Sabine
Page 5
The unerring tug brought him to a small village with an even smaller tavern. Barely more than a house, and probably boasting no more than two or three rooms that weren’t occupied by the owner himself.
Resuming human form might mean he would forget her again, stand stupidly outside the inn and wonder how he’d gotten there. He might turn and leave, never realizing that the answer to the nagging ache in his heart lay just beyond the door.
But remaining a wolf presented its own problems. When scratching at the door did nothing, he crashed against the door until it rattled, howling his displeasure loudly enough to bring villagers running.
“Is it a mad wolf?” one man whispered, only to be quickly quieted by another.
The door swung open before Ciar could crash into it again, and a woman with riotous red curls cursed. “What in blazes—”
He howled again. Not anger or rage—an imperious summons with an arrogance no wolf could miss, no matter their form.
And then there she was. Sabine appeared at the end of the hall, her face pale. “Ciar.”
Sabine. The redhead was wise enough to step out of the way a moment before his control snapped. His paws skittered across the scratched floor as he lunged, sliding to a stop close enough to slam his head into Sabine’s hip.
She fell back, landing hard on the bottom of the staircase, but she barely seemed to notice. “Why are you here?” she asked as her fingers slid into his fur. “How?”
He nipped at her fingertips as frustration threatened to drive him mad. The bond lay plain between them, he could feel it. She should be able to hear him, even in human form. Lifting his muzzle, he bumped at the side of her temple, silently begging her to try.
Sabine closed her eyes as his nose brushed her cheek. A moment later, she drew in a sharp breath, almost a gasp. “Ciar.”
“You’re my mate. I remember you.”
Her eyes glistened with tears. “Only now? Like this?”
For the first time, he hated this form. He wanted arms to wrap around her and fingers to wipe away her tears. “I don’t dare change back. Not until the spell is broken. I will not lose you again.”
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “Did you make it back to the palace?”
“I made it five steps out of the cabin. As soon as I changed forms, I remembered.”
She laughed, though the sound held no amusement. “An impossible situation. You cannot live the rest of your days as a wolf.”
No, he couldn’t. No one could, not if he hoped to retain the sense of a man. Wolves who went feral lost all reason, and the High Lord could not risk such a thing, not with peace so new and his kingdom suffering from his absence.
But a few days… He could give her that. He owed her that. “Then we’ll find the witch, and I’ll impress upon her the importance of not disappointing me.”
Sabine stared at him for a long moment and glanced around, as if just noticing the crowd they’d drawn. “No one at the palace remembers me.”
He’d already considered it. “Farran. Do you remember him?”
“He’s a warlord, the First. And your friend.”
“He’ll remember you, as I did. Not forever, but long enough. And no man, woman or witch will dare to stand against him.” Not when the men of Farran’s family were legendary for their power in battle—and for their vicious tempers.
She sat straighter and caught his head between her hands. “Do you think it will work?”
“It will work.” He couldn’t allow himself to believe otherwise.
The first hint of a smile curved her lips. “Doesn’t matter if it doesn’t,” she whispered. “I’ll be there every day, if you want. Even if you forget me, I belong to you.”
Ciar bumped his nose against her hand, then quickly licked the inside of her wrist. She belonged to him, and now she understood. If he had to stay a wolf for a month, he’d find a way to reclaim her.
Nothing would make him forget her again.
Running alongside Ciar as a wolf helped dispel some of Sabine’s anxiety. This was natural, right. The way they were meant to be, a wolf and his mate.
Reassuming her human form as they approached the palace brought her fear rushing back. If no one else concentrated hard enough to hear Ciar’s inner voice, she might be seized. And if they touched her…
Ciar would attack and blood would be shed.
He yipped and bumped his nose against her hand. “I’ve summoned Farran. He will meet us at the gate.”
The tightness in her chest eased. “He can hear you?”
“A spell the lions developed. All of my warlords can hear me, whether we’re human or wolf.”
