Dance of the Gods (17 page)

“You heard Lord Larkin,” Tynan snapped. He lacked an inch or two of Larkin's height, but his voice boomed with command. “Raise the gate. You must tell all. Your father will want to be waked.”

“There's much to tell. Wake the cook while you're about it. Give welcome to my friends. The warrior Blair, Glenna the witch, Hoyt the sorcerer. We've traveled far today, Tynan. Farther than you can know.”

He turned, reaching up to lift Moira down from the horse.

The men bowed, Blair noted, when Moira's feet touched the ground.

“Tynan, your face is a welcome sight.” She kissed his cheek. “This is Cian, and this fine fellow is his Vlad. Would you have one of the men take him to the stables, see he's housed and tended?”

“Me or the horse?” Cian murmured, but she pretended not to hear.

“Have my uncle told we've come home, and we wait upon him in the family parlor.”

“At once, Highness.”

Moira led the way through the courtyard toward a wide archway. The doors were already open for them.

“Nice summer house you've got here,” Blair murmured. “
Lord
Larkin.”

He shot her a grin. “'Tisn't much, but it's home. In truth, my own family home isn't far from here. My father would be acting as ruler until Moira is crowned.”

“If it's meant,” Moira said over her shoulder.

“If it's meant,” he agreed.

Torches were being lit in the great hall, so Blair assumed word of the return was already spreading. In the floor, fashioned of some sort of tile, the two symbols from the flag here inlaid so that the claddaugh seemed to float over the dragon's head.

They flew again in the glass dome curved into the high ceiling.

She had the impression of heavy furnishings, of colorful tapestries, caught the scent of roses as they started up a curve of stairs.

“The castle has stood more than twelve hundred years,” Larkin told her. “Built here, at the order of the gods, on this rise known as Rioga. Royal. All who have ruled Geall since have ruled from here.”

Blair glanced back at Glenna. “Makes the White House look like a hovel.”

Blair wouldn't have called the room they entered any sort of parlor. It was huge and high-ceilinged, backed by a hearth tall and wide enough for five men to stand in. The fire already roared inside, and over it was a mantel of lapis blue marble.

Overhead, a mural depicted what she assumed were scenes of Geallian history.

There were several long, low seats with jewel-toned fabrics. Chairs with high, ornate backs stood at a long table where servants were already placing tankards and goblets, bowls of apples and pears, plates of cheese and bread.

Paintings and tapestries covered the walls while patterned rugs spread over the floor. Candles flamed in chandeliers, in tall stands, in silver candleabras.

One of the servants, a curvy one with a long spill of gold hair curtseyed in front of Moira. “My lady, we thank the gods for your return. And yours, my lord.”

There was a glint in her eye when she looked at Larkin that had Blair's eyebrows raising.

“Isleen. I'm happy to see you.” Moira took both her hands. “Your mother is well?”

“She is, my lady. Already weeping with joy.”

“Will you tell her I'll see her soon? And we need chambers prepared for our guests.” Moira took her aside to explain what she wanted.

Larkin was already heading for the table, and the food. He broke off a hunk of bread, hacked off a wide chunk of cheese, then mashed them together. “Ah, this tastes like home,” he said with his mouth full. “Here now, Blair, have some of this.”

Before she could object, he was stuffing some in her mouth. “Good,” she managed.

“Good? Why it's brilliant as starshine. And what's this?” He lifted a tankard. “Wine, it is? Glenna, you'll have some, won't you?”

“Boy, won't I.”

“Little changes,” came a voice from the wide doorway. The man who stood there, tall, well built, his dark hair liberally threaded with gray, stared at Larkin. “Surrounded by food and pretty women.”

“Da.”

They met halfway across the room, and with bear hugs. Blair could see the man's face, the emotion that held it. Then she could see Larkin in the eyes of tawny gold.

The man caught Larkin's face in his big hands, gave his son a hard kiss on the mouth. “I didn't wake your mother. I wanted to be sure before I lifted her hopes.”

