Gwyneth sighed and lifted her own spoon. “You two can contemplate your stew all evening if you’d like, but I’m hungry.” She lifted a spoonful to her mouth and ate greedily.
Lyr followed, taking a small bite. “Very good,” he said. “Nicely seasoned.”
“I gather many herbs from the swamp and the forests beyond,” Gwyneth said as she spooned up more and prepared to eat it.
As Lyr took another bite, obviously enjoying the taste, Rayne finally lifted her spoon. If he was willing to take a chance, so should she be.
The stew was delicious. There was meat of some sort and vegetables she did not recognize and those herbs Gwyneth spoke of. True, she was very hungry, but Rayne was sure she had never eaten a better meal. She soon forgot that she did not know or trust the woman who had prepared the stew, and she emptied her bowl and then reached for the wine, drinking greedily. Such simple pleasures were taken for granted until they were taken away. Food. Drink.
Love.
She looked at Lyr, who ate and drank as heartily as she. Love was not exactly simple, and yet it felt to her as essential as food and drink, as necessary as the air she breathed. What a horrible time to find love, when her future, the future of the very world, was at risk.
When their supper was finished, Gwyneth cleared the table quickly. “What of the world beyond the swamp?” she asked brightly. “It’s been many years since I had news from beyond my home.”
Lyr’s face became solemn. “All is not well, I’m sad to say. A demon has taken control of many men, and they plot to take this land, to take all the lands, and turn the world to darkness.”
Gwyneth’s chin lifted, and she looked at Lyr hard and long. “You are fighting this darkness?”
“Yes.”
She nodded, and then turned to saunter to the opposite side of the room, where she slid open a squeaking drawer and removed a thick square wrapped in colorful silk. Gwyneth reclaimed her seat and unfolded the silk, revealing a deck of unusual cards. They were square, rather than rectangular like the playing cards Rayne had seen in the past, and as the seer and keeper of the swamp began to flip the cards over in a pattern of some sort, Rayne saw that the hand-painted pictures were of a different type than any she had ever seen. They were colorful and somehow twisted, as if the images there had been seen through broken or half-blinded eyes.
“Perhaps I can help you,” Gwyneth said as she studied the cards she’d placed on the table. “Sometimes I find guidance in the cards.”
“This is witch’s magic,” Lyr said in a lowered voice.
Gwyneth’s head snapped up, and her eyes flashed angrily. “Yes. Do you have something witty or degrading to say about that?”
Lyr smiled. “As my mother, two sisters, two aunts, and numerous cousins are witches, that would not be at all wise.”
Gwyneth relaxed. “That explains the magic I see in your reading. Great magic.” She allowed her hands to float above the cards as if she absorbed their energy. “And great sacrifice. You are important to this war of which you speak.”
“Yes,” Lyr whispered. “So I have been told.”
“Before the first snows of winter fall, you will face your enemy.”
“And the victor will be?” Lyr prompted when she hesitated to say more.
“Unknown at this time,” Gwyneth said simply. “Much must happen between now and then in order for you to win.” She shook her head. “You must win, Prince of Swords,” she added in a gruff whisper. “I cannot imagine the pain that will follow any other outcome.” One finger came down and touched a particularly dark card. From where she sat, Rayne could barely see the picture there. It appeared to be a bird with wide, black wings, but the beak of the bird was crooked, and the wings were twisted. “You must throw off your heartache and be vigilant, Lyr Hern. You must not allow anyone, no matter how trusted, to keep you from what you must do.”
Rayne imagined the seer spoke of Segyn, but Lyr looked at her as if he could not trust her, not even now. It hurt, just as it had hurt when he’d told her that for a short while he’d believed her capable of poisoning him.
“Can you read the cards for her?” Lyr asked, nodding at Rayne.
She wished to believe that he was concerned about the outcome of this war for her, but suspected he wanted more to know if he could trust her. Again, that hurt terribly.
“Of course.” Gwyneth seemed happy to scoop up the cards and shuffle them, her attention shifting to another subject. She tried to smile, but the effort was weak. What the seer had seen in Lyr’s reading had disturbed her. The uncertainty was not at all comforting, not for any of them.
