Dance of the Gods (22 page)

“Hoyt and Glenna are waiting inside,” Moira told him. “We'll add magic to the chains. You're not to worry. You need food and rest, all of you.”

“This one's human. And wounded.” Blair stepped over, laid her fingers on the pulse in the man's throat. “Alive, but he needs attention.”

“Right away. Sir?”

“We'll send for the physician.” Riddock signalled to some men. “See to him,” he ordered before turning to his son. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I have to go back, there are some we had to leave, back in the forest on the path to Cillard.” Larkin's face was pale, and it was set. “They need to be buried.”

“We'll send a party out.”

“I have a need to see to it myself.”

“Then you will. But come inside first. You need to wash, break your fast.” He slung an arm around Larkin's shoulders. “It's been a long night for all of us.”

Inside, Cian stood speaking with Hoyt and Glenna. He broke off when the others entered and lifted a brow at Moira.

“You have your prisoners. What do you intend to do with them?”

“We'll speak of it, all of it. I've ordered food to the family parlor. If we could meet there, we have much to discuss.”

She swept away with two of her women hurrying behind her.

Blair went to her own room where a fire was lit and fresh water waited. She washed away the blood, changing the borrowed tunic for one of her own shirts.

Then she braced her hands on the bureau and studied her face in the mirror.

She'd looked better, she decided. She needed sleep, but wasn't going to get it. Nor for a while yet. She'd have paid a lot for an hour in a bed, but that wasn't in the cards any more than a couple days at a nice spa.

Instead, she was going to take half the day to ride back out, bury three strangers. There wasn't time for it, not when she should have been working with the troops, devising strategies, checking on weapon production. A dozen practical and necessary tasks.

But if she didn't go, Larkin would do it alone. She couldn't let that happen.

He was already in the parlor when she walked in. And he was alone by the window, watching morning strike mist.

“You think I'm wasting valuable time,” he said without turning around. “With something unnecessary and useless.”

So he read her, she thought. And damn clearly. “It doesn't matter. You need to do it, so we'll do it.”

“Families should be safe on the roads of Geall. Young girls should not be raped and tortured and killed. Should not be turned into something that must be destroyed.”

“No, they shouldn't.”

“You've lived with it longer than I. And perhaps you can face it more…”

“Callously.”

“No.” He turned now. He looked older, she thought, in the hard light, with the violence of the night still on him. “That wasn't the word, and would never be one I'd use for you. Coolly perhaps, practically for certain. So you must. I won't hold you to going with me.”

Because he wouldn't, she knew she could do nothing else but go. “I said I would, and I will.”

“Yes, you will, so thanks for that. Can you understand that I'm stronger for knowing you'll do this thing with me, that you'd understand my need to do it enough to take the time?”

“I think it takes a strong man to need to do what's human, and humane. That's enough for me.”

“There's so much I have to say to you, so many things I want to say. But today isn't the day. I feel…” He looked down at his sword hand. “Stained. Do you know what I'm saying?”

“Yeah, I know what you're saying.”

“Ah well. Come, we'll drink strong tea and wish it was Coke.” He smiled a little as he walked to her. Then he laid his hands lightly on her shoulders, pressed his lips to her brow. “You are so beautiful.”

“Your eyes must really be tired.”

He eased back. “I see you,” he told her, “exactly as you are.”

He pulled her chair out for her, something she couldn't remember him doing before. As she sat, Hoyt and Cian came in. Cian flicked a glance toward the windows, then moved away from them to the table Moira had had set away from the light.

“Glenna will be along,” Hoyt said. “She wanted to check on the man you brought in. The prisoners are secured.” He looked at his brother. “And very unhappy.”

“They haven't fed.” Cian poured his own tea. “The castle boasts a fine wine cellar, which you didn't mention,” he said to Larkin. “A corner of it is nicely dark and damp enough to keep them. But unless your cousin simply intends to starve them to death, they'll need to be fed if they're chained in there above another day.”

