A Magic King (38 page)

"I didn't mean lick it. That's gross. Oh, never mind." Biting her lower lip, she stretched her foot up into the stirrup. To her humiliation, she still couldn't get on. The angle was too steep. Fortunately, a boy was on hand to push up on her rump. All too soon, she sat astride her horse. "Well, that wasn't too bad." She beamed a smug look at Daken.

"Now," he ordered, with barely concealed impatience. "Rise up from the saddle."

Jane stood, teetering slightly.

"No. Lower. Lower."

"You mean crouch. Like this." Her thighs trembled from the strain and her lower back wasn't at all happy, but her pride wouldn't let her admit it. Certainly not to Daken. "I got it. What next?"

"Stay that way until sunset."

"What?" She thought he was kidding. He had to be kidding. Three hours later, she knew he'd been serious.

She hurt all over. A prize fighter couldn't have made her feel any worse. In fact, she'd rather have gone ten rounds as a punching bag than sit on the accursed beast for a minute longer. Too bad they had at least an hour of daylight left.

Daken pushed them on through the twilight.

When he finally stopped for the night, she slid out of her saddle like a heap of melting pudding. She fell flat on her numb rear end and didn't care.

"I'll never get on that beast again. Not as long as I live."

Daken glanced up from unloading his horse. "That's fine. I'll just ride ahead and take care of the Tarveen without you."

Jane moaned into the dirt.

"Oh," he continued, "and let me mention that without my prearranged transportation, you'd have to walk through Borit's lands."

"Borit? As in bastard Borit the child molester?"

Daken nodded.

Jane would have cried if she had the energy. "Just shoot me now and get it over with."

He grinned at her from over his horse's rump. "Help me rub down the horses and maybe I'll be convinced to lessen your pain."

Jane stopped moaning long enough to remember Daken was a healer. She nearly cried out in relief. She didn't need a bottle of extra strength analgesic. She had her own miracle cure right here.

She rolled slowly onto her stomach. "Heal me now, and I'll rub down both horses."

"Have you ever done it before?"

"You take a brush and comb their hair. And legs. And stuff. Right?"

"I'll rub down the horses. You get out dinner."

Jane sighed, lying face down in the dirt while she heard Daken move around above her.

Slap!

"Yow!" she screamed. Daken's slap sent bolts of agony from her rear directly to her brain. She lifted her head just enough to glare at him.

"Dinner, woman."

"Sounds great, man."

Daken released a long, suffering sigh. "Is it really that painful?"

"How was it when you first learned?"

He shrugged. "I don't remember. I started riding almost as soon as I started walking."

"Let me put it this way. Picture a nice, round, juicy peach."

He grinned and looked at her rear.

"Now slam it against the wall a few times."

"Very well," he sighed. He leaned down, rolling her onto her back in the grass before kissing her sweetly on the lips. "I wouldn't want your... um, peach to get all brown. Sticky, maybe..." His voice trailed off as he began nuzzling her neck.

"Uh, Daken," she began, trying to focus on something other than him nibbling along the underside of her chin. "The pain's in my rear."

"I'm getting there," he chided. "Don't be so impatient."

By the time he turned his attention to her bruises, she no longer remembered she hurt.

* * *

She awoke in the dead of night, snapping open her eyes to a sight so bizarre, she was sure she was dreaming.

The black panther approached them slowly, her steps silent and stealthy. In her mouth, she held the reins to another shaggy horse still wearing saddle and gear, and led it to them with a firm jerk of her head.

"Daken. Daken, wake up." He didn't stir, and from their entwined position, she would have felt him move. So it was all the more startling when his voice came as a soft, low whisper in her ear.

"I see it."

"Do you believe it?"

"I never question an Old One."

"A what?" Jane suddenly glanced up, seeing the panther with new eyes. "You think she's a human-animal combined soul?" Her voice trailed off at her awkward phrasing.

He smiled, slowly getting up to pull on his breeches. "Yes, she's an Old One."

"But how can you tell?"

"How many wild animals do you know that lead horses?"

Daken left his breeches loose and started to approach the panther. Bare-footed and bare-chested, he looked like an ancient Indian warrior confronting the nature from which he thrived. The soft glow from the low fire bathed him in orange radiance, accenting his chiseled muscles and proud features. Across from him, the panther dropped the horse's reins and stood before the man, equally elemental, equally regal.

"She wants you to come too."

"Me?" She squeaked, still frozen in her bedroll. "We're going somewhere?"

"Apparently."

Jane swallowed as two sets of eyes focused on her. The man's were a calming blue that reminded her of the deepest ocean. The cat's were black and mysterious as a starless night. Next to them, Jane felt out of place. The city girl joining a warrior and a panther. They were the ones who belonged, the ones merged in some basic way with the world surrounding them. She, on the other hand, still constantly checked her clothes for bugs and lamented the loss of her hair dryer.

More than ever, she felt alien in this new Earth. Still, both man and beast waited patiently for her to pull on a tunic and her boots. Then she followed them, sounding like a lumbering giant against their silent steps.

They didn't go far before she saw him. A huddled, miserable lump on the cold ground, wrapped in just a thin blanket.

"Steve! What are you doing here?"

The boy started awake, his expression dancing through fear and despair until it finally rested in relief.

"I told you to guard the computer for me until I got back. Make sure no one tampered with it."

Steve didn't respond. In truth, he looked too tired to care.

"It would seem someone else isn't used to riding long hours," said Daken in a dry tone.

Whereas Daken was clearly annoyed, Jane's sympathies were immediately engaged. She knew with bruising clarity just how much the boy's backside must hurt him.