Again, Gwyneth placed the cards on the table in a seemingly random pattern. Before she was finished, the expression on her face changed many times. There was curiosity, worry, then astonishment, as she finished and placed the unused cards aside. “I see a child.”
“Whose child?” Rayne snapped. Not Ciro’s. By the heavens above, not Ciro’s child.
“That I do not see. Perhaps like so many other things, it has not yet been determined.”
Gwyneth moved on to another grouping of cards. “Your life has not always been an easy one thus far, but if all goes well in weeks to come, your life will change.” She cocked her head to one side. “Do you know that your father murdered your mother?”
Rayne gasped, shocked at the question and the cavalier way in which she had been asked. “He did not!”
Gwyneth barely listened to Rayne’s protest. “He poisoned her. He made it look as if she contracted an illness, but in truth he simply grew tired of her.” The seer shook her head. “Foolish man. He did not know who she was, what she could do.” Gwyneth lifted her head and looked at Rayne squarely. “You are lucky that your father never discovered what you are capable of. It’s no coincidence that your talents remained hidden until he was buried. Deep inside, where you cannot yet see, you knew he was a danger to you and so the gifts you have possessed since birth slept. Some of them continue to sleep, but as days go by, they will be discovered.”
Rayne licked her lips. “Are you telling me that I’m a... a witch?” Even though Lyr happily claimed witches among his relations, to Rayne the word had an unsavory connotation. She did not wish to be a witch!
“You are not a witch,” Gwyneth said gently.
Rayne sighed in relief, but that relief came too soon.
“You are an Earth Goddess.”
***
They’d been in this sprawling coastal town for days, and still there was no sign of Liane. Isadora was getting frustrated. Even Juliet, who was usually so very helpful in such situations, could not point them in precisely the right direction.
On this evening, she and her sisters rested in the inn they had begun to call home. They’d taken the entire second floor for their extended stay, but spent most of their hours in this sitting room. No one was getting much sleep these days.
As much as Isadora enjoyed spending time with her sisters, she was ready to go home. She missed her daughters, her home, her friends, her routine. Until they found Liane and her sons, she could not go home. One of Sebestyen’s sons would be emperor when Ciro was defeated.
When, not if. She could not afford to think otherwise.
To take her mind off their recent failures, Isadora turned to Juliet with a question she asked frequently. “How is Lyr tonight?”
Juliet closed her eyes and reached for sensations from her nephew. She took a few deep breaths. “Alive, distressed, determined.” Juliet’s hand lifted slowly. “I see vines growing larger and twining together, but I don’t know what it means. I also see water and long-legged birds and”—she shuddered—“snakes.”
Isadora’s heart skipped a beat. “Do the snakes symbolize danger?”
Juliet shook her head. “No. These are actual snakes, not symbolic at all. The birds are standing in muddy water, and some of them are bright red. They have long, thin legs and crooked beaks. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Swamp,” Sop
hie said gently. “The muddy water, the red birds, the snakes. Lyr must be traveling through the swamp.”
“Why?” Isadora shouted. “Why on earth would Lyr leave a perfectly acceptable road and go into the swamp?” A horrible thought occurred to her. “Was he taken there against his will? Is he a prisoner?”
“No,” Juliet said quickly. “He travels this way of his own accord, that much I can see. He is protected by something or someone he does not entirely understand. I don’t understand it myself.”
“But he’s all right?” At least for now.
“Yes,” Juliet said. “Sad and confused, but well.”
As any mother would be, Isadora was sad for her son. She did not know what had happened, but she wished to protect him. Even though he was a grown man, even though he was Prince of Swords, she wished to shelter him from all hurt. As if that were possible.
The knock at the door surprised them all. It was too soon for their husbands, who had gone to a nearby tavern to ask questions, to be back. Unless they’d found what they were looking for.
