Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (21 page)

‘Ta’a, Sire.’

With that one word of assent she'd added crime to crime and severed forever any hope of reconciliation with Phryne. Not only had she stolen her sister's Goddess energy but she'd now agreed to take as sacred partner the one man Phryne deeply desired.

‘Lady Ianthe, you will request the Prince’s presence here tomorrow. If he accepts the proposition then will you need to take steps to ascertain he's still capable of functioning as a sire. His injuries came close to putting that in doubt.’

‘As you will, Sire. Will that be all?’ Ianthe's eyes were black and totally expressionless.

‘Until the Autumn Joining of the Gods when I expect to meet you on the altar in the Plaza, Archinus. It's time the people were reminded of the power of their Great Ones.’

In the act of rising, Ianthe froze for the merest breath, quickly gathered herself and smoothly dipped her head in obeisance. As they backed from the room Gynevra noted an evil gleam brightening the depths of her sire's green eyes. That the Archinus threatened his power was obvious from the way he took every opportunity to belittle her, and in what better way than by ordering her to perform in the most public of the altar festivals now her body was past its youthful perfection?

It was the first time Gynevra had seen the Lady Ianthe bested in any way. The Archinus had sold her soul for the power of her position, yet before the King she was as powerless as any other subject. As if she gazed through a mirror to the future, Gynevra saw herself as she would be in years to come if she followed Ianthe as Archinus. What purpose all the knowing and spiritual power, if she could still be pre-empted by the King? Better by far to have no face to lose.

More determined than ever to break free of the Temple she lifted her head, straightened her spine, and marched from the King's Receiving Hall amidst her retinue of ladies before the Archinus could regain her composure enough to waylay her. Maintaining a semblance of control had cost her dearly. She needed to hide herself away in Ist's Grotto for a while to replenish her armory for the days ahead.

What she hadn't counted on was the Archinus ignoring her completely, as if she'd ceased to exist. And though Gynevra couldn't find that her movuon had made an actual decree, within the walls of Qrazil her power was absolute. Even those who'd acted as her retinue now turned quietly away.

She was alone indeed.

King Ahron had decided to make the occasion of his daughter's union with Prince Gotham, heir to the throne of Trephysia, more than just a celebration. It was to be a show of his regal eminence. The entire royal house of Poseidonia had been transported by sumptuous imperial barge to the City of Glass, capital of the far western Province of Trephysia.

Built on the gradually rising ground of the northern bank of the River Trephyr, the crystal light shining from within the great glass structures had caused them to shimmer and dance like mountainous mirages in the gloomy volcanic dust as the travelers made their way up the river in the early morning. This same light now enclosed them in a bright energy that could be felt prickling on the skin as they climbed the wide steps to the Palace. Even fresh air in Fyr Trephyr was created by crystal power. The energy was tangible.

Desiring to pull the hood of her cloak close about her face Gynevra couldn't even cover her head for fear of dislodging the elaborate coiffure Queen Agapa's ladies had created for her. The local population didn't seem to be bothered by the energy. Perhaps one got used to it.

During the procession from the landing up steps and terraces paved with marble of different hues enhanced with onyx and orichalc, Gynevra longed to stare everywhere at once. But Ianthe, her eyes dark and cold, had given her a terse little homily about majesty and consequence. At least, Gynevra told herself that's what the Archinus had meant by her stiffly uttered, ‘You've chosen the venal luxuries of state living over the honor of serving your people in the Temple. It's not a life you’ve trained for. Stand erect, look neither right nor left and make eye contact with no one.’

Pride forbad she fail in any way before her movuon this day. She'd already been judged and found wanting.

The royal flotilla had anchored over-night in a small sheltered bay just inside the river mouth and the morning had been spent under the hands of Queen Agapa's maids. They'd bathed her, massaged her body with scented oils, brushed her hair, sprinkled it with gold and crystal dust and affixed gold and emerald ornaments among the carefully arranged curls. Then they'd dressed her in the beautiful, transparent Gown of Joining and declared her a Sacred Princess fit for any Prince.

