A Magic King (20 page)

Jane stopped, reviewing his words to see if she'd misheard him. "What did you call me?"

"Librarian. It is another term of honor, synonymous with the Keeper. I thought it might be less..." he paused, clearly searching for a polite phrasing.

"Less traumatic for me?"

He smiled. "Yes."

"It's not. Not unless you expect me to wear a tight bun and big, horn-rimmed glasses."

"I'm sorry, my knowledge of the Old Tongue is not—"

"Your English is fine, Ginsen. I just made a rather rude joke that wasn't true even in my grandmother's day."

"Is there a better title for you then?"

Jane twisted her foot beneath her. Her only title, other than computer nerd and doctoral candidate, had been Computer Technician, and she hadn't liked that even when it applied.

"How about Comic?" offered Daken. "The clothing she wears is a symbol of those great people."

Jane groaned, imagining people bowing to her saying things like, "We're honored to meet you, Comic Jane."

"How about Oracle?" she finally said, choosing her heroine's alternate ego. It was sufficiently ponderous to remind her of the position she'd now adopted without throwing her completely over into the ridiculous.

"Very well, Oracle," agreed Ginsen with a slight bow.

She winced, unaccustomed to the heavy respect with which he imbued her new title. "Please, call me Jane. Unless you want me to constantly refer to you as the Elven Lord."

Again Ginsen gave her a slight bow, his hairless face sliding into a soft smile. "Very well, Jane. Your rooms are this way, unless you'd like to eat first."

Jane shook her head. "No. Right now all I want to do is sleep." Even if she couldn't actually hide from this new world, a good eight hours of oblivion was close enough.

Ginsen led the way, gliding quickly and silently through the campus. Jane trailed behind him, doing her best not to be uncomfortable when people stopped and bowed to her, some so deep their foreheads bumped their knees. She glanced at Daken only to see that he looked nearly as out of place as she felt. With his warrior's step and bastard sword strapped to his back, he seemed to tower over the willowy academicians who populated the University. It was only now, studying him as he walked beside her, that she began to absorb the dynamics of this new Earth.

Looking at Daken, no one could ever miss his hardened frame, corded muscles, and military bearing. Whatever else he was, Daken was a warrior, born and bred on a frontier community where violence was a way of life. He and his people together provided the security that gave the softer, more vulnerable ones the luxury to study.

Watching him now, he looked like a wolf temporarily running tame among the sheep. It struck her as almost funny that he came here, to the seemingly weaker ones, to beg for the weapons of war. But even as she noted the irony of it, it struck a resounding chord within her. It felt proper and correct that the intelligentsia would govern the warriors, that the academics would rule the more violent factions of the world.

But looking at Daken's set face, she realized he clearly thought it an aberration, tolerated only because he hadn't the strength to change it.

Ginsen interrupted her musings, taking her into a large two-story building just off the main campus. "This is where the permanent members of my staff live."

Senior faculty, she translated to herself.

"Your place is here." He opened the door to a richly furnished two-room suite twice the size of her former apartment in Boston. "Is this acceptable? In addition to this, you will naturally have exclusive domain over the House of Prophesy."

Jane stumbled over his heavy reference to a simple computer center. Her chest felt squeezed by an enormous fist, the pressure tightening as the enormity of her responsibilities began to sink in. "This will be fine," she managed to force out.

Ginsen gave his short bow again. "I will leave you to rest. Someone will come for you before dinner."

Jane barely noticed. She was still trying to think above the buzzing in her head. She'd had anxiety attacks before and recognized her symptoms for what they were, but that didn't alleviate the panic slowly building within her. It wasn't until she realized Daken was leaving with Ginsen that she was able to break from her near trance.

"Wait!" She grabbed Daken's arm, trying to draw him back into the room. "Aren't you staying here? With me?" She hated the weakness coloring her voice, but Daken was her most familiar, most welcome touchstone in a rapidly changing world. She was suddenly very frightened of losing him.

Daken didn't respond, and his face remained as hard as carved granite. Finally, Ginsen stepped into the silence. "The Chigan King will have his own room in the temporary dormitory across the courtyard. Unless," he paused for emphasis, "you have a relationship of which I am not yet aware."

Jane swallowed, slowly loosening her grip on Daken. Did they have a relationship? One she wanted to make public? Twelve hours ago, she was ready to become his lover, and she didn't give a damn who knew. She was a stranger, visiting this odd world until she could find a way back to her own.

But now everything was different. She was the Oracle, and he was a King petitioning for her political support. As much as she wanted to deny their changed status, one look at Daken's bland expression told her he was very aware of their new relationship. Openly becoming lovers was a daunting complication to an already complex situation.

Jane bit her lip while the silence seemed to thin the very air she breathed. Then Daken cut into the mounting tension like a stiletto piercing her heart.

"No, Lord," said Daken, grimly pulling his arm out of her grip. "The Oracle and I were merely traveling companions." His voice was flat and implacable, as were his steps when he walked away.

It was another ten minutes before she let her door close with a heavy thud. Moments after that, she fell onto her bed, curling in the fetal position as she let the pain and anxiety wash unheeded through her.

For the first time since coming to this bizarre world, she would have to make her way alone.

* * *

She awoke to the gathering gloom of early evening. There was no light in her room and no way for her to turn one on. Before, there had always been a campfire or a lantern, and Daken had tended those. So she lay on her bed and let her thoughts wander.

As always, they turned to Daken and a now familiar pain curled in her chest.

When had she fallen in love with him? Had it started that first morning when he brought her back to life by painful inches? Or had it been when they laughed so freely while bouncing painfully on the buckboard. Or maybe it was in the inn when he kissed her with such passion?