Isadora left her chair to rush to the locked door. They’d been nosing about the port town for days, offering rewards and describing the Liane they remembered from twenty-five years past. If Lucan and the others were not back with news, then perhaps someone had come to claim that reward. Someone who had the answers they sought.
As Isadora opened the door, Juliet sighed and said, “I should’ve known she would come to us.”
The heavy wooden door opened on an older woman who had stark white hair pulled back into a tight bun. Familiar green eyes were sharp and intelligent and angry. There were lines around the eyes, and the dark clothing was not only simple but starkly plain and seemed to be made to disguise any figure that might lurk beneath.
But the face, the face had not changed. There was still a timeless beauty in the shape of the jaw and the high cheekbones and the perfectly shaped lips. There was also an unmistakable determination.
“You’re stirring up trouble with all your nosy inquiries. The questions must stop. They must stop now. What do you want from me?” Liane asked sharply. “What the hell do you want?”
Chapter Eleven
When they’d first arrived, Gwyneth’s attention had been focused on Lyr. She’d obviously seen him as the most important of the two travelers, the man in charge, the one who possessed the most power. It was certainly possible that she’d focused on Lyr because she was a woman who lived very much alone. Was Gwyneth any different from the brightly colored women who’d offered their bodies to the warriors on a crowded street?
If that had been her intention, it was now forgotten. After reading their cards, Gwyneth turned her attention almost entirely to Rayne.
Rayne still didn’t believe what the swamp witch had said. Earth Goddess? That wasn’t possible. She made things grow, that’s all. That certainly didn’t make her a Goddess, a supernatural being who was both human and more than human, a magical creature who walked with one foot in the world of mortals and the other in a magical world Rayne could not comprehend. An immortal spirit housed, for this lifetime, in a mortal body. A Goddess like the woman who had given birth to her. She also dismissed the woman’s ridiculous assertion that her father had killed her mother. He had not been a good man, she knew that, but surely he wouldn’t have taken his only child’s mother away.
Deep down she knew it was possible, but she didn’t want to believe. She had so few positive memories of her father, she didn’t want to stain them with this horrid supposition. It was murder Gwyneth suggested. Cold-hearted murder.
When the cards had been put away, Gwyneth fetched clean water—rain water, Rayne supposed—for the Earth Goddess. She also offered a brightly colored skirt and a dark green loose-sleeved blouse which were plainly constructed but clean, and in better shape than the gown Rayne had been wearing for so many days.
The water and clothes were placed in one of the two bedchambers, a small room with a narrow bed which Gwyneth said was her son’s. Not long after her husband’s death, Borix had gone hunting and never returned. It had been many years, but she still held out hope that one day he would come home.
From Borix’s bedchamber, which for tonight was Rayne’s, a small, roughly fashioned window looked out over the swamp. Moonlight lit the stagnant water. Rayne looked through the window as she undressed and bathed, feeling safe in this cabin, feeling separated from the swamp and all its dangers. Tomorrow she and Lyr would travel in the swamp again, but for tonight, at least, they were safe.
She left the skirt and blouse Gwyneth had given her folded neatly on the single chair in the room, and crawled into the bed naked. A single candle burned. Lyr was feeding and brushing the horses, but she hoped he would join her before she fell asleep. Her body was aching and exhausted, but she did not want to sleep without holding him. She didn’t want to drift to dreams without hearing his voice.
Very shortly after crawling into the bed, she did sleep. She dreamed of thrusting her hands into the dirt and watching trees and flowers grow. She dreamed of moving rushing water aside with her very breath. She dreamed of calling down the rain and laughing as it washed over her.
When she awoke, the candle had burned down substantially and Lyr was with her. He stood beside the bed, uncertain and silent. She smiled at him and drew back the covers to invite him in.
After a moment, he shook his head. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Rayne sat up. “Why?”
“Because it is best. We have not been thinking, Rayne. A child, Gwyneth said. Is this the time to create a child? To lie together as if tomorrow is at all certain?”
She had thought of that, but she had also caught a more important thought. “I will have a child, according to Gwyneth. Should it be your baby I catch or Ciro’s?”
