the tears began to roll down her cheeks silently, and she buried her face in his chest. He’d put into words all that she too felt—except that it would never be enough for her to remember what they’d had for a while.

  Jocelyn stood patiently as the two seamstresses fit the creamy white wool gown to her. The fabric was finer than anything she’d seen yet—even here, where the wool from those strange goat-like creatures was already superior to that in Ertria.

  She had designed her wedding dress herself, having already decided to wear it for the ceremony at the palace as well. The neck was high and plain, which would allow her to display the most elaborate piece of jewelry she owned—a gift from her father when he had officially named her his heir. It was a magnificent creation of gold and silver woven into tiny chains and threaded with diamonds, emeralds, and pearls. She wished that she had brought it with her, although as she'd observed wryly to Daken, she hadn't exactly come here to be married.

  The sleeves of the gown were snug to the elbows, then flared out to her wrists, a style she liked but one with which the Kassid seamstresses were unfamiliar. The bodice was closely fitted, and the long skirt was a full circle, allowing the beautiful fabric to move in sumptuous ripples when she walked.

  Finally, the seamstresses had finished, and she was left alone in her bedchamber—or rather, that which had been her bedchamber. Now it had become a refuge—a place she hastened to when that terrible sadness overtook her.

  Worst of all, she felt now that she was alone in her sadness. Daken truly seemed to believe in these "whispers of the gods.” How she wished she could share his faith. Her people nominally worshipped the gods; the palace had more than its share of mumbling priests. But only the ignorant peasants truly believed in them anymore.

  And yet, there were times when she remembered that ghostly music on the first night of the Turning, and she questioned her lack of belief. If the spirits of the ancestors
truly existed, didn’t that mean that the gods existed as well?

  She walked over to the window and saw that the break in the bad weather had brought the men outside for arms practice. Usually, she tried to avoid seeing them, but today she forced herself to stand there watching. In another month, Daken had told her, the weather should permit them to leave the fortress to begin the long journey back to the palace—and to war.

  Half of the men were practicing with the stubbylooking bows and arrows, aiming at targets set up against the outer wall. The targets were silhouetted warrior figures, and as she watched, she saw arrow after arrow pierce the spot where the heart would be. The Kassid were skilled bowmen; they shot for hunting and for pleasure as well.

  The rest of the men were lined up in opposing rows, practicing with their strange short swords, which had been blunted with pieces of leather. She’d told Daken that Hammad was going to be surprised at these weapons, since the Ertrian army used swords twice that length.

  "I doubt they'll continue to use them once they've seen the advantages of these,” Daken had replied confidently.

  Something was changing in him, she thought. More and more when she looked at him, she saw a warrior. He remained the same gentle, affectionate man she so loved—but there was a subtle difference now. She felt it, but couldn't explain it.

  She hadn't really expected to find him out there, but when she did, she was surprised that she hadn’t noticed him before. Perhaps it was because the men nearest him were almost as big as he was—a rare occurrence even here.

  The man lined up opposite him was as tall as he was, though not as heavy. When the two lines began to advance cautiously across the twenty feet that separated them, Jocelyn looked away. She could not bear to think of Daken fighting, even in practice.

  But even so, she might have looked back if there hadn’t been a tap on her door just then. When she called out, Rina poked her curly head around the edge of the door and scanned the room with a disappointed look.

  “I thought I might see you in your gown."

  "They just left to make the final adjustments." Jocelyn smiled. To her very great relief and pleasure, Rina was happy about the marriage. She hadn’t been sure that would be the case, since the girl had said nothing about their relationship after that one time.

  "Shouldn’t you be in school?" Jocelyn asked as Rina came into the room and flopped onto the bed.

  “I was helping Tassa and the others. Father said I could.”

  Jocelyn sighed. "I should be helping them as well. I’m afraid that I'm just too accustomed to having servants to do such things."

  "They can manage. Everyone loves to help for wedding feasts. Jocelyn, do you think you could persuade Father to let me come with you when you go home? I really want to see your palace and the wedding there, too. But he says it’s too dangerous."

  "He’s right," Jocelyn said gently. "This would not be a good time. But as soon as it’s safe for you to come, you will.”

  “But if it’s not safe for me, then it’s not safe for you, either."

  "That’s true enough—and your father tried to persuade me to remain here as well. But I must go.

  I’m the empress, and I’ve been away for too long already.”

  Rina was silent for a moment, then looked at Jocelyn sadly. “How will you and Father stand it— being married and living so far apart?"

  “We will stand it because we must,” Jocelyn said, hoping she wasn’t going to break down and cry again. “We’ve talked about it, and we plan to build a place for us somewhere that is halfway between the Dark Mountains and the city. That way, we can make annual trips to see each other.”

  “But that’s awful!” Rina exclaimed. "I think that would be even worse than not seeing each other at all."