“I have no intention of starving them.” Moira came in. She wore riding gear now, with a feminine flare, in forest green. “And neither will they be fed. They've had enough Geallian blood, animal and human. My uncle and I will ride out shortly, to rally the people and spread the word. As many as can manage will come here by sundown. And when the sun has set, what is in the cellars will be shown to them. Then destroyed.”

She looked directly at Cian. “Do you find that hard, cold, with no drop of human emotion or mercy?”

“No. I find it practical and useful. I hardly thought you had us hunt them down to bring them here for counseling and rehabilitation.”

“We'll show the people what they are, and how they must be killed. We're sending troops out now to lay the traps you want, Blair. Larkin, I've asked Phelan to take charge of the task.”

“My sister's husband,” Larkin explained. “Aye, he'd be up for that. You chose well.”

“The man you brought back is awake, though the physician wishes to dose him. Glenna agrees. He told us he went outside, hearing what he thought was a fox in his henhouse. They set upon him. He has a wife and three children, and shouted for them to stay in the house. It was all he could do, and we can thank the gods they obeyed. We're sending for them.”

“Until Larkin and Blair return, Glenna and I can help with the training. And Cian perhaps,” Hoyt added, “if there's somewhere inside.”

“Thank you. I'd hoped that would suit you. Ah, we have the village smithy and two others forging weapons. We'll have more, but some who come will have their own arms.”

“You've got trees,” Blair pointed out. “You're going to want to start making stakes out of some of them. More arrows, lances, spears.”

“Yes, of course. Yes. I need to go as my uncle and our party is waiting. I want to thank you for your night's work. We'll be back before sundown.”

“She's starting to look like a queen,” Blair said when Moira left.

“Worn out is what she looks.”

Blair nodded at Larkin. “Being a queen's bound to be hard work. Add a war, and it's got to be brutal. Cian, you okay to fill the others in on our party last night?”

“I've already given them the highlights. I'll fill in the details.”

“Then why don't you and I get started,” she said to Larkin.

She went to the stables with him where he gathered the tools they'd need.

“I could fly us there quicker than we could ride. Would that suit you?”

“That'd be good.”

He led the way around to the courtyard garden she recognized from her window. “The bag's heavy. Hang it round my neck once I've changed.”

He passed it to her; became the dragon.

He dipped his head so that she could work the strap over it. Then she looked into his eyes, stroked his jeweled cheek. “You sure are pretty,” she murmured.

He lowered so she could mount his back.

They were rising up, above the towers, the turrets, over the waving white flags.

The morning was like a gem of blue and green and umber, spreading around her. She tipped her head back, let the wind rush over her, let it blow away the fatigue of the long night.

She saw horses below on the road now, and carriages, wagons, people walking. The little village she'd yet to explore was a spread of pretty buildings, bright colors, busy stalls. The people who looked up raised caps or hands as they flew over, then went back about the business of the day.

Life, Blair thought, didn't just go on, it insisted on thriving.

She turned her face toward the mountains, with their mists and their secrets. And their valley called silence where in a matter of weeks there would be blood and death.

They would fight, she thought, and some would fall. But they would fight so life could thrive.

They reached the woods and circled before Larkin wove delicately through the trees to the ground.

She slid off him, took the bag.

When he was a man again, he took her hand.

“It's beautiful,” she said. “Before we do this, I want to tell you Geall is beautiful.”

Together they walked through the trees, then stopped to dig three graves in the soft, mossy ground. The work was physical, and mechanical, and they did it without conversation. Going back into the wagon, removing the bodies was a horror. Neither spoke, but simply did what needed to be done.

She felt the weariness dragging back into her bones, and the sickness that sat deep in the belly as they closed the ground over the bodies.

Larkin carried stones for each of the graves, then a fourth for the young girl he couldn't bury.

When it was done, Blair leaned on the shovel. “Do you want to, I don't know, say some words?”

He spoke in Gaelic, taking her hand as he said the words, then saying them again in English so she could understand.

“They were strangers to us, but to each other they were family. They died a hard death, and now we give them back to the earth and the gods where they will have peace. They will not be forgotten.”

