22 Nights (38 page)

Rafal’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and his smile faded sharply. “I have told you once. Do you not believe me?”

“It’s not that . . .” Though it was exactly that . . . “You seem to know so much, but you never liked the fact that Kitty chose me. Now it’s clear that she could not have chosen anyone else.” Could he explain
that
?

“I always thought it would be best if the sword remained secreted until your daughter was ready, but those more powerful than I did not agree. She was made for your daughter, not for you, and there is so much power in that weapon . . . yes, I was concerned. You can be quite imprudent at times.”

She could not argue with that. “You might’ve warned me what was coming,” Bela accused.

“No, I could not. You would not have believed me.”

She twisted her lips. “Well, I believe you now.”

“Good. Then hear this.” Rafal’s voice grew deeper, flatter. “The daughter you carry is more than his seed and your womb, she is more than human. She was conceived in the waters of the mountain and has a touch of that water in her blood and in her eyes. Your daughter, our warrior, she will be nigh indestructible. You need not worry about her.” His eyes and his voice changed, turning more normal, and he shrugged. “No more than any mother worries about her daughter.”

“
Our
warrior?” Bela asked, standing so that she could look down on the seer. “What do you mean,
our
warrior, and how do you know about the water?” She had come here for answers, that was true, but Rafal knew too much! Surely some moments were meant to be private!

“You could not leave the mountain until they knew the child had taken hold,” Rafal said. “We have waited for her for too many years.”

We?
Bela felt the blood rush from her face. “Kitty. The carvings. You?” She glanced down at the old man’s battered and gnarled hands, and she could imagine, too well, a younger Rafal standing in the cavern, etching her life onto a stone wall; she could see younger hands carving stone and forging steel.

“I did not work alone,” Rafal said, “but I did my part.” Again, he gave her that unexpected smile. “Do not worry, Bela. All will be well.”

“Truly? ”

“Truly. Now, go get married. Your husband is waiting anxiously, I suspect.”

 

A
bonfire shone bright on a perfect spring night. Summer approached, and the coming season could be felt in the warmth of this night. Music played and people danced. Bela smiled, and she was gorgeous in her red, white, and black dress. Merin loved her in that dress. Even more, he could not wait to get her out of it. He had spent three long days without her constantly beside him. In a way he could not explain, they remained connected, as surely as they had when they’d been physically bound.

He did not doubt that, destiny aside, their love was real. As real as it gets.

Bela was whispering something to her friend Jocylen, but her eyes cut to him often. And she smiled. What a smile his wife possessed. It could grab the heart of any man; it could brighten the darkest night.

“Turi custom is not so silly now, eh?”

Merin turned to look down at the village seer, the oddly grinning Rafal Fiers. “Perhaps not.”

“I knew you would come around,” the little man said. “What was meant to be, cannot be denied.”

“What are you talking about?” Merin asked sharply.

“You are awash in destiny, General Merin. The warrior girl-child you have made will be born amid the snows of winter, and with her will come a time of peace followed by a time of turmoil. Such is the way of life. When the time is right, she will find the enchanted sword . . . or it will find her, no matter where you make your home, no matter how you try to hide. She will play an important part in the war against the demon-daughters, a war which cannot be won without one born, one created, and one . . .” He wrinkled his nose. “One hatched.”

“Hatched?” Merin asked, horrified. “What does that mean? ”

“I’m not sure. Not yet,” Fiers added.

He did not ask about the one who would be created. That was almost as alarming as one to be hatched—but not quite.

Merin was not surprised to hear that the child already existed within Bela. He had suspected as much when they’d discovered the lost time, but it was more than that. He felt as if he already knew of the girl’s existence in this world, as if she were already here—and his.

He would not fight this destiny—as if it could be fought. When the time was right, his daughter would learn to wield a sword. As a child, she would know every trick Merin had learned in his lifetime, and more. She would fight with grace and ease and remarkable skill. He would see to it.

“You know more than you have shared with me,” Merin accused.

“I know more than I have shared with anyone, General. Knowledge alone is not enough. The gifting of that knowledge must be made at the correct time, or else it is useless.”

It was true enough, he supposed. Merin knew that if he had been told upon arrival that he and Bela were destined to create a warrior daughter who would use Kitty against the daughters of a demon he had fought very hard to destroy, he probably would’ve run in the night. Now it was too late for that. Much too late.

“Did you know all along that I would love her this way?” Merin asked. “When you bound us together and did your little dance, did you know?”

Fiers only smiled and walked away, just as Bela skipped toward Merin. “Another dance, husband,” she said as she threw herself at him.

“One,” he said, catching her and moving in time with the melody that was played so sweetly.

She stuck out her lower lip. “Only one?”

“One, and then we are going to say good night and go to bed, where I will slip that dress from your body and make love to you until dawn breaks and neither of us is capable of movement.”

“Oh,” she said, quickly replacing her pout with a sensual smile. “I do like the sound of that.”

“So do I.”

He took her in his arms and began to move.

“We have not had much time to talk tonight,” Bela whispered as he held her close.

“I’m not planning on much talking as the evening progresses, either,” he said honestly.

“Still, you should know . . .” She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “I had a long talk with Rafal Fiers this afternoon.”

Interesting.

“I got pregnant during those lost days. In the water, he said.”

“I suspected as much.”