Gazing at the effect in the Queen's full-length silver mirror, Gynevra had mused aloud that wearing a transparent gown was no different to dancing the latreia or performing naked on the altar. She'd laughed for the first time in days when Lady Arian, Keeper of the Royal Gerlain, had told her to ‘walk as if wandering through a meadow where the spectators were merely the bovine ruminants dining on the pasture.’

Thank you Ist for the irreverent Arian, she thought now, and the temporary concealment afforded by the soft emerald woolen cloak, which also protected her against the intense crystal energy of the Glass City. Hostility flowed in waves from the females of the welcoming party. She suspected there’d be numerous occasions in the future when it would be helpful to think of them as `bovine ruminants'. Her sensitivity to the thoughts of others was more of a curse than a blessing.

When at last she stood side by side with Gotham in the Palace Reception Hall her heart thumped and every doubt that had entered her mind over the last tonni crowded it all at once. The Prince seemed more concerned with capturing the pomp of the moment and being seen to the best advantage than in acknowledging her in any way at all. His upper body had been oiled and dusted with gold to highlight the perfect definition of muscle and tendon. Clad only in soft leather calf-boots and the fine white linen kirt of the Paggi with a wide hem of exquisite gold embroidery as befitted a royal pazanon on his joining day, Gotham of Trephysia held every female gaze.

For a fleeting second Gynevra wondered which frightened her more, the anonymous men in the gathering whose hot eyes devoured her or the man at her side who should have had eyes only for his azanon but who seemed scarcely to be aware of her presence. What would her life be, with this man? What had she done by her determination to escape the Temple?

Concentrating on the crystalline quality of the light and the modern decor of the Trephysian Palace slowed the beating of her heart but couldn’t stop her from dreaming that the man at her side had hair as black as obsidian and a helmet adorned with the golden horns of Nyalda. Panic filled her breast and she knew a sudden need to run like a fawn from the hunters. As her body poised for flight, a woman wearing a cloak in the red and black of Poseidonia approached her through the phalanx of guards, her hood thrown back to expose her bright golden hair.

Mery! All thoughts of flight or black haired warriors fled her mind. Never had she been so pleased to see anyone. Her arms were moving to embrace her sister, her face transfusing with joy, when Mery's voice spoke in her mind.

‘Be still. You must appear as regal as Agapa, as mysterious as Ianthe, and as perfect as a Princess. We will hug each other to shards later. But for now, I'll walk at your side as your handmaiden as you requested.’

As no one else could have done, Meryan reminded her of who she was, what was expected of her. What she'd chosen for herself. Biting down on her lip, Gynevra closed her eyes for the briefest moment, dragged in a deep calming breath and gazed lovingly at her sister.

‘Thanks be to the Goddess you're here. I was about to disgrace myself and run!’

‘Never show them weakness or they'll rend the heart out of you.—Give me your cloak. Let them see a real Princess.’

A whisper of sound escaped Meryan's lips as she lifted the concealing cloak from Gynevra's shoulders, revealing the transparent gown beneath. Gold encrusted panels of peacock hued silk floated from a gold necklet set with pearls and emeralds. Mery folded the cloak over her arm and stepped back, her gaze meshing with her sister's.

‘Hold your head high, Gyn'a. You look absolutely stunning. There are none here who can compete with your beauty this day.—And they know it. Be strong.’

Turning to the colorful throng of people gathered in the vast reception hall, Gynevra concentrated on recalling the inner power that had enabled her to stand before her parents and demand the right to life outside the Temple. That she stood before these people as azanon to their future King was her own choice. She'd feel a little easier however if Prince Gotham would make some acknowledgement of her presence.

As if he'd heard her thought, Gotham, possessed himself of her hand and bending over it, touched it to his forehead.

‘Welcome to the Glass City, Princess Gynevra. It is good that the Houses of Poseidonia and Trephysia strengthen their connection once again.’