He stepped back, drawing her with him. “I'll pull the wagon into the field, away from the trees. We'll burn it.”

Everything they'd owned, she thought as they set the wagon to light. Everything they'd had, these people who had no name for her. The idea of it was so sad, as the wagon burned and the smoke rose, that when she climbed onto the dragon's back again, she laid her head on his neck, closed her eyes and dozed as they flew over the ashes.

S
he heard thunder, and thought groggily that
they'd have to outrace a storm. Straightening, more than a little amazed she'd dozed off on the back of a dragon, she opened her eyes. Shook her head to clear it.

Not thunder, she realized and gaped at the towering fall of water that gushed over twin spires of rock into a wide blue pool.

There were trees here, still leafy and green, and the surprising tropical touch of palms. Lilies floated on the pool, pink and white, as if they'd been painted there. Beneath the surface of blue, she could see the dart of fish, bright and elegant as jewels.

The air smelled of flowers and clear water.

She was so stunned she stayed where she was when he landed. The dragon's head bent down so the strap of the bag slid off. And she was sitting piggyback on Larkin.

“What? We take a wrong turn?”

He turned his head to smile into her dazzled eyes. “I told you I would bring you here. Faerie Falls, it is. There's
no picnic this time, but I thought…I wanted an hour, alone with you, somewhere there's only beauty.”

“I'll take it.” She jumped off his back, turned a circle.

There were starry little flowers in the grass, and a tangle of vines, blooming purple, winding right up the rocks, almost like frames for that plunge of water. The pool itself was clear as a mirror, blue as a pansy while the cups of lilies floated over it, and overhead the falls spilled fifty feet down.

“It's incredible, Larkin, a little slice of paradise. And I don't care how cold that water is, I'm having a swim.”

She yanked off her boots, started on her shirt. “Aren't you?”

“Sure.” He kept grinning at her. “I'll be right behind you.”

She stripped, tossing her clothes carelessly on the soft ground. Poised on the bank, she sucked in her breath, braced for the shock. And dived.

When she surfaced, she let out a joyful yell. “Oh my God, it's
warm
! It's warm and it's silky and it's wonderful.” She did a surface dive, came up again. “If I were a fish, I'd live here.”

“Some say the faeries warm it every morning with their breath.” Larkin sat, pulled off his own boots. “Others less fanciful talk of hot springs under the ground.”

“Faeries, science, I don't care. It feels so damn good.”

He jumped in, and as men were prone to do, hit the water hard so it would splash her as much as possible. She only laughed and splashed him back.

They went under together, tugging each other deeper or pinching bare flesh, playing like seals. She swam under, cutting through with strong strokes until she felt the vibration of water striking water. She sprang off the bottom and into the tumble.

It beat on her shoulders, the back of her neck, the base of her spine. She shouted out with a combination of relief and joy as it pummeled away the aches and fatigue. When
he joined her, wrapped his arms around her, they laughed as the water plunged over them. The force pushed them back toward the heart of the pool where she could simply float with him.

“I was thinking earlier how much I'd like a couple days at a good spa. This is better.” She sighed and let her head rest on his shoulder. “An hour here is better than anything.”

“I wanted you to have something unspoiled. I needed, I think, to remind myself there are such places.” Not only graves to be dug, he thought. Not only battles to be fought. “There isn't another woman I know, but Moira, who would have done what you did with me today. For me today.”

“There aren't many men I know who would have done what you did today. So we're even.”

He brushed his lips over her temple, her cheek, found her mouth. The kiss was soft and warm as the water. His hand that stroked over her as gentle as the air.

It seemed that nothing beyond this place, beyond this precious time existed. Here, for now, they could just be. While they drifted, she saw a white dove soar overhead, and circle. She saw the sparkle of its green eyes.

So the gods do watch, she thought, remembering the white owl. In the good times, and in the bad.

Then she turned her lips to his. What did she care for gods now? This was their time, this was their place. She sank into the kiss, letting the water and his arms carry her.

