Time Dancer (22 page)

His throat had been slit, four long claw marks shredding the skin.

“I loved you and you killed me.”

“Tu, I’m sorry,” Warric sobbed.

The dead Crowned Prince drew his sword and ran it through Warric’s belly. Hate poured off Batu as he gave the hilt a twist. Agony roiled, Warric’s stomach tearing beneath the thrust of steel. Cold blood sprayed when the blade was jerked free, and the wraiths descended, feasting on his wounds.

Something akin to retribution darkened Batu’s lifeless face. He pointed to the right and Warric screamed. This black pit became a true hell. In a halo of pristine light, Kya lay on an altar. All color had blanched from her cheeks, her gown was torn at the neck, and blood dripped from the hem.

“No!”

Those limpid dark eyes snapped open. “You failed me, Warric.”

The wraiths sank their claws into him and dragged him away. He shrieked and fought but he couldn’t break free. The searing cold vanished and blistering heat engulfed him as flames burst from the ground. His skin began to melt.

He jerked awake with a gasp. His book clattered from the tabletop to the plank flooring. Kya looked over from the stove with a sunny smile.

“I don’t see how anyone can sleep sitting up.”

Sleep? He’d fallen asleep? It was a dream? Warric blinked, swallowing the scream that was still lodged in his throat. His hand shook as he picked the fallen book up and smoothed the creased pages. Was it a dream or a premonition? He’d never had any gifted sight but with the chaos inside him gaining power, who knew if what he was could be changed.

“Supper’s almost ready. Would you fetch some more stove wood for me?”

“Of course,” he murmured.

His knees wobbled as he stood, remembered pain and fear weakening his muscles. The brisk wind wasn’t half as cold as his dream and he stood, gulping huge breaths. The axe provided the perfect outlet, and he slammed the blade down again and again until there was enough split logs for several nights of cooking. The physical action helped to calm his mind.

He would not fail her. Nothing could make up for his sins but he would not fail Kya. The dream would not come true. He’d find some way to succeed.

The rosebush beside the door slept under a thin crystal coat. He’d planted it himself last April, chosen the yellow blooms purely for her from the royal gardens. She loved clipping the flowers in the summer and filling the tiny cabin with them. Now the sleeping plant had mulch heaped around its base and the stalks were twined together for their winter rest.

He glanced over his shoulder to the open door. Kya stood mashing potatoes. Warric focused on the rosebush and reached for the door in his soul. It cracked open and he held it there, not letting the chaos escape but drawing power from it, leaching from it until his body twitched. He slammed the door quickly then narrowed his sights on the bush and willed it to wake. Magic hummed.

Ice melted, moistening the frozen ground. The brittle stalks plumped. Twine strained, broke and fell away. Kya had already gathered the rosehips to make her teas and jams but the bush began to spread out, to grow. Colors deepened, darkened. Buds popped, expanded and unfurled.

He shook off the excess magic, letting it feather away on the wind, as a grin stretched his mouth. He’d done it. He’d maintained control and hadn’t destroyed anything. Instead, he’d stroked creation out of the chaos. Drawing his boot knife, he cut a dozen of the sunny blossoms, noting they were larger and brighter than normal. Magic made good fertilizer apparently.

Kya glanced up with a frown as he stepped inside. “Where’s the stove wood?”

He pulled a dozen fresh roses from behind his back and the metal masher dropped to the floor.

“Warric, it’s winter. How...?”

He shrugged, feeling confident for the first time in days. “That doesn’t matter. I wanted to give you flowers.”

“They’re beautiful.” She buried her nose in the blooms. “I didn’t know you could make things grow.”

“Normally, I can’t.”

Her chin lifted and she looked at him in question.

“I used the channeling power...for good. And I maintained control. Granted, it was just a small exercise but it’s a start, anyway.”

The roses scattered on the floor as she leaped into his arms. “No, my love. It’s not small. It’s everything.”

* * *

Jana suspected that not much surprised Paron of Myrtlewood. He’d been King Taric’s close confidant for most of his reign, and although he hadn’t seen the queen’s human rebirth, he’d witnessed the aftermath. He perched on the edge of his chair, listening to Jana’s tale with rapt attention. Batu was more contemplative.