It was the first time they'd spoken to one another since she'd checked on the healing of his wound over a month before. All the negotiations for their contract had been carried out by the raboni of the two royal Houses. She didn't even know whether the Prince was happy or otherwise about the union, only that he was apparently recovered and had satisfied King Ahron with regard to his virility. But before she could utter more than a formal thank you, Ianthe approached them.

Gynevra stood stiff and unsmiling as the Archinus shook out the filmy folds of her gown. With long elegant fingers she adjusted the gold band circling her daughter's hair, the center of which dipped low on her forehead and was set with a square-cut emerald.

Standing back, Ianthe surveyed her daughter with a critical eye, and Gynevra knew there was something in her mind burning to be said. Mindful of her earlier admonition to regal rectitude and her ability to pierce the mind, Gynevra closed her inner shutters tight and gazed with what she hoped was majestic hauteur at a spot in the air somewhere beyond her movuon's elaborate head-dress.

‘Electra appeared to me in a dream the night you were born and informed me of your signature stone.’

Gynevra nodded. It was normal for Ruling Class Atlanteans to choose their own signature stone at age seven and it was thereafter worn about their person in various adornments crafted from either gold or silver. Electra had informed her grand-daughter in a vision that the child she carried was of the rare emerald vibration, as she herself had been.

‘She also informed me your life would have an important impact on the future of Atlantis. When I considered that alongside the prophecy she made regarding the demise of Atlantis, I believed it meant you were destined to be Archinus after me. Alienor is young, and while her soul is mystical enough her heart isn't as strong. It's been many years since an Archinus took a Sacred Partner because balancing a home life with the demands of the Temple is extremely difficult. It has been done however.—Electra did it.—But a Queen has never been Archinus and it would be very difficult to fulfil both roles with the dedication each should be accorded, especially in different provinces.

‘Ahron thinks it more important to ensure the preservation of a strong Dragon bloodline in the royal house of Trephysia than to give credence to the ‘
feverish ramblings of a sick old woman
’. Electra was near death when she made that prophecy but her visionary powers were phenomenal. Thus, I warn you, daughter, not to neglect your promise to continue to evolve through the Mysteries of the Goddess.’

‘I have vowed to continue the studies,’ Gynevra said, holding her head as straight as any Queen ever had.

Electra had died only ten years before her birth and her emerald jewelery had been placed in a vault of the Healing Temple. When she'd appeared to Ianthe at Gynevra's birth she'd commanded her to remove the flawlessly faceted jewel from the center of the ring she'd worn until her death and have it made into a stud for the child to wear in her upper lip. This had been done on the occasion of Gynevra's seventh birthday.

Ianthe fixed her dark, implacable gaze on that glowing gem now and said in a low hard voice, ‘You wear her stone. You cannot escape the prophecy.’

‘The Goddess is ever my protector,’ Gynevra answered calmly and turned to gaze out over the pageant of moving color. There'd been several times on the ten day journey from Poseidonia when, plagued by doubts, she'd have been vulnerable if the Archinus had approached her with the tenderness of a movuon. The blatant threat simply hardened her resolve.

Turning to the Prince who'd watched the exchange with a haughty frown, the Archinus asked, ‘And you, my Lord Prince? Are you still prepared to accept the sacrifice you'd be called on to make should Princess Gynevra be required to fulfil the duties of Archinus of Poseidonia?’

Anger flared in the intense blue eyes, then the Prince said stiffly, ‘I believed negotiations completed.’ He waited until Ianthe dropped her eyes, before continuing. ‘It was agreed the greater good of Atlantis must be served.’

Abruptly he turned his back on the Archinus and gripping Gynevra's hands turned her to face him. Rakishly lifting one dark brow, he pressed a fingertip to the emerald in her lip and said, ‘I’m told the emerald vibration which makes you such a powerful healer also makes you a very desirable—sacred partner. I expect any possible future sacrifice on my part to be amply rewarded in the present.’

Gynevra felt a frisson of excitement riffle across her nerve endings. This was more in line with her dreams.