Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 (24 page)

‘How can I prevent this death?’ he asked, her kiss and the way her hands moved on him softening his voice.

‘You can’t.’ She pushed his shirt back and kissed the long muscle that ran from his throat to his shoulder, sliding her tongue along its length. ‘Let me have what pleasure I may in the time remaining to me,’ she whispered, and took his hand, placing it over the button of her jeans. ‘You like my warrior pants,’ she said, looking up into his eyes. ‘They excite you, don’t they?’

He gazed back at her silently, as though struggling to decide whether to pursue his duty as a Champion or to trust that The Catalyst knew best and give himself up to the pleasure of the moment. The tingling inside her grew more pronounced and he closed his eyes.

She felt the snap of the button opening and his hand sliding inside to cover the gusset of her white cotton panties. She closed her own eyes on a sigh.

‘They do,’ he said.

Glimmer didn’t give Vandal another thought.

K
raal, inside the body of Mihale, glanced across at his
sister.
She was seated on the throne beside his on the raised dais of the banquet hall. He had ordered a festive day, so house banners lined the walls, and the remaining nobility of Ennae sat at tables decorated with gold painted flowers — the yellow ahroce that were Khatrene’s favourite. In the centre of the room a band of players were enacting a comedy, but Khatrene was barely listening. Dressed in a gown of royal gold to match Mihale’s own attire, she sat chewing her lip as she gazed in the players’ direction, no doubt worrying about the fate of her beloved Guardian, Talis. Wondering when she would be allowed to see him again. To join with him.

For all the years Kraal had been unable to manifest in the presence of a White, and therefore unable ever to observe one, he had thought them to be powerful beings. Descendants of the Ancients. Yet now that he controlled the body of a White he thought them pitiful. They valued honour over pleasure, and were not even as ruthless as their unintelligent enemies from the north. Kai, the Northman leader, would be a better ruler of Ennae than this boy Mihale who thought cunning was evil.

And his sister! She lived only for love. The love of her mate, the love of her daughter, and even the pitiful love of her brother, though thanks to Kraal’s control she now found no pleasure in his company. In sixty years the Plainsman Breehan had not been able to explain friendship to Kraal. He would never understand love.

Yet such was the perversity of his nature that Kraal often found himself questioning Khatrene on that very subject. It had been more than two months since he had separated her from Talis, yet she showed no signs of losing interest in him. Indeed, as time passed, she grew more anxious and spoke of him more often. Kraal, whose appetites were always evolving, could not understand why she did not simply choose another mate. He had ordered the handsomest men at court to attend her, yet she rejected them all. Fascinating.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, sister?’ he asked, accustomed now to hearing his voice emerge in the youthful tones of the boy king. He gestured at the elaborate play being enacted before them.

‘I’m tired actually,’ she replied softly, in deference to the players. Then she glanced across at him, arching an eyebrow in silent disapproval. ‘Aren’t you?’

Kraal smiled, keeping his expression one of boyish good humour to match his countenance. She must have heard that he stayed up all night — night after night — entertaining himself with the females of the palace. Procreating was indeed as exciting as Kai had professed.

In the form of the Serpent of Haddash, Kraal had been able to create matter out of his thoughts — minions, a castle on Haddash, comforts when he had arrived on Ennae — and had the ability to change shape. His sojourn on Magoria as Father Karl had been fascinating and he only wished he could have witnessed the finale to his manipulations first-hand. But alas he now needed to control Mihale’s body at all times, to ensure the stupid boy did not kill himself or tell another of his entrapment.

Locked inside the king’s body, without access to his magical powers, he was mortal and would remain so until he chose to leave. Yet Kraal was not sure if that would ever occur. Leaving Mihale’s body might return his powers, but it would also make him again unable to remain in the presence of The White. Khatrene, her daughter or even Mihale would ward him away from this world and he would be destroyed in the Maelstrom. Only those on Ennae in proximity to the castle anchors would stand any chance of survival, and as the King, surely Mihale would be safeguarded the most carefully.

Besides, the control Kraal now exerted was an exact microcosm of his previous life, and that comparison fascinated him. He saw no belittling of his status in the change, merely that the parameters of his existence had altered, offering him new challenges, new experiences. His days were spent discovering the ways his subjects’ minds could be manipulated with intrigue and conflicting loyalties, punishment and reward. At night he explored the many variations in which bodies could be used to procreate. In the form of the boy king, he had endless willing partners.