“I'll go to her as soon as I can. You're well. You look well. A bit tired.”

“Sleep hasn't come easy these past weeks. You're injured.”

“It's not to worry. I promise.”

“No, it's not to worry. You're home.” He turned, and he smiled—and again, Blair saw Larkin in him.

“Moira.”

“Sir.” Then her breath hitched and she was running to him. Her arms clamped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry I took him from you. I'm sorry I worried you so.”

“You're back now, aren't you? Safe and whole. And you bring guests.” He set Moira back on her feet. “You're welcome here.”

“This is Larkin's father, and the brother of my mother. Prince Riddock. Sir, I would present my friends to you, the best I've ever known.”

As Moira introduced them, Larkin stood behind his father's back, signalling the others that they should bow or curtsey. Blair went with the bow, feeling foolish enough.

“There's so much to tell you,” Moira began. “If we could sit. Larkin, the doors please? We should be private.”

Riddock listened, interrupting occasionally to ask Moira to repeat or expand. Now and then he directed a question to his son, or to one of the others.

Blair could almost see the weight of the words press down on his shoulders, and the grim determination with which he bore it.

“There have been other attacks, at least six, since—” Riddock hesitated briefly. “Since you left us. I did what I could to heed what you wrote to me, Moira, to warn the people to stay in their homes after sunset, to not welcome strangers in the dark. But habits and traditions die hard. As did those who followed them these weeks.”

Riddock studied Cian across the long table. “You say we must trust this one, though he is one of them. A demon inside a man.”

“Trust is a large word.” Idly, Cian peeled an apple. “Tolerate might be smaller, and more easily swallowed.”

“He fought with us,” Larkin began. “Bled with us.”

“He is my brother. If he isn't to be trusted,” Hoyt said flatly, “neither am I.”

“Nor any of us,” Glenna finished.

“You've banded together these weeks. This is to be understood.” Riddock took a small sip of his wine as his gaze remained watchful on Cian. “But to believe a demon could
and would stand against his own kind, to—tolerate—such a thing, is more than a swallow.”

Cian only continued to peel his apple, even as Hoyt started to his feet.

“Uncle.” Moira laid a hand over Riddock's. “I would be dead if not for him. But beyond that, he stood with us within the Dance of the Gods, traveled here by their hands. Chosen by them. Will you question their will?”

“Every thinking man questions, but I will abide by the will of the gods. Others may find it more difficult.”

“The people of Geall will follow your orders, sir, and your lead.”

“Mine?” He turned to her. “The sword waits for you, Moira, as does the crown.”

“They will wait awhile longer. I've only just come home, and there's much to be done. Much more important matters than ceremony.”

“Ceremony? You speak of the will of the gods one moment, and dismiss it the next?”

“Not dismiss. Only ask that it waits. You have the trust and the confidence of the people. I'm untried. I don't feel ready, not in my heart or in mind.” Her eyes were grave as they searched her uncle's face. “Awhile longer, please. I may not be the one to lift the sword, but if I am, I need to know I'm ready to carry it. Geall needs and deserves a ruler of strength and confidence. I won't give it less.”

“We'll talk further on it. Now you're weary. You must all be weary, and a mother waits to see her son.” Riddock got to his feet. “We'll speak more in the morning, and we'll do all that needs to be done in the coming days. Larkin.”

He rose at his father's bidding. “I wish you good night,” Larkin said to the others. “And soft dreams on your first night in Geall.”

He looked briefly at Blair, then followed his father from the room.

“Your uncle's an imposing man,” Blair commented.

“And a good one. With him we'll raise an army that will
send Lilith back to hell. If you're ready, I'll show you to your chambers.”

 

I
t was a little hard to settle down and sleep, Blair
decided, when she was spending the night in a castle. And in a room that was suited to royalty.

Before they'd arrived, she'd been expecting something a little more Dark Ages, she supposed. Tough stone fortress on a windy hill. Smoky torches, mud, animal droppings.

Instead she got something closer to Cinderella's castle.

