by Nora Roberts
She picked up the flowers she’d brought with her, and laid some on each grave. “Help me do this thing,” she pleaded, then walked away.
He was waiting for her on the stone wall. He had his own grief, she knew, but had given her the time she’d needed alone. He was the one she trusted most. The son of her mother’s brother—the uncle she’d seen cut down in the vision.
He jumped lightly to his feet when she approached, and simply held open his arms. Going into them, she rested her head on his chest. “Larkin.”
“We’ll hunt them. We’ll find them and kill them. Whatever they are.”
“I know what they are, and we will find them, kill them. But not here. Not now.” She drew back. “Morrigan came to me, and told me what must be done.”
“Morrigan?”
At the suspicion on his face she was able to smile a little. “I’ll never understand how someone with your skills doubts the gods.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “But will you trust me?”
He framed her face, kissed her forehead. “You know I will.”
As she told him what she’d been told, his face changed again. He sat on the ground, shoving a hand through his mane of tawny hair. She’d envied his hair as long as she’d lived, mourning the fact that she’d been given ordinary brown. His eyes were tawny as well, gilded she’d always thought, while hers were gray as rain.
He’d been gifted with more height, as well as other things she envied.
When she was finished, she drew a long breath. “Will you go with me?”
“I’d hardly let you go alone.” His hand closed over hers, firm and steady. “Moira, how can you be sure this vision wasn’t simply your heartbreak?”
“I know. I can only tell you that I know what I saw was real. But if it’s nothing more than grief, we’ll only have wasted the time it takes to go to the Dance. Larkin, I need to try.”
“Then we’ll try.”
“We tell no one.”
“Moira—”
“Listen to me.” Urgently, she gripped his wrists. “Your father would do his best to stop us. Or to come with us if he believed me. This isn’t the way, it isn’t my charge. One, the goddess told me. I was to take only one, the one I trusted most. It can only be you. We’ll write it down for him. While we’re gone, he’ll rule Geall, and protect it.”
“You’ll take the sword—” Larkin began.
“No. The sword isn’t to leave here. That was a sacred oath, and I won’t be the one to break it. The sword remains until I return. I don’t take my place until I lift it, I don’t lift it until I’ve earned my place. There are other swords. Arm yourself, she said, so see that you do. Meet me in an hour. Tell no one.”
She squeezed his hands now. “Swear to me on the blood we share. On the loss we share.”
How could he deny her when tears were still on her cheeks? “I swear it to you. I’ll tell no one.” He gave her arms a quick rub in comfort. “We’ll be back by supper, I wager, in any case.”
She hurried home, across the field and up the hill to the castle where her blood had reigned over the land since it was created. Those she passed bowed their heads to her to show their sympathy, and she saw tears glimmer.
And she knew when they dried, many would look to her for guidance, for answers. Many would wonder how she would rule.
So did she.
She crossed the great hall. There was no laughter here now, no music. Gathering the burdensome skirts of her gown, she climbed the steps to her chamber.
There were women nearby, sewing, tending to children, speaking in low voices so it sounded like doves cooing.
Moira went quietly by, and slipped into her room. She exchanged her gown for riding clothes, laced on her boots. It felt wrong to put off her mourning garb so quickly, so easily, but she would travel more swiftly in the tunic and tewes. She bound her hair back in a braid and began to pack.
She would need little but what was on her back, she decided. She would think of this as a hunting trip—there, at least, she had some skill. And so she got out her quiver and her bow, a short sword and lay them on the bed while she sat to write a message to her uncle.
How did you tell a man who’d stood in as father for so many years that you were taking his son into a battle you didn’t understand, to fight what was impossible to comprehend, in the company of men you didn’t know?
The will of the gods, she thought, her mouth tight as she wrote. She wasn’t certain if she followed that or simply her own rage. But go she would.
I must do this thing, she continued in a careful hand. I pray you will forgive me for it, and know that I go only for the sake of Geall. I ask that if I don’t return by Samhain, you lift the sword and rule in my place. Know that I go for you, for Geall, and that I swear by my mother’s blood, I will fight to the death to defend and protect what I love.
Now I leave what I love in your hands.
She folded the letter, heated the wax and sealed it.
She put on the sword, shouldered her quiver and bow. One of the women bustled out as she left her chambers.
“My lady!”
“I wish to ride out alone.” Her voice was so sharp, her manner so curt that there was nothing but a gasp behind her as she strode away.
Her belly shook, but she didn’t pause. When she reached the stables, she waved the boy away and saddled her mount herself. She looked down at him, his soft, young face bursting with freckles.
“When the sun sets, you’re to stay inside. This night and every night until I tell you. Do you heed me?”
“Aye, my lady.”
She wheeled her horse, kicked her heels lightly at its flanks, riding off at a gallop.
She would not look back, Moria thought. She would not look back at home, but forward.
Larkin was waiting for her, sitting loose in the saddle while his horse cropped grass.
“I’m sorry, it took longer.”