Was that what Khatrene envied? The pleasure. ‘Jealous?’ he asked, and turned to face her, to observe the intricate play of emotions on her face. Love of her brother warred with anger at his actions. Her desperation to have Talis returned was tempered by fear of how her brother would respond to such a demand.

‘You don’t seem terribly concerned with the Maelstrom,’ she said. ‘How do you know that the sky-mirror will continue to protect the Volcastle?’

He tilted his head to observe her more closely. ‘What worries you more?’ he asked. ‘The wind storms, the deluges, the volcanic eruptions or the earthquakes?’

‘They all worry me,’ she said, ‘and they should worry you. We don’t even know if the other three castles are still standing.’ She waved a hand at the distant window, the play forgotten. ‘Outside the Volcastle’s protective walls your subjects could all be dead.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Or has the voice told you otherwise?’

Kraal knew nothing of this
voice
that had spoken to Khatrene when she was newly returned to Ennae, helping her navigate a land she had forgotten along with her childhood. But it was useful that she assumed the same voice spoke to her brother.

He smiled and asked her, ‘Do you wonder if it speaks to me of your daughter? If it tells me she is on Magoria, where you cannot go? If she is even alive?’ Khatrene made no response to his taunt so he said, ‘It tells me that Talis is still alive.’ Still no reply. ‘Is that not your dearest wish?’ he asked. ‘To keep your love alive?’

She swallowed, and he saw emotions flicker across her face again.

‘I speak of him and you do not respond,’ Kraal said. ‘Have you tired of him? Would you rather —?’

‘I don’t … want anyone else,’ she said clearly, though her voice had lowered to match the sudden silence in the banquet hall. Kraal felt the eyes of the players and the nobles of court settle on their king and his sister.

He lifted a hand. ‘Leave us,’ he ordered, but continued to watch Khatrene as the hall emptied. She kept her attention on the shoulder of his jacket, clearly unwilling to meet his eyes. When they were alone he said, ‘I was thinking of betrothing Talis to a distaff cousin of the House Sh’hale. A pretty girl. Younger than you. She’s quite taken by him.’

Khatrene closed her eyes and stopped breathing.

Kraal waited, impressed by her forbearance. He had separated her from her beloved, guarded her to be sure she would not seek him out, and taunted her at every opportunity. Yet still she did not retaliate against her brother. What a thing this love was, that so stretched the boundaries of tolerance and temper. Kraal felt a moment’s pang that he would never experience it, then let the disappointment go. He did not want to be trapped by an emotion. And clearly that was what love did. It trapped you.

Khatrene opened her eyes. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said, no fear in her now. She had stepped over the line and was clearly ready to be punished.

‘A widow princess carrying her servant’s child?’ He glanced away, as though considering this. Within himself Kraal felt the remnants of Mihale’s personality crying for freedom, to be allowed to speak to his sister, to control the body Kraal effortlessly governed. It was a faint noise like faraway whispering. He ignored it. ‘This is proof that Talis has broken the law.’

‘I broke the law,’ Khatrene said, rising from her throne to stand in front of him. ‘And it’s a stupid law. I’m not married. I should be able to love whomever I want.’

‘But you were married when you first joined with your servant.’

‘He is
not
my servant.’ Her voice was growing more strident. ‘He is the man I love and I want to be with him.’

‘If he is married to another, he will forget —’

‘No!’ she shouted, and reached down to grasp the front of his jacket. ‘He’s mine.’

Kraal gazed at her in astonishment and delight. She had been so difficult to provoke and here, finally, he had succeeded. ‘The Guardians belong to me,’ he reminded her, and in response to this her grip tightened and she shook him. Her teeth were gritted with agitation and she appeared quite unable to control herself. Kraal was hard put to keep a serious expression on Mihale’s face.

‘I’m sick of you telling me what to do!’ she shouted, and wrenched hard enough to pull him to his feet.

A pair of Guardsmen came back into the hall, frowning in concern at this royal squabble. Kraal waved them away. ‘The bastard can be made to miscarry,’ he told Khatrene. ‘I could order Talis to do that himself. With his Guardian power …’

Her fingers stilled on his jacket and she looked up into his eyes, her own incredulous now as well as angry. ‘You want him to kill his own child? My baby?’

‘Talis’s baby,’ Kraal said, continuing to ignore the railing of Mihale within him. ‘That way the court would not discover your … indiscretion.’