Instead of a cramped room, something like a barracks with rushes—whatever they were, exactly—on the floor and a lumpy cot, she had a spacious chamber with whitewashed walls. The bed was big, soft and draped in a blue velvet canopy. The thick rug had images of peacocks worked into its soft wool.

A check out the windows showed her she looked down on a garden with a pretty spurting fountain. The window seat was padded with more velvet.

There was a small writing desk. Pretty, she thought, not that she'd be making much use of the crystal inkwell or the quill.

The fire was simmering, and its surround was blueveined white marble.

It was all so fine she could nearly overlook the lack of modern plumbing. The closest the place came to it was the chamber pot tucked behind a painted screen.

She had a feeling she'd be making use of the great outdoors in that area quite a bit.

She stripped down to her underwear and used the basin of water provided to clean the scratches on her leg before dabbing on some of the balm Glenna had given her.

She wondered how the others were doing. She wished it were morning so
she
could be doing.

When the door opened, she picked up the dagger she'd
set beside the basin. Then put it down again when Larkin stepped in.

“Didn't hear you knock.”

“I didn't. I thought you might be sleeping.” He closed the door quietly behind him, took a quick scan of the room. “Does this suit you then?”

“The room? It's rock star. Feel a little weird, that's all. Like I walked into a book.”

“I understand that, as I felt the same not long ago. Your wounds, do they trouble you?”

“They're nothing. Yours?”

“My mother fussed over them. That made her happy, as did weeping all over me. She's anxious to meet you, all of you.”

“I guess.” Awkward, Blair thought. Why was it all so awkward? “I, ah, it never really computed before. You being royalty.”

“Oh well, that's not much to do with me, really. It's more ceremonial than anything. Honorary, you could say.” He cocked his head as he moved toward her. “Did you think I wouldn't come to you tonight?”

“I don't know what I thought. It's all pretty confusing.”

“Confused, are you?” A smile flirted around his mouth. “I don't mind that. I'll just confuse you a bit more, seduce you.”

He traced his finger along the edge of her tank, just teasing the skin.

“You spend a lot of time on seductions? Say, working that on the blonde with the breasts? What was her name? Isleen.”

“Flirtation, all in good fun, never seduction. It's not proper or fair to take advantage of one who serves you.” He leaned to her, brushed his lips over her shoulder, nudged the strap down. “And while I might have dallied in the past, you weren't here. For it's the God's truth there's not another woman in Geall to compare to you.”

He brought his lips to hers, just to nibble. “Blair Murphy,” he murmured. “Warrior and beauty.”

He played his hands down her back, deepening the kiss just a little. Then just a little more. And when his lips cruised over her face, along her throat, he all but crooned to her in Gaelic.

The sound of it, the feel of him nearly had her eyes rolling back in her head.

“I keep thinking this is a mistake. But it feels so damn good.”

“Not a mistake.” He caught her chin with his teeth while his thumbs slid up, circled her nipples. “Not at all.”

Part of the journey, she told herself as she melted into him. They'd take something good, something strong for themselves along the way.

So she met his lips with hers now, sank herself into him, the warm, solid flesh. There was sweetness in those easy strokes of his hands, and a shivering thrill whenever they found her secrets.

When he lifted her into his arms, she didn't feel like a warrior. She felt conquered.

“I want you.” She pressed her face into the curve of his throat as he lay her on the bed. And just breathed him in. “How can I want you so much?”

“It's meant.” He lifted her hand, kissed the cup of her palm. “Ssh,” he said before she could speak. “Just feel. For tonight, let's both of us just feel.”

She could be so soft, he thought, so pliant, so giving. In surrender she made him feel like a king. Those eyes, the drowning blue, watched him as they moved together. They blurred with pleasure as he touched her, tasted her. Those hands, so firm on the hilt of a sword, trembled a little when she drew his shirt aside to find him.

Her lips pressed against his chest, against the heart that was already lost to her.

They took each other slowly, quietly, while the firelight shimmered over their bodies. There were murmurs and sighs instead of words, and a long, lazy climb instead of the frantic race.