“Women always take longer.”
“I’m asking so much of you. What if we never get back?”
He clicked to his horse, walking it beside hers. “Since I don’t believe we’re going anywhere, I’m not worried.” He sent her an easy smile. “I’m just indulging you.”
“I’d feel nothing but relief if this is nothing more than that.” But once again she urged her horse to a gallop. Whatever was waiting, she wanted to meet it quickly.
He matched her pace as they rode, as they had so often, over the hills that sparkled in the sunlight. Buttercups dotted the fields with yellow, giving swarms of butterflies a reason to dance in the air. She watched a hawk circle overhead, and some of the heaviness lifted from her.
Her mother had loved to watch the hawk. She’d said it was Moira’s father, there to look down on them while he flew free. Now she prayed her mother flew free as well.
The hawk circled over the ring of stones, and raised its cry.
Nerves made her queasy so she swallowed hard.
“Well, we made it this far.” Larkin shook back his hair. “What do you suggest?”
“Are you cold? Do you feel the cold?”
“No. It’s warm. The sun’s strong today.”
“Something’s watching.” She shivered even as she dismounted. “Something cold.”
“There’s nothing here but us.” But when he jumped down from his horse, Larkin laid a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“It sees.” There were voices in her head, whispers and murmurs. As if in a trance, she took her bag from the saddle. “Take what you need. Come with me.”
“You’re acting considerably strange, Moira.” With a sigh, Larkin took his own bag, tossing it over his shoulder as he caught up with her.
“She can’t enter here. Never. No matter what her power, she can never enter this circle, never touch these stones. If she tries she’ll burn. She knows, she hates.”
“Moira…your eyes.”
She turned them on him. They were nearly black, and they were depthless. And when she opened her han
d, there was a wand of crystal in it. “You are bound, as I am bound, to do this thing. You are my blood.” She took her short sword, cut her palm, then reached for his.
“Well, bollocks.” But he held out his hand, let her slice across the palm.
She sheathed the knife, gripped his bloody hand with hers. “Blood is life, and blood is death,” she said. “And here it opens the way.”
With his hand in hers, she stepped into the circle.
“Worlds wait,” she began, chanting the words that swirled in her head. “Time flows. Gods watch. Speak the words with me.”
Her hand throbbed in his as they repeated the words.
The wind swirled, whipping the long grass, snapping their cloaks. Instinctively, Larkin put his free arm around her, folding her into him as he tried to use his body as a shield. Light burst, blinding them.
She gripped his hand, and felt the world spin.
Then the dark. Damp grass, misty air.
They still stood within the circle, on that same rise. But not the same, she realized. The forest beyond wasn’t quite the same.
“The horses are gone.”
She shook her head. “No. We are.”
He looked up. He could see the moon swimming behind the clouds. The dying wind was cold enough to reach his bones. “It’s night. It was barely midday and now it’s night. Where the bloody hell are we?”
“Where we’re meant to be, that’s all I know. We need to find the others.”
He was baffled, and unnerved. And could admit that he hadn’t thought beyond the moment. That would stop now, for now he had only one charge. To protect his cousin.
“What we’re going to do is look for shelter and wait for sunrise.” He tossed her his pack, then started to stride out of the circle. As he walked, he changed.
The shape of his body, the sinew, the bone. In place of skin a pelt, tawny as his hair, in place of hair a mane. Now a stallion stood where the man had been.
“Well, I suppose that would be quicker.” Ignoring the knots in her belly, Moira mounted. “We’ll ride the way that would be toward home. I think that makes the most sense—if any of this does. Best not gallop, in case that way is different from what we know.”
He set off in a trot, while she scanned the trees and the moonstruck hills. So much the same, she thought, but with subtle differences.
There was a great oak where none had been before, and the murmur of a spring in the wrong direction. Nor was the road the same. She nudged Larkin off it, in the direction where home would be if this were her world.
They moved into the trees, picking their way now carefully, following instinct and a rough path.
He stopped, lifted his head as if scenting the air. His body shifted under her as he turned. She felt muscles bunch.
“What is it? What do you—”
He flew, risking low branches, hidden rocks as he broke into a strong gallop. Knowing only he’d sensed danger, she lowered her body, clung to his mane. But it came like lightning, flying out of the trees as if it had wings. She had time to shout, time to reach for her sword before Larkin reared up, striking the thing with both hooves.
It screamed, tumbled off into the dark.
She would have urged him back into a gallop, but he was already shaking her off, already turning back into a man. They stood back-to-back now, swords drawn.
“The circle,” she whispered. “If we can get back to the circle.”
He shook his head. “They’ve cut us off,” he replied. “We’re surrounded.”
They came slowly now, slinking out of the shadows. Five, no six, Moira saw as her blood chilled. Their fangs gleamed in the shivering moonlight.
“Stay close,” Larkin told her. “Don’t let them draw you away from me.”
One of the things laughed, a sound that was horribly human. “You’ve come a long way to die,” it said.
And leaped.