It didn't matter. She had fallen for him hard. And now, when she finally realized the truth, she couldn't bring herself to act on it. In fact, she'd already decided to act against it and him.

Jane sighed, feeling the large expanse of her cold bed. They hadn't even had their one night of ecstasy. But how could she tell a man she loved him, bed him with passion and honesty, and then turn around and dedicate herself to thwarting the main goal in his life?

He wanted to start a war. She wanted just as passionately for him to resolve his conflict peaceably. The last thing she would ever do was give him the weapons he wanted or support his cause to the Council. In his eyes, that would be the ultimate betrayal. In her eyes, it was the only reason she had to continue living. She would not allow this new Earth to descend into bloody war.

Impasse. And in the face of such diametrically opposed goals, how could she still ache for his touch and long for the sweet delight of his kiss?

* * *

Daken's muscles burned and the hilt of his sword grew slick from the sweat on his hands, but still he fought, swinging his weapon in tight circles and thrusts, parrying and stabbing with vicious determination. There were no enemies in his room except his own private demons. He sparred with the air, but it was the only way he knew to defeat the emotions seething within him.

He had already picked her for his wife and queen. He had planned to seduce her last night, binding her to him in every physical way possible while his words of love snared her heart. It was as good as done, and she was willing in every way.

But now she was the Keeper, and he was still the failed son of a king. He had no wife, no fulfilled prophesy, and not even a release from the lust that had burned in his blood from the first moment he'd seen her, half frozen in the meadow.

He'd hoped for a moment. When the Elven Lord asked if they had a special relationship, he'd waited. She knew he wanted to marry her. Her excuse was gone. She no longer could pretend she belonged somewhere else. As the Keeper, her home was here, in this land. True, they'd probably have to live apart as she would be in Bosuny while he returned home to his war, but that was a minor detail. The advantages of having the Keeper as his wife far outweighed the frustration his body would feel at the long separation.

Of course, none of that happened. She threw away her chance to declare before the Lord that she would be his wife. She remained stubbornly silent, clinging to her strange, separate ways even as she clung to his arm.

Which left Daken with nothing except her vague promise to help him.

Daken swung his sword in a vicious cut to the right, arcing the sword back so fast he nearly lost his grip and his hands cramped with the effort.

So be it, he thought grimly. He would accept Jane's new status. He would play the courtier and sycophant, begging for the weapons he needed for his people's survival. So long as she succeeded in the end. She must convince the Council to give him what he wanted.

Hell in all its fury would not match his anger if she failed him.

* * *

They came for her before she was ready, but then again, Jane probably wouldn't have felt ready for another few years.

She hadn't lounged in bed for long. Stewing over Daken wouldn't serve any purpose. Impatient with her own thoughts, she roused herself, using the fading light to inspect her environment. Her rooms were useful, comfortable, and rather dull. One bedroom. One sitting room. And both needed a few prints to liven them up.

Once she'd exhausted the confines of her room, she stepped into the hallway. Propping open her door in case it locked behind her, she went to explore the four other doors on this top floor. As expected, three were locked. The fourth was a delight that thrilled her down to her toes.

She'd found a bathroom. It was surprisingly modem with running water, a toilet, and a bathtub. No shower, but she wasn't picky. Hastily stripping off her clothes and mumbling apologizes to anyone who might "live" in the water, she dropped into a lukewarm bath and felt like she'd slipped into heaven. There was soap to one side, and she used it all over, including her hair. Ten minutes later she felt almost clean.

Mindful of the time, she ran another bath and did her best to clean her costume. She wondered briefly when she could retrieve her new clothes still at the inn while congratulating herself that she'd made her outfit out of quick-dry Lycrasheen. Her orange hightops were less easily fixed, but that was too bad. It was best if everyone accepted from the start that she was less than perfect.

It was the right attitude to adopt, especially given that a man suddenly appeared to escort her to dinner while she sat hunched over the tub trying to scrape mud off her sneakers. Her hair was still spiky wet and her clothes were damp in all the wrong places. It was a mortifying position from which to meet a slim man with soft feather-like hair and delightfully sharp eyes. He was clearly kin to some bird, but rather than detracting, it seemed to enhance his features. She found him rather handsome in a delicate sort of way.

Which made the situation all the more embarrassing.

She was stammering out an apology when she remembered. She was the Keeper, the new hot star. No longer some peon computer tech, she was the big guns, the prophesied one. And more than that, she had an important job to do—keeping mankind on a peaceful, non-violent tract. So if she wanted to sit half-wet in a bathroom, scraping mud off neon orange high tops before a big presentation dinner, then she damn well would do it.

Giving the man her most brilliant smile, Jane lifted a finger to tell him she'd be a moment longer, then regally shut the bathroom door. She didn't reopen it until she'd brushed back her hair and put on her shoes. There was nothing she could do about being still damp, but she knew her clothes would dry soon enough.

The man was still there, his expression calm, his attitude one of respectful patience. Almost without conscious thought, she flipped through Dr. Beavesly's memories to try and place him. She saw him first arriving as a nervous twenty year old, literally hopping from foot to foot as he introduced himself to the Elven Lord and begged permission to study magical flight.

That was all she needed. Smiling again, she pointed to him. "You're Dinal, right? Dinal?"

He bowed. "I am honored to greet you, Oracle." He spoke not in English, but in Common, and Jane was delighted to find she understood his words. Although it took an extra step, Dr. Beavesly's memories easily provided translations for her. It was an enormous relief to know she would be able to speak with the people around her and not be chained to Daken as her interpreter.