She let him go, her hands coming away as though they had been infected. Her pretty curls trailed over the bodice of her gown as she looked around herself, at the brightly decked banquet hall, its tables empty of subjects, the floor empty of players. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here.’ She looked back at her brother. ‘I’d be better off taking my chances with the Maelstrom.’

He simply observed her, fascinated by the way her mind leapt from one revelation to another. Would she offer him violence? Had she slipped that far from sibling love? ‘You’d die outside these walls,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Maybe. But I won’t watch Talis marry someone else.’ And without another word she turned and stepped down from the dais to stride across the hall, her rainbow aura springing forth as she passed a window and sunlight struck her. It faded again as she reached the gloom of the exit.

No backward glance. No goodbye.

Khatreeeeeeene
, Mihale’s voice wailed.

Kraal called in a Guardsman and ordered that she be followed but not stopped, no matter what occurred. His curiosity was piqued. Would she go out into the Maelstrom? He had no plans to stop her. Suicide was another human act he found fascinating: the willing destruction of self. So many voyeuristic pleasures to be enjoyed among this lesser race. So much … stimulation.

‘Do you play Sagea?’ Marette asked, and Talis struggled to return his attention to the pretty girl the King had ordered him to attend. He needed to keep his thoughts from Khatrene and whether he would ever lay eyes on her again, let alone touch her. Marette’s small sitting room with its pallid Sh’hale tapestries and cold fireplace made him feel lonelier still.

‘I am not accomplished,’ he admitted, trying to rouse himself from melancholy, ‘yet I do know the rules.’

She smiled, her dark hair falling forward to cover her eyes as she reached down to open the drawer in the table between them and take out the Sagea pieces. ‘Then let us play. It will pass the time.’

‘By all means.’ Talis took the offered pieces and began to set them on the circular board, remembering the games he had played with Lae when they had been betrothed, and how she had delighted in pronouncing she had
let him win
to cover her chagrin at her atrociously impulsive playing. He had laughed with her then, thinking his affection for her would grow into love when they had married.

Then Khatrene had returned to Ennae.

It was no use. He could not keep his thoughts from her for a minute, let alone an hour or a day. Remembering how he had performed the Rite of Revival on her that first day, giving her a portion of his own life to return her from death, reminded him of all the other intimacies they had shared while her friendship and trust in him had grown. Talis had been hopelessly in love from the first moment, but it had taken Khatrene much longer to see that the love she sought had been walking at her side each day.

She had spoken truly when she said they were meant to be together, but Mihale had made it clear that Talis’s life would be forfeited if he sought her out.

For himself, Talis would gladly risk death, and had done so many times, to be with Khatrene. But this was different. He knew his beloved’s recklessness. If they were caught and he was condemned, she would squander her own life trying to save him. That must not be.

‘The book sits beside the table, here,’ Marette said, and pointed to the board.

Talis blinked and looked down to see the small wooden book, the size of his fingernail, still in his hand. He looked up at Marette, seeing the dark eyes of House Sh’hale, Kert’s eyes, gazing back at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘My mind wandered.’ He placed the book on its correct square and tried to focus on the task at hand. Sagea. But the more he pushed Khatrene from his thoughts, the more she filled them.

Marette was still frowning at him so he smiled at her in reassurance and took the piece she held out for him.

Just then the door slammed open and his beloved strode in. Talis was a moment recognising that this was reality and not simply another of his desperate dreams.

Her rainbow aura filled the small sitting room and Marette rose hastily to curtsy, knocking a few pieces to the floor with the edge of her gown. Talis rose also, his hands trembling, his eyes unable to help glancing at the doorway behind Khatrene, looking for Guardsmen. Her breast was heaving, and though her face was composed, he could see agitation glittering in her eyes. What had she done?

‘Leave us. Now,’ she said to Marette whose head was still bowed. ‘And close the door behind you.’

Talis had never heard his beloved so deliberately rude, except to Noorinya who had provoked her relentlessly. Marette’s cheeks were dark with embarrassment.

The girl rose and mumbled, ‘My Lady,’ before slipping out and closing the door behind her.

‘Mihale told me you were going to marry that girl,’ Khatrene began breathlessly. ‘I didn’t believe him, but …’

Talis simply stared. Stunned.
Marry her?

‘… you were smiling at her.’

Talis shook his head. ‘I … no. I received no such order. And neither would I obey it,’ he said clearly enough. ‘I was told simply
to attend her.
I had thought, for security …’ In truth, Talis had been so overwrought in his longing for Khatrene, he had barely given his duty any consideration, save to be polite to his new charge.