It was magic the likes of which she’d never seen. Then again, wouldn’t the lions be shocked to hear that a person’s existence could be utterly erased through a trick of magic?
Of all the silly things to think about at a time like this. Sabine shook herself and lifted her voice in a shout, just in case. “Farran!”
One side of the huge wooden gates swung open, revealing a tall, dangerous-looking man with a scruffy beard and wild eyes. Farran, as changed by the years as Ciar had been, and even more untamed than she remembered.
His gaze fell on Ciar for a moment before shifting to Sabine. “I didn’t believe it was true, not until I demanded that Ciar’s mother tell me what she’d done to you. She truly has no recollection at all.”
“No one does, not—” Her voice failed. “Not even my own mother.”
Farran reached out a hand. Ciar lunged, snapping at his friend’s fingers with teeth vicious enough to shred skin.
Sabine stepped back, her heart in her throat. “The witch. Does the same one still serve here?”
“Yes.” Farran’s gaze strayed to the wolf again. “Settle yourself, Ciar. I have no intention of touching your mate.”
Ciar backed up until his side was pressed firmly against Sabine’s leg, protective anger in every line of his strong form, and only one thing would soothe him.
Sabine spoke quickly. “You’re the only person who remembers me, Farran. I don’t have the authority to make demands here at the palace, and if Ciar shifts back…”
“I understand.” His jaw tightened a little, anger or unease in his eyes. “The witch sits in his mother’s suite most days, along with the other ladies of the court. The quickest way to have done with it is to go there now.”
Sabine took a deep breath, and Ciar nudged her impatiently through the heavy gate. He’d been a wolf for two days now, longer than most people remained in their other forms, and the strain was beginning to show.
No matter the outcome, it had to end today.
Chapter Six
Ciar’s mother, Maris, was just as imperious as Sabine remembered, though she smiled politely when they entered. No doubt she assumed Sabine had accompanied Farran, not the anxious wolf who followed them into the High Lady’s chamber.
The witch smiled too, though she seemed troubled. Confused. Her eyes narrowed, carving deep creases between her eyebrows as she stared at Sabine, as if she was a puzzle that needed solving.
It made Ciar snarl again. He angled his body in front of Sabine, and Farran spoke into the tense silence. “My Lady, your son and his mate are here.”
Gasps and whispers rippled through the room. Ciar’s mother’s vague smile faltered. “Impossible, Farran. My son has yet to choose a mate.”
Farran didn’t move, but something slithered through the room. Magic, or power—something so feral, so threatening that the whispers hushed. Even the High Lady herself paled and glanced at Ciar. “Surely you can stand on two feet and speak to me yourself.”
Ciar growled.
Farran shifted his weight, as if preparing for a fight, and looked to Sabine.
For a moment, fear and memories held her rooted to the spot. This was where it had happened, where the High Lady had invited her up to talk. Sabine had been excited, so moved by the gesture that she hadn’t stopped to consider that the woman might be plotting against her.
For a moment, she couldn’t speak. And then Ciar brushed against her, butting his head under her hand. “You’re my mate now. No one can throw you from this palace.”
The words gave Sabine the strength to step forward. “I would speak to you alone, Lady. You and your sorceress.”
As the women behind her began to rise, Maris flung out one hand, pointing at a petite brunette with flawless skin and the bearing of a gentlewoman. “Iloria must stay as well. As my son’s true intended mate, this concerns her greatly.”
The woman flinched and looked as though she wanted to leave, but she only bowed her head. “As you wish, my lady.”
Farran bared his teeth in what seemed to be a warning, but he didn’t disagree. “She stays. The rest of you leave. Now.”
As the room emptied, Sabine once again met the witch’s gaze, and she caught another jolt of recognition. “You see it, don’t you? You did before. You don’t remember me, but you always saw the magic.”