A muscle in Lyr’s jaw twitched. “I don’t know if I’ll survive the war that’s coming. Of all the psychics and seers who have looked to the future for me, none has seen victory.”
“Has one seen defeat?”
“No,” he whispered.
She knew he was rushing toward the war that might claim him, which made this night all the more precious.
“We don’t know what lies ahead, I understand that. But Lyr, if I have your child inside me, I can’t carry Ciro’s. If the worst happens, if you lose and Ciro captures me, he can’t give me a child if I’m already carrying yours. I think any child Ciro and I create would be beyond terrible, beyond dark. Why else would he insist that I be the mother? He’s a monster incapable of love, so there must be some dark reason. Maybe there’s something among my newly discovered gifts which will be passed to the child, something which can be used for dark purposes. Would a child of mine and Ciro’s be able to make things die as I make them grow? Would it be able to make the earth shake, and bring floods, and stop the rain?” She relaxed and lay back on the mattress.
“Besides, the simple answer is I want you to hold me. I want you to lie with me. I want you to make me forget all that might be and simply enjoy this moment.” She gathered all her courage. “I love you, Lyr. Don’t make me lie here without you. Don’t make me feel horribly alone when you’re so close.”
It was the sensation of being truly alone that she feared most, and when Lyr held her, that sensation went away.
By the light of that one candle, he removed his vest. He said nothing, but no words were necessary. In her heart she wished for a return of “I love you,” but she didn’t expect that from Lyr. Not now. Maybe later, if things worked out as they should, he would feel free to say the words, to mean them. Right now his trust had been damaged, and he likely did not wish to love anyone ever again.
He set his sword and knife aside and stepped out of his muddy boots, one and then the other, and then shucked off travel-weary trousers. In a matter of moments he was bare, but for the crystal dagger which was strapped to his thigh. An ordinary man would appear less powerful without his uniform and weapons, but not Lyr. His strength was in his heart and s
oul and body, not in the things he carried with him. Every muscle was perfectly crafted, and arguments aside, he did want her. Physically, at least.
For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do with the crystal dagger he removed from his thigh. He briefly studied the weapon wrapped in velvet before lifting the mattress and slipping it beneath. Segyn had asked for that dagger, which meant Ciro and the demon knew of its existence and the threat it posed.
Completely bare, he crawled into the narrow bed with her. His arms circled her, and he buried his head against her neck and kissed her there. His lips were gentle and then not so gentle. He kissed her throat, and her mouth, and the valley between her breasts.
Then he stopped to rise up and look down at her. “I have dreamed of this sight,” he said in a lowered voice. “Until now you have been lost in darkness or shrouded by clothing. I have felt you, I have joined with you, but I have only dreamed of seeing you this way, by candlelight and moonlight.” He touched her, and watched the movement of his hand against her skin. “You are more beautiful than I imagined any woman could be.”
He spread her thighs and touched her with arousing fingers. He pushed the coverlet to the floor so no part of her bare body was hidden from him. There were many miles between “I love you” and “You’re beautiful,” but she gladly accepted anything which resembled sweet words from Lyr.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t wish for whispers of love to go along with the power of his body aligning with hers. She wished for love as well as the beauty of pleasure and his admiration for the physical, she wished for the fierceness of the heart to combine with the passion of raw release.
His heart still stung, she knew, and she did not dare ask too much of him now.
With his hand and mouth arousing her so well, she soon forgot unspoken sweet words and bonds of the heart. Her body twitched and trembled and ached, until she wrapped one leg around his hips to draw him closer. He seemed determined to take his time, however, and did not give her what she wanted. She hurt with need, and exploring hands proved to her that Lyr was ready. He was hot and hard in her hands, and she stroked, urging him to come to her, trying to bring him to the place she had found, where nothing mattered but their bodies together. Still, he waited. He moved one hand over her sensitive nipples and sucked at her neck, which had proven to be surprisingly sensitive and erotic. She threw her head back to allow him full access to her throat, and stroked him harder. They were entangled like the vines she could speak to, twining and growing and reaching. Joined by the twist and weave of their bodies.
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