“A hundred set, one hundred matched pairs, one hundred generations.” Batu sipped his wine with a subdued grace. “The prophesied timeline was fulfilled.”

“But why limit it at all?” Jana asked.

“Mama says all magic has limits. Look at your father. Magic couldn’t restore his eye because it was gone, not damaged. Ranier’s magic lasted as long as it could. My generation has to break the magic before it turns poisonous.”

“All because of a misguided belief in blood purity.” The fireplace crackled behind Paron’s chair. He rubbed his gnarled fingers, his voice low and insightful. “Our country has matured a great deal since her infancy.”

Pushing her cup of cider aside, Jana gripped her necklace. Darach had been resting for nearly a whole day but just feeling his essence warm the stone soothed her.

“I suppose now we know why the Crest of Eldwyn carries deer antlers beneath a rose shield.” Batu studied the claret in his cup. “And why Segur men feel the drive to sire a child and know of their firstborn. It’s a reminder of an hourglass as it empties. It’s been counting down for generations and we never knew it.”

“How could such a tale be lost?” Jana wondered. “Why didn’t the story pass from parent to child?”

Paron sat his cup aside and stood. He pulled a thick volume from a high bookshelf then settled at his desk. He flipped the pages quickly. “Give me a moment. I read something in this old history text about the crown that stuck with me. Ah, here it is.”

He held the book at arm’s length.

“Damned old eyes. Let’s see here. Seventy summers before the great fire at Thistlemount, under the reign of Jarto Segur, fever swept Eldwyn. Thousands died. The royal family was struck hard and all but two children perished. The lad who was crowned king was barely six summers old. And what father tells a child of six about such things as the heartmate bonds?”

Batu shook his head. “A child king. I’ve read about them but it’s hard to imagine. How did this country survive?”

“The Council of Elders,” Paron murmured, turning pages. “We serve the king as a collective advisor, Your Highness, share the burden of judgment. We learned that unlimited power destroys those who hold it. That’s another way Eldwyn has matured.”

“So most of the legend died and we’ve been muddling through trying to figure it out ever since.” Batu scrubbed at his eyes with his good hand. “Well, now what? Find the ruby and destroy it?”

“Yes.” Paron closed his book. “Break that and the heartmate bonds are no more. I believe, Your Highness, you’re the bridge spanning the rule of magic and not. Your reign will be the first in a hundred generations that grants your offspring freedom from the bondage that was the only way to save the crown long ago. Your children will have a choice.”

“If I live to see any child born,” Batu muttered. “Doesn’t answer the question of who’s trying to kill me. How does that tie into the heartmate bonds?”

Silence filled the room. Although she could not put it into words, Jana knew in her bones that the threat had some ties with the royal family’s past. It was what called to her as a time dancer and a reminiscent seer. Darach said the two were tied and she believed him, had faith he wouldn’t lead her astray.

“Anyway—” Batu pulled himself straighter in his chair, “—there’s only one ruby of that size I’ve ever seen, the one in the scepter.”

The royal scepter was a long staff of pure gold, finely etched with a scrolling pattern of roses. The top held a blood-red gem. It was one of the country’s most symbolic pieces, only used on specific occasions such as a royal wedding, presentation of a new heir, a royal death procession or a new coronation.

Her eyes closed. All were marks of a ruling family changing and growing. Putting the ruby in that ceremonial piece had made certain it was never lost as the story had been.

“We have to destroy one of Eldwyn’s historical symbols?” The weight of such a task pressed against her like a sweating dog.

“Change, Lady Jana,” Paron whispered. “It’s needed to grow.”

“Where is this scepter?” Darach’s deep baritone whirled Jana around.

There was no hiding that Darach was not of this world. He wore the green silk of his home realm, long hair free about his shoulders. The gold band on his upper arm gleamed, highlighting the tension in his muscles. The deep bullion of his eyes shimmered like sunset in a darkening sky. Jana’s pulse thundered through her veins at the fierce determination on his face.

“The vault.” Batu set his cup aside. He drank in Darach’s stance, then nodded as if answering some private question. “Go back to Thistlemount. Papa will open the vault once you tell him why.”

“We’re supposed to stay with you,” Jana reminded him.