“My magic.” The woman’s frown deepened. “Some of my power is tied to your own, but obscured, as well. The purpose is unclear.”
“You cast a spell on me.” Sabine clenched her hands into fists. “A curse, meant to make Ciar forget me while he was away.”
Shocked stares turned to the High Lady and her witch. Both women blanched, then Maris’s face flushed a deep red as her back stiffened. “I would never—” Everyone heard the lie, even in only a few words. “I do not recall doing any such thing.”
“I think that’s the crux of the matter, Maris.” Farran bit Ciar’s mother’s name off with the edge of a snarl, one her son echoed. “Have your witch reverse her magic. Now.”
The witch made a noise of protest. “If I don’t know the spell—”
“You can do it.” Sabine clenched her hand in Ciar’s fur. “There never was a spell which could not be undone.”
Farran’s rumble of agreement filled the room. “The High Lord bids you do your best, if you want to remain in his territory.”
The witch paled. “All I can do is strip her of magic. It will dissolve most anything. Spells to attune items, glamours—”
“Mating bonds.” Sabine breathed the words without thinking, sure in her gut they were true.
Ciar was there at once, his head butting against her hip as reassurance flowed from him. “Then I’ll mate you again.”
It didn’t take being privy to his thoughts to read the action, and Maris’s eyes narrowed. “By all means, dissolve it. Give my son a chance to rectify his mistake.”
The growl that rumbled free from Farran should not have been possible, given his human form. “Hold your tongue, woman, if you have sense in your head.” He turned his fierce gaze on the witch. “Get on with it, then. Take your magic from her and prepare to beg for your lord’s mercy.”
The witch seemed torn between relief and confusion. Both gave way to fear as she faced Sabine and bowed her head. The hands she lifted trembled, and magic gathered in the room, coalescing into a tangible pressure around Sabine.
For a moment there was nothing but that pressure, the hair-raising stillness that preceded a storm. It tickled uncomfortably over her skin, and Sabine opened her mouth to ask what came next. What to expect.
But she had no breath and realized that pressure was growing within her as well as without, and she started to panic. Then the pain started, a dull throb that grew into piercing barbs of agony. She twisted, turned, but there was no escape.
When she was sure she could bear no more, the magic vanished. Everything, even the niggling shreds that had dogged her heels for the last few years. She’d felt them flare each time someone had turned a blank gaze her way, showing no hint of recognition.
Gone.
She wanted to weep with relief.
Sabine opened her mouth to speak, but the magic returned with a roaring vengeance. The torment swelled, crested, and Sabine’s knees gave as she sank into the welcoming blackness.
Instinct drove Ciar’s change, fast and frantic. Sabine tumbled toward the ground and he found himself human again, with arms to catch her.
Her body slumped against his as panic crested, cut only with the relief that he still knew precisely who she was. Ciar knelt on the floor, drew her lax form tight to his chest and cast his gaze toward the witch who trembled a few paces away, face sallow with exertion—and fear.
As it should be.
“What have you done to her?”
She had to draw a deep breath to speak. “It is not an easy thing to remove so much magic.”
Threading his fingers carefully into Sabine’s hair, he turned her face toward his chest, cradling her head gently. “How long until she wakes?”
“I do not know, my lord.”
“Should I fetch a healer?” The soft, hesitant voice barely carried across the room. Iloria, the woman his mother had chosen for him. Nothing but concern filled her brown eyes, and a sweet innocence that made him feel guilty for wanting to turn his temper on her.
The girl was nothing more than a pawn in his mother’s game, and he of all people knew how adeptly she moved the pieces. He didn’t trust himself not to frighten her, so he spoke to his friend instead. “Farran, send one of the guards for the palace healer.”
“But don’t leave,” he added silently, using the warrior bonds. “Keep your eyes on the witch.”
“And your mother,” Farran replied as he turned toward the door, his heavy boots scraping roughly over the sitting room’s delicate rug. “She’s a viper, Ciar.”