Chapter 8
Too restless to sleep, Glenna wandered the house. It was big enough, she supposed, to accommodate an army—certainly large enough to keep four relative strangers comfortable and afford some privacy. There were high ceilings—gorgeous with ornate plaster work—and steps that spiraled or curved to more rooms. Some of those rooms were small as cells, others spacious and airy.
Chandeliers were iron, the style intricate and artful and leaning toward the Gothic. They suited the house more than anything contemporary, or even the elegance of crystal.
Intrigued by the look, she went back for a camera. While she wandered, she paused when the mood struck, framed in a portion of ceiling, or a light. She spent thirty minutes alone on the dragons carved into the black marble of the fireplace in the main parlor.
Wizards, vampires, warriors. Marble dragons and ancient houses secluded in deep woods. Plenty of fodder for her art, she thought. She could very well make up the hit to her income when she got back to New York.
Might as well think positive.
Cian must have spent a great deal of time and money refurbishing, modernizing, decorating, she decided. But then, he had plenty of both. Rich colors, rich fabrics, gleaming antiques gave the house a sense of luxury and style. And yes, she thought, the place just sat here, year after year, empty and echoing.
A pity, really. A waste of beauty and history. She deplored waste.
Still, it was lucky he had it. Its location, its size, and she supposed, its history made it the perfect base.
She found the library and nodded in approval. It boasted three staggered tiers of books, towering to the domed ceiling where another dragon—stained glass this time—breathed fire and light.
There were candlestands taller than a man, and lamps with jeweled shades. She didn’t doubt the lake-sized Oriental rugs were the genuine articles and possibly hundreds of years old.
Not only a good base, she mused, but an extremely comfortable one. With its generous library table, deep chairs and enormous fireplace, she deemed this the perfect war room.
She indulged herself by lighting the fire and the lamps to dispel the gloom of the gray day. From her own supply, she gathered crystals, books, candles, arranging them throughout the room.
Though she wished for flowers, it was a start. But more was needed. Life didn’t run on style, on luck, or on magic alone.
“What’re you up to, Red?”
She turned, saw King filling the doorway. “I guess we could call it nesting.”
“Hell of a nest.”
“I was thinking the same. And I’m glad you’re here. You’re just the man I need.”
“You and every other woman. What’ve you got in mind?”
“Practicalities. You’ve been here before, right?”
“Yeah, a couple times.”
“Where are the weapons?” When his eyebrows shot up, she spread her arms. “Those pesky items required for fighting wars—or so I’ve heard, since this would be my first war. I know I’d feel better if I had a couple of howitzers handy.”
“Don’t think the boss runs to those.”
“What does he run to?”
He considered. “What you got going in here?”
She glanced toward the crystals. “Just some things I’ve set around for protection, courage, creativity and so on. This struck me as a good place to strategize. A war room. What?” she said when his lips curved in a wide grin.
“Guess you’re on to something.” He walked over to a wall of books, ran his big fingers along the carved trim.
“You’re not going to tell me there’s a…secret panel,” she finished with a delighted laugh when the wall swiveled out.
“Place is full of ’em.” King pushed the wall completely around before she could peek through the gap. “I don’t know as he’d want you poking around in the passages. But you said weapons.” He gestured. “You got weapons.”
Swords, axes, maces, daggers, scythes. Every manner of blade hung gleaming on the exposed wall. There were crossbows, long bows, even what she thought was a trident.
“Little advice,” King began. “You use something like that, whatever’s coming for you is going to have to get real close before it does you any good.”
“Good point.” She replaced the dagger, took down a sword. “Wow. Heavy.” She replaced it, took down what she thought would be termed a foil. “Better.”
“You got any idea how to use that?”
“Hack, hack, hack, jab, jab?” She gave it a testing swing, found herself surprised she liked the feel of it. “Okay, no. Not a clue. Someone will have to teach me.”
“Do you think you could slice through flesh with that?” Cian spoke as he came in the room. “Strike bone, spill blood?”
“I don’t know.” She lowered the sword. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to find out. I saw what she was, what she did, what she has with her. I’m not going into this with only potions and spells. And I’m sure as hell not going to stand there and go eek if she tries to bite me.”
“You can wound them with that, slow them down. But you won’t kill, you won’t stop them unless you use it to cut off the head.”
With a grimace she studied the slender blade, then resigned, put it back, took down the heavier sword.
“Swinging that around takes a great deal of strength.”
“Then I’ll get strong, strong enough.”
“Muscle’s not the only kind of strength you’ll need.”
She kept her gaze level. “I’ll get strong enough. You know how to use this. You and Hoyt, and you,” she said to King. “If you think I’m going to sit back, stirring a cauldron when it comes time to fight, think again. I wasn’t brought here so I could have men protect me. I wasn’t given this gift to be a coward.”
“Me,” King said with that wide grin in place again, “I like a woman with grit.”
Gripping the hilt with both hands, she sliced the air with the blade. “So. When’s my first lesson?”