“I need you.” His eyes were on hers as he took her mouth again. “Do you, can you know how much it is I need you? Take me in.” He murmured it as he cupped her hips, slid into her.

They watched each other as they joined, fingers stroking faces, lips brushing lips.

It was more than pleasure that moved through her, more even than the joy of life. If it was truth, she thought, this need, this sharing, then she could live on it the rest of her life.

She wrapped herself around him, gave herself to that truth.

And knew the name of that truth was love.

 

I
t was probably possible to be more tired, to be more
frustrated, but Glenna hoped she never found out. She'd done what Moira had asked and taken a group of women to one end of the gaming fields to try to give them the first basic lesson of self-defense.

They were more interested in gossiping and giggling, or trying to flirt with the men Hoyt worked with across the field than moving their asses.

She'd taken some twenty of the younger ones assuming they'd be more enthusiastic and in better physical shape. And that, she decided, might have been her first mistake.

Time, she thought, to get mean.

“Be quiet!” The sharp edge of her voice silenced the group into a single gasping breath. “You know, I like to ogle beefcake as much as the next girl, but we're not here so you can pick out your date for the harvest ball. We're here so I can teach you how to stay alive. You.” She chose one at random, pointed at a pretty brunette who looked sturdy. “Step over here.”

There were a few giggles, and the woman smirked as she strutted up to Glenna.

“What's your name?”

“Dervil, lady.” Then she squeaked and stumbled back when Glenna's fist swung up and stopped a bare inch from her face.

“Is that what you're going to do when someone tries to hurt you, Dervil? Are you going to squeal like a girl, gulp like a fish?” She grabbed Dervil's arm yanked it up so that it blocked Dervil's face as Glenna shot her fist out again. Their forearms rammed together.

“That hurt!” Dervil's mouth fell open in shock. “You have no right to hurt me.”

“Hurting someone isn't about rights, it's about intent. And a forearm block hurts less than a bare-fisted punch in the face. They'll like the look of you, Dervil. Block! No, don't throw your arm up like it's a dishrag. Firm, strong. Again!” She worked Dervil backward with each punch. “You've got some meat on you, and all that blood swimming in your veins. Squealing and flapping won't help you. What will you do when they come for you?”

“Run!” someone called out, and though there was some laughter at this, Glenna stopped and nodded.

“Running could be an option. There might be a time it's the only option, but you'd better be fast. A vampire can move like lightning.”

“We don't believe in demons.” Dervil thrust up her chin, rubbed her bruised forearm. From the mutinous set of her mouth, the glitter in her eyes, Glenna understood she'd made her first enemy in Geall.

So be it.

“You can bet they believe in you. So run. End of the field and back. Run like the demons of hell are after you. Goddamn it, I said
run.
” To get them moving, she spurted a little fire at their feet.

There were some screams, but they ran. Like girls, Glenna thought in despair. Waving arms, mincing feet, flapping skirts. And at least three of them tripped, which she considered an embarrassment for all females, everywhere.

Since she calculated she'd lose half of them if she made them run back, she jogged after them.

“Okay, from here. A couple of you actually have some speed, but for the most part, you're all slow and silly. So we'll run every day, one length of the field. You're going to have to wear, what are they? Tewes or leggings. Pants,” she said, patting her own sweats. “Men's attire for training. Skirts are only going to trip you up, be in the way.”

“A lady—” one of them began, only to freeze when Glenna lasered a stare at her.

“You're not ladies when I'm training you. You're sol
diers.” A different tack, she decided. “Who here has children?”

Several raised hands, so she chose one she thought was at least watching her with some interest. “You? Your name?”

“Ceara.”

“What would you do, Ceara, if something came after your child?”

“I would fight, of course, I would. I would die fighting to protect my child.”

“Show me. I'm after your baby. What do you do?” When Ceara looked blank, Glenna pushed down her own impatience. “I've killed your husband. He's dead at your feet, now the only thing that stands between me and your child is you. Stop me.”