Ciar knew, which was the tragedy of it all. His mother had not always been grasping and controlling. He had memories from childhood of her ready smiles and vast heart. The people of the forest had loved their lady every bit as much as she’d loved her lord—until Ciar’s father had died, and taken his mate’s heart with him.
Now she tried to steal her son’s heart just as surely, and his compassion wouldn’t save her. “You did this,” he whispered, finding his mother’s gaze. “You unleashed this cruelty on the woman I love. Why?”
Maris’s throat worked. “You cannot afford to indulge boyish infatuations, Ciar. Not as our High Lord.”
Sabine lay so still in his arms, and it lent his voice a vicious edge. “That is not for you to decide. I protected my people. I fought and bled so we could live at peace. Don’t speak as if my life is one of idle indulgence.”
“She isn’t noble. She’s a—”
He let his displeasure evidence itself in a warning snarl. “Choose your words very carefully.”
“Fine, follow the foolish vagaries of your heart.” She sat back and tilted her head at Iloria. “What of her? Before his death, your father promised her she would have a place of honor in this kingdom. In this palace. If you turn her away now, where will she go?”
Ciar followed his mother’s gaze to the girl. Poor Iloria looked miserable, as if she’d give anything to be gone from the room. But it wasn’t just misery in her eyes—he also found the first stirrings of anger. At least she had spirit.
A spirit Ciar must not have been the only one to notice. Farran cleared his throat and stepped forward. “She can marry me.”
Maris blinked at the declaration. “What?”
“I’m the First Warlord of the Forest, Maris,” Farran grated out. “I’m rich, I’m damn near royal, and I need a wife.”
He was also losing his temper, something Ciar could see clearly from long experience. As valuable as the man was as a warrior, he didn’t have the patience or ability to deal with diplomacy or polite conversation. He didn’t even possess the decorum to address Ciar’s mother correctly, calling her by her first name, though no one would dare challenge him over his breach of protocol. “Enough, Farran. You’ve made the offer. Lady Iloria can
withdraw to her rooms to consider it in private. See that one of the guards escorts her.”
She practically fled, not that Ciar blamed her, and Maris sputtered a futile protest.
“Enough,” Ciar said again, this time to his mother. “You played your hand and you lost. Either Sabine will make it through this to become my mate and your new High Lady, or she won’t…” He couldn’t let himself believe it, but fear laced his voice regardless, and he put his rage into the words as well. “You’d best pray to your gods that she does.”
He could see an argument forming, but she subsided with a deep bow. In this moment, she was not his mother, but another subject, one who had incurred his wrath. “By your leave, my lord?”
There would be years to make peace. For now she could stew, and suffer a fraction of the unhappiness she’d forced upon Sabine. “As these are your rooms, I’ll leave them to you and your witch. I’d suggest you both remain until I send word otherwise.”
The guards hurried to swing the doors wide, and Sabine stirred as he lifted her and headed down the hall. “Ciar.”
“Shh.” His mother’s suites were not so far from his own, and he could trust Farran to ensure his orders were obeyed. “Rest, Sabine. You’ve been through too much.”
“Where are we?”
“The palace.” Another guard slipped by him and rushed ahead, fumbling with the oversized doors that led to the until-recently vacant rooms of the High Lord. “What do you remember?”
Her eyes fluttered shut. “The spell.”
“It’s broken now, darling.”
She stiffened in his arms before exhaling on a shaky sigh. “It is gone, isn’t it? But so are you—I can feel it.”
“Shh,” he whispered again, gathering a little power and letting it wash over her in a soothing wave. “It’s fine, love. Now you can choose me again—because you want to, this time. Not because you have to.”
“I never had to, Ciar.” She slipped her arms around his neck. “I never had to. I always wanted you, more than anything.”
Without being told, the guard pushed open the door to Ciar’s private rooms, and they only made it two steps over the threshold before it closed with a soft thud behind him.