“Consider it a royal order. Go home!”

Command powered from him and Jana sat back in awe. Her friend, the boy who’d taught her to make rude noises with her armpit, was no more. In his place was a seasoned man of grit. He might never have ridden into war, but he carried himself like a champion. The power was not in his sword but in the steel of his spine.

“Break this curse, Jana. I want my family safe and together again. I want my wife by my side. I want my country hearty and prosperous. Give that to me. Go and free us all.”

Pride warmed her from the inside. No wounds, no exile, no invisible threat would undermine his spirit. The presence Batu held at this moment shouted his lineage in all its dignity. Though he dressed in common clothing and wore no mark, he was every inch the Crowned Prince. One day, if she succeeded, Jana would be proud to call him king.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

* * *

“How much money do you have left?” Batu asked.

Darach felt the purse tucked at his waist. “Enough, I believe. The journey will not be long. We’ll make haste.”

They waited while Jana changed her clothes, the sun radiating through the high glass windows of the foyer. Below, a groom led a sturdy roan through the knee-high snow.

“You’ll have to ride with Jana, at least until you’re out of sight of Myrtlewood. I don’t think they’re quite ready to see her in the company of a grizzly bear. She shouldn’t be seen leaving alone, that just invites trouble for a woman.”

Darach nodded.

“You know, we were raised pretty much together and I just...I got confused.” The prince chuckled. “We shared both a nursery and a nurse. I thought Jana was my sister. When Warric was born, my parents moved me into my own chambers so I tried to sell him to a traveling minstrel. That was the only time Papa ever spanked me. Jana crawled into my room, into my bed, and cried with me that night.” His voice cracked. “Keep her safe, Darach. She’s my dearest friend.”

“I didn’t search through the ages to let her come to harm.”

The atheling’s face creased with somberness. “You haven’t told her yet, have you? That you’re leaving?”

“No.” An uneasy heaviness lodged in his chest and Darach blew a breath away, trying to unseat it. “If I could remain, I would, but I gave that right away to keep her alive.”

“Then love her well with what time you have. Her family’ll be here for her after you’re gone.” He extended his hand. “I wish things could’ve ended differently. I’m tired of losing friends.”

Darach took the handshake, grateful there were no words needed.

Jana descended the stairs in her travel garb. Darach soaked in her beauty.
Love
her
well
. He’d love her forever, as well as he could, never forgetting her face. It would be the image he’d caress while color and music held him. He would take more than love back to his home, he would take the bitter knowledge of loss.

Once free of Myrtlewood’s borders, Darach gave his bear free rein, knowing his scent would keep hungry four-footed predators away, and the sight of him would discourage two-footed ones from acting. Unfortunately, it did nothing to frighten the weather, and a storm rolled in. Dark, heavy clouds rained heavy snow and bitter winds churned it into a squall.

Jana slowed her horse and tugged the scarf from her face. “I can’t see where I’m going.”

Rising to his back feet, Darach used his sharp teeth to pluck the reins from her hand. He honed in on their destination and never slowed. Snow coated his back, falling in clumps, but he pressed on, leading her to shelter.

The sky succumbed to night then gave way to the dawn before he spotted the forlorn and empty cabin. Jana slid from the saddle. Snow reached above her knees. It would be far too easy to become lost in the blinding white. Darach would not let that happen. He misted to man then took her arm, guiding her into the cabin.

Her teeth chattered. “We can’t stay long. We have to get back to Thistlemount.”

“When the storm stops,
nayeli
. Until then, rest.”

He hauled in armloads of wood as she quickly built a fire. Soon the cabin warmed enough that her lips lost the blue tinge. Exhaustion made her eyes heavy as she wordlessly climbed onto a pallet, still shivering. Her cloak hung before the fire to dry so he laid his bear-hide over her woolen blanket for extra warmth. She held out her arms and he sank into her embrace until her breathing leveled into slumber.

The clear-brook scent of her hair filled his nose. He tried to press that memory into his core and found he didn’t have to. Everything about her, her touch, her scent, her taste, her voice, it was all engraved on his heart. The first seconds in this world had been learning to adapt to this solid form. Now he regretted losing it because it would steal the feel of her skin on his. Memories were all that would remain with him.