  Jocelyn said nothing, but ever since Daken had ventured the suggestion, she’d thought the same thing. How could she face a lifetime of good-byes?

  "Father told me about the whispers of the gods," Rina said. “He believes there is a way you will be together. I think it is only his hope that is whispering to him.”

  “I fear that you are right,” Jocelyn admitted. “But he says that your people have always believed there is magic that has been lost over the years."

  "Well, if it’s lost, it’s likely to remain lost," Rina replied unhappily.

  She got up from the bed and walked over to the window. "Father loved you from the very beginning, you know. It was in his eyes when he sat here while you were so sick."

  "But he didn't know me then,” Jocelyn pointed out.

  "I think he knew what you would be like. He said

  you were brave and strong—and beautiful, too, of course.” She turned and grinned.

  Jocelyn thought about the first time she'd looked up into his eyes, and about his great gentleness with her. If she hadn’t been so sure then that he was responsible for the deaths of her Guards, she knew she would have felt the same.

  The golden rings lay in a golden box, side by side in a bed of deepest black. Jocelyn and Daken were alone in the suite. All the others awaited them down in the Great Hall, the only place in the fortress large enough to contain the crowd that wanted to celebrate their leader’s marriage.

  Her gown had been delivered only a short time ago, and it fit her perfectly, proving that the Kassid seamstresses were at least the equal of her women at the palace. She had decided against any other adornment after Daken had told her about their custom of exchanging rings.

  Daken was dressed in what she assumed was his most formal attire—a loose-fitting black shirt and trousers in the same fine wool as her gown. The full trousers were tucked into high black boots polished to a mirror-shine. Over the shirt, he wore a black wool vest heavily embroidered with silver and gold threads.

  Jocelyn smiled as she thought about the reaction of her court to such attire. The men at court very nearly outdid the women in their fondness for bright colors and jewelry of all kinds.

  He’d already explained to her that it was their custom for the couple to exchange rings in private,

  to be followed by a lavish feast. It signified, he said, that marriage was both a very private and a very public affair.

  She bent over the box containing the rings and saw that they had carved designs.

  “The carvings are ancient symbols for good fortune, health, and happiness,” he said when he saw her examining them. Then he picked up the smaller of the two rings and slid it onto her finger, then stood there staring down at it.

  "I know that I was the one who wanted this marriage, but now I realize how unnecessary it is— except perhaps to prevent war. I think we have been married in spirit from the very beginning, Jocelyn. There is a line from an old love poem that I now understand, after all these years—You are the missing part of my soul, the part I never knew to be missing until you made me whole."

  He drew her hand to his lips, and when he released it, she lay it against his cheek.

  "What a beautiful poem,” she said in a husky voice. "I confess that I have little faith in the gods— or had little faith until I met you. Now I think perhaps they have proved their existence—and their mercy for my failure to believe. They have given me you, a man I would never have dared to dream could exist."

  As she spoke, she picked up the other ring and slid it onto his finger, noticing almost absently that her hand was trembling—not from the fear that most women felt at such a time, but from the sheer force of the love she had for him.

  In a very brief period of time, she had gone from

  one who disbelieved in love to a woman truly overwhelmed by its power.

  They held each other quietly for a long time, her head resting against his chest and his long arms encircling her gently. Lately, they’d found so often that they had no need to speak with words. What they felt seemed to pass from one to the other without words.

  Finally, Daken dropped his arms, then picked up her hand. "If we don’t go down there now, we may be the first couple in the hi
story of my people to forgo the pleasures of the feast for the pleasures of the bed.”

  She laughed. “Does tradition dictate that we must remain there very long?"

  “Long enough to eat, in any event,” he smiled. “Unfortunately, I’ve noticed that you take quite a long time at that for one who eats so little."

  “I’ll be faster tonight," she promised, stretching up to give him a quick kiss. Then she shook her head ruefully.

  "One would think that tonight will be the first time we’ve made love."

  “Every night is a first time for us, zherisa,” he replied, using the Kassid word for ‘beloved’.

  And so it was, she thought. No matter how many times they made love and no matter how well she had come to know her own body and his, the flames of passion engulfed them anew every time they touched.

  Daken led her to the balcony overlooking the Great Hall, and as soon as they were spotted, the huge crowd grew silent for a moment and then

  erupted into shouts and whistles and clapping. The Kassid, she had learned during the festival, could be a joyfully raucous group—even those like Tassa who were normally restrained.

  There was eating and drinking and music and dancing, all of it happening simultaneously. What a pleasant contrast it made to the false posturing and rigidly prescribed behavior of her court. The Kassid simply enjoyed themselves and each other.

  And children were present as well, down to the tiniest babes in arms. No one ever brought children to court. She had advisors whose children she’d never even seen. Only she and her brother had ever been to court as children, and then they’d been coached strictly about their behavior, forced to play the role of small adults.