“She’s going to be very different, our daughter. Very . . . strong.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He pulled Bela’s head to his shoulder. “I talked with the old man myself. I suspect we should compare these conversations and see if we can make some sense of what lies ahead of us.”

“I suspect we should.”

The music did not end, but Merin stopped dancing. He tipped Bela’s face up and looked into her warm green eyes. “But that conversation can wait until morning. Tonight is just for us.”

Bela smiled, too wide, too bright. He loved that smile.

With villagers and family watching, Merin lifted Bela off her feet and carried her toward their little cottage which was home for one more night, or perhaps two. In the distance, a gentle glow throbbed briefly from Forbidden Mountain, as if the crystals there were celebrating in their own manner, as if they were saying good luck or well done or . . . finally!

There was no time to waste, but Merin would not be rushed from his marriage ceremony to the road, not so quickly, not without a proper wedding night or two. Maybe he and Bela would reach Arthes by the first night of the Summer Festival, and maybe they would not. At this moment he did not care.

Emperor Jahn would not be pleased when Merin arrived with one of the potential brides as his wife—and their child. Still, Jahn should get over the disappointment quickly. Bela was not the type of woman he preferred, and he would have five others to choose from. He could choose one of those suitable women; he could not have Bela. The scandal might cost Merin his position in the palace, but he did not care. He suspected that within five years, teaching and training his daughter would claim a goodly portion of his days.

At that time they would probably be back here, in this Turi village, within call of the mountain where his daughter’s weapon waited. Maybe they would live in this very cottage for a while, he thought, as he kicked the door closed behind him. They could not stay here for very long, though. This cottage was just right for two, but not suitable for a family.

“I believe now,” Bela said as Merin set her on her feet and began to carefully remove the dress she had worn when she offered him a sip of wine, accepted a bouquet of wildflowers, kissed, and danced. Simple as the ceremony had been, it resonated in him, in a soul-deep way. The ritual spoke of give and take, of passion and joy.

“You believe in what?” he asked.

“The white,” Bela said. “The pureness of love that exists to fight against the black, and to mingle with the red. I did not believe such a love was possible, until you showed me it was real. It is real,” she said earnestly. “It’s real and important.”

“Yes, it is,” Merin agreed, and then, instead of telling his wife how he felt, he showed her, until dawn broke the eastern sky and together they slept the deep and peaceful sleep of the truly spent, and the truly loved.

THEY’D
had to travel hard, at times, in order to arrive at the palace before the first night of the Summer Festival. Merin had insisted time and again that if she did not feel up to riding at a steady pace, or if she needed to stop and rest for a day or two, he would simply be late. Pregnancy, at least in these early stages, agreed with Bela. She felt fine. She was energized and gloriously happy, and had never felt healthier. Besides, she knew how Merin hated to be late!

The palace was impressive, and had been from that first, distant glance. She’d never seen anything quite like it. It was monstrously tall and solid and massive, and once inside, she had continued to be amazed. There were green-clad sentinels at every turn. The few rooms she had been able to peek into were nicely and even extravagantly furnished. The men who were not uniformed sentinels were dressed in finery such as she had never seen, and the women . . . the women wore gowns so fancy she did not see how they could move or even
breathe
, and they all seemed to wear ornate hairstyles and heavy jewels. They were pretty and decidedly odd, and not one of them looked comfortable.

The small chamber they had been directed to was on the second floor and seemed to be equipped for meetings of an official sort. There were matching crimson-backed chairs and a long table, and there were many framed paintings on the walls, a mixture of landscapes and portraits. The room was well lit with oil lamps, and smelled of scented oils.

Merin had promised that in his personal chambers a real bed awaited them. A real bed! She could not wait. For that reason she had not minded rushing to get here.

Since the deadline was this very night, however, there was first the emperor to contend with. Merin also wanted to tell someone that an attempt had been made on her life, and by whom. Bela was almost convinced that Nobel’s little demon-child might’ve had something to do with the attack, but Merin would not rest until he knew with certainty.

They had been waiting only a few minutes before a thin, distraught man in a crimson robe rushed into the room. He was pale as snow and his hands shook. His lips were thin and hard. All was not well in his world, that much was evident.

“Thank the heavens you are here!” the man said when he laid eyes on Merin. “We feared for your life, General. Did you not meet the sentinels we sent in search of you and your party?”

“We did not,” Merin answered. “We took a number of less traveled routes in order to get here as quickly as possible, as there were . . . delays along the way. I would guess that’s why we did not see them.”

The thin man turned his gaze to Bela. In a sweeping and disapproving glance he took in her manly attire and her muddy boots, and her less than well-kept braid. She smiled widely.

“Is this . . . her?”

“Bela, this is Minister Calvyno,” Merin said in a serene and commanding voice. “He’s Minister of Foreign Affairs.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Bela said.

Merin’s eyebrows rose slightly at her polite response. As if she would embarrass him here in this place where he was of such importance!

Calvyno released a long breath. “You have arrived just in time. We must hurry. I’m sure we can find her a proper gown and arrange for a bath and a lady to dress her hair . . .”

Merin did not give the man time to finish. “Minister Calvyno, this is my wife, Belavalari Merin.”

Impossibly, Calvyno went paler than before. He seemed unsteady as he searched for and found the nearest chair. “This cannot be,” he mumbled as he dropped into the seat. “This is unforgivable and outrageous!”