"Come on," she mumbled to the boy, leaning down to gather him up, blanket and all. Daken was before her, easily bundling the boy up as he carried the child back to camp.

Jane followed, glancing backward long enough to realize the panther had already faded into the nighttime. So she ran ahead, quickly snuggled into her bedroll, then held out her arms. "Give him to me. Poor thing must be freezing."

Daken hesitated, a small pout forming on his handsome face. "What about me? I get cold too."

Jane gave him a look that spoke volumes about whose welfare she was more concerned with. So, with a heavy sigh full of great self-sacrifice, Daken bent down and deposited Steve into her arms. The boy did indeed feel ice cold, so Jane tucked him close to her, warming his young body with her own.

She glanced up as Daken, still pouting from losing his place in her arms, dropped more wood on the fire. Tiny sparks flew past his head, momentarily surrounding him with fairy lights that seemed to pay homage to him. Even though she'd grown up in a world of high tech special effects, the image still startled her, emphasizing how joined he was with the world around him.

As if a veil slid from her eyes, she suddenly understood what she'd done wrong with Kyree. She and Kyree had wanted power. As noble as her end goal was, they had both acted without love, without cherishing or even understanding the very people and world from which the power came. In the end, the power corrupted Kyree, eating away at his reason and self-restraint until it destroyed him, nearly killing her in the process.

But Daken wore his power, his kingship, like he wore his sword—as a natural extension of himself. He loved his people as he loved the world that brought him his healing skills. And together, they made him king. That understanding of who he was with respect to his people was as natural to him as the healing talent that suffused his body.

That was real power, and it came from love. His love for the land and his people, and their love and loyalty to him.

Jane bit her lip, her thoughts in turmoil as she watched the fire leap outward, caressing Daken with its light. Oh hell, she thought with a groan. She was right back where she started—a nobody people called the Keeper of Knowledge out of respect, not for her, but for the legends that created her. To respect her, they would have to know her, and she them. But up until now, she hadn't bothered with any of that.

Daken was right when he accused her of thinking them ignorant peasants. She'd seen herself as an educated person thrown here to lead woefully stupid people, but that wasn't true, and it had been sinfully arrogant to believe it in the first place.

She was the ignorant one, and it was time she started giving some respect to Daken, the pantar, and most especially the people and the world around her. Because if she didn't start learning from them, trying to understand and love those around her, she'd end up like Kyree. He'd abused his God-given talents to help the only thing he truly did love—himself.

As she began to drift off to sleep, she set herself a top priority task: to love and earn the love of Earth's people. No simple job given that those around her, or rather one person in particular, often made her so mad she wanted to strangle him.

* * *

Daken saw the deep concentration in Jane's eyes and wondered what devious torture she devised for him now. It didn't really matter, since the result was always the same. He'd end up clutching his sword hilt while asking the Father what evil he'd done to be punished so. And then he'd lay her down and join with her, all the while thanking the Father for being so merciful and generous.

She drove him mad, and yet she was in his blood like a sickness he couldn't shake.

She held the boy, cradling him against her like a newborn babe. The fire glinted off her curls until they shone like a fine sword, and her skin glowed, taking on an unearthly hue, as though she were lit from within. Now, more than ever, she seemed alien to him, and yet so beautiful, his heart ached at the sheer enormity of it.

A woman brought through time to aid his world.

What could he offer this woman who had lost everything? He remembered the stark lines of pain creasing her face when she'd spoken of the death of her world. They were like wrinkles of anguish bleeding from her eyes. He'd never thought of it before then. Never thought of the magnitude of her loss.

Would he, could he ever leave everything he knew and loved to help a world he didn't even understand?

He shook his head, burying another stick in the fire. What a woman she was. Smart, quick, with a passion that burned like a torch and a heart that beat with love for a people she didn't even know. She was a woman who could be a great queen or empress. A woman he could share his rule with because he respected her.

But was that enough? She wanted love. He almost laughed aloud at the irony of it. As strange and independent as she seemed, she was still a woman no different than any other woman he'd ever met. She still cared for a cold child by wrapping him up in her arms, effortlessly bringing him into her heart. She still teased a man, tossing her hair and shifting her hips, luring him until his blood ran straight down and he could think of nothing else but embedding his rod in her.

Despite all the lust and mothering, she spoke of love like a poet, no doubt hungering for things like flowers and sweet words. The silly things no mortal man ever understood.

He grasped the language of love, he supposed. He'd worked quite hard at perfecting it during his profligate days as the younger prince. It seemed Jane was no different than the other women who responded so easily to sweet words and devotion.

Yet, somehow with her it was different. The words didn't come so easily, so trippingly across his tongue anymore. He'd spoken of eternal devotion before, of stars exploding in ecstasy. He'd said the words a hundred times to a hundred different women, but he never once whispered such things to her.

It was as if they meant more to Jane. Or was it he who was different when he was with her? Maybe he meant them when he said the words to her.

So he remained stubbornly silent, reserving the best of his phrases as secrets trapped within his heart because to say them aloud meant admitting he'd changed. The other changes were minor compared to this. He'd lost his reckless youth and accepted the weight of a kingship, but that was no more than a responsibility he secretly longed for.

Accepting a woman into his heart and soul meant changing himself in a fundamental way. It meant admitting he was no longer a carefree warrior who could die without leaving someone behind to grieve. It meant communicating his thoughts and decisions with someone who shared his rule. And it meant acknowledging there was another part of him the Tarveen could kill while still leaving him alive.