Ceara lifted her hands, fingers curled into claws, and made a halfhearted lunge at Glenna. And the breath went out of her as she was flipped over Glenna's shoulder to land on her back.

“How does that stop me?” Glenna demanded. “Your child's screaming for you. Do something!”

Ceara got into a crouch, sprang up. Glenna let herself be tackled, then simply flipped Ceara over, pressed an elbow to her throat.

“That was better, that was positive. But it was too slow, and your eyes, your body told me just what you were going to do.”

When Glenna stood, Ceara sat up, rubbed the back of her head. “Show me,” she said to Glenna.

By the end of the session, Glenna put her first students in two camps. The Ceara camp consisted of those who showed at least some interest and aptitude. Then there was the Dervil camp, which not only showed neither, but a strong resistance to spending time doing something that wasn't traditionally a woman's task.

When they were gone, she simply sat down on the ground. Moments later, Hoyt dropped down beside her,
and she had the pleasure, at least, of resting her head on his shoulder.

“I think I'm a poor teacher,” he told her.

“That makes two of us. How are we going to do this, Hoyt? How are we going to pull this together, turn these people into an army?”

“We have no choice but to do it. But gods's truth, Glenna, I'm tired already and we've only begun.”

“It was different when we were in Ireland, the six of us. We knew, we understood what we'd be facing. At least you're dealing with men, and some of them are already well trained with a sword or a bow. I've got a gaggle of girls here, Merlin, and most of them couldn't fight off a blind, one-legged dwarf much less a vampire.”

“People rise when they have no choice. We did.” He turned his head to kiss her hair. “We have to believe we can do this thing, then we'll do it.”

“Believing counts,” she agreed. “A lot of them don't believe what we're telling them.”

He watched two of the guards carrying iron posts, watched as they began to hammer them into the ground. “They soon will.” He got to his feet, reached for her hand. “We should see if the others are back.”

 

B
lair didn't know that she'd ever been sent for—unless
you counted the occasional summons to the vice principal's office in high school. She doubted Moira intended to give her detention, but it was weird, being escorted to the princess.

Moira answered the door herself, and the smile she gave Blair was quiet and serious. “Thank you for coming. That will be all, Dervil, thank you. You should go now, secure your place in the stands.”

“My lady—”

“I want you there. I want everyone there. Blair, please
come in.” She stepped back to allow Blair inside, then shut the door in Dervil's face.

“You sure come over all royal.”

“I know it must seem that way.” Moira rubbed a hand up and down Blair's arm before she turned to walk farther into the room. “But I'm the same.”

She might have been wearing what Blair considered Moira's training gear—the simple tunic, pants and sturdy boots—but there was something different about her.

The room might have added to it. It was, Blair assumed, a kind of sitting room, and plush for all that. Cushions of richly worked tapestries, velvet drapes, the lovely little marble hearth with its turf fire simmering all spoke of position.

“I asked you here to tell you how the demonstration will be done.”

“To tell me,” Blair repeated.

“I don't imagine you'll like what I've chosen to do, but the decision is made. There's no other way for me.”

“Why don't you tell me what you've chosen to do, then I'll tell you if I like it or not.”

She didn't. And she argued. She threatened and she cursed. But Moira remained both implacable and immovable.

“What have the others said about this?” Blair demanded.

“I haven't told them. I've told you.” Thinking they could both use it, Moira poured them each a glass of wine. “Put yourself in my position, please. These are the monsters who killed my mother. They murdered the queen of Geall.”

“And the idea was—is—to show people they exist. What they are, how they need to be fought and destroyed.”

“Aye, that's an essential point.” Moira sat a moment, to sip wine, to settle. All through the worries of the night, the duties of the day, she'd been gathering herself for what was to come. “In a few days, I'll go to the stone. Again, before the people of Geall who've gathered there, I'll take hold of
the sword. If I lift it, I will be queen. And as queen I'll lead my people into war—the first war in Geall. Can I send them into battle, can I send them to their deaths when I'm unproven?”

“Moira, you don't have to prove anything to me.”