Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (38 page)

Beyond the shoulder of the Crags the lights of the city danced like fireflies against the darker mass of the cliffs while below on the dim gleam of the harbor bobbed the lanterns of night fishermen. All was shades of velvet darkness jeweled with crystals of light. The dark seemed darker, the lights brighter, the air crisper than she'd ever encountered.

‘This place is so clear and crisp—magical—as if anything were possible. On the day you fought Gotham and almost severed his leg, Phree and I discussed the rival merits of living in Trephysia or Nyalda. We thought this place cold and primitive. How ignorant we were—what children we were.’

Her voice faltered as pain burned behind her heart. It had been almost the last day she'd spoken to Phryne, the last time she, Phryne and Meryan had been together. That thought still had the power to wound her deeply. Biting her lip, she fell silent.

They’d come to where a giant seat had been carved from the mountain rock. Taur sank down, drawing her onto his knee. Pulling her cloak round them both, he settled his back against the rock and gazed out over the lights below. Gynevra felt tension in the arms encircling her, sensed the heaviness in his soul that he’d never admit to. Her warrior was hurting and she longed only to bring him comfort.

‘I've never understood what happened that day. I'd fought Go' many times with more deadly intent. We always agreed beforehand who was going to win and it was supposed to be him. We knew how to put on a good show without either one of us getting seriously damaged. I've never felt his injury was my fault but it was my hand holding that sword. He was never the same afterwards and I always felt he blamed me.’

Gynevra turned and touched a gentling hand to the hard line of his jaw.

‘It wasn't your fault. Go' was mind-connected to Craelia who was birthing her fifth child, all sired by him. If Go' cared for anyone at all, it was Craelia. She certainly loved him beyond discretion. That birth went very hard for her and he refused to break the mind-connection with her even while he was fighting with you. Her suffering distracted him.’

‘The stupid arabo,’ Taur muttered, then said softly, ‘He taught me much and we had many good times together. Even if it wasn't my fault, he resented me for it.’

‘It wasn't the injury he resented,’ Gynevra said with certainty. ‘It was the loss of virility which came later. It could just as easily have been from an addiction to fuaba. We all assumed it was the result of the injury and he blamed me for that as much as he blamed anyone, for I'd healed him. A kinder course might have been to let him die.’

‘But that a healer would never do. Since we don't hold the future in our hands we can only make decisions on what we know in the present. There are many things I've done that I'd change with hindsight. For one, I'd have taken Gynevra of Poseidonia as my sacred partner when I had the chance.’

Gynevra slipped her arms around his neck.

‘Playing ‘if only’ is a futile exercise,’ she murmured, and touched her lips to his chin.

Taur moved to fuse their mouths and past or future meant nothing at all. Lifting his head at last, he growled, ‘Let's find somewhere more comfortable to continue this.’

Tightening his grip around her, he surged to his feet and started down the cliff path once more. As they went he said, ‘I intend for my people to acknowledge you as my Queen whether we're sacredly joined or not. To this end, we'll go down to the main entrance and make a royal procession through the Castle to the King’s Chamber.’

Gynevra opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Conflicting emotions roiled within her. She'd no right to stand before the Nyaldans as their Queen when by so doing she put their lives in jeopardy. But Ianthe was still strong and healthy. Surely there could be no harm in staying with Taur, being what he wanted her to be—for just a little while until she found a chance to apportate back to Qrazil? How wrong could it be to take a little happiness for herself?

Chapter 22

‘Where’s Pog?’ Taur demanded of the warrior guards as they approached the main portals of the outer courtyard.

‘Here, Master,’ piped a reedy voice, and the little man scrambled up onto the base of a massive stone effigy of Poseidon which guarded the portals to the castle. ‘What is it my Great Master desires?’

Taur bent to murmur his orders into the little man's ear. Pog slid from his perch to land in a tumble at his King’s feet. With little ado he picked himself up and affecting a comical, pompous strut, began proclaiming, ‘In the name of our great Father Poseidon, I bid you greet King Cadal Isidor and Queen Gynevra of Nyalda. Hail ye! Hail ye! Hail ye!’

At a nod from Taur several warriors formed an escort. With his arm across Gynevra’s back and hand resting on her left shoulder, he began a measured progress through the halls of the Castle. Gynevra held her cloak to conceal the ripped gown and walked with head high so none would guess at her fear and uncertainty. Life had taught her to hide her emotions.

All they passed fell to their knees, murmuring, ‘Hail to the King. Well come among us, Queen Gynevra.’

Thus they came to the Presence Chamber where the King’s movuon remained defiant and haughty on the Queen's throne.

‘In the name of our great Father Poseidon, I bid you greet King Cadal Isidor and Queen Gynevra of Nyalda. Hail ye! Hail ye! Hail ye!’

The expectant hush in the Chamber swelled to a pregnant stillness as Queen Nudon lifted her chin and fixed her son with a challenging stare. Long entrenched in these halls of power, it was plain she’d not be willingly foresworn.

‘Nudon of Nyalda, kneel to your Queen!’

Taur assumed a militant stance. Black anger flashed from Nudon’s eyes. Gynevra, feeling like an interloper, knew that to show weakness would be to lose a battle scarce begun.

Nudon spoke.

‘For two score years and three I've ruled Nyalda. Your pavuon died when you were but ten. In maturity you’ve lusted only for war and women, content to have me act for you here! Now, in disgrace as a finwod and needing a stronghold, you claim you're ready to rule. Furthermore, you expect us to kneel to a Queen you had to kidnap!’

Gynevra fought indignation. She must speak but not in anger. If she was to be Taur’s Queen she must deal with Queen Nudon before she and her son tore each other to ribbons. And for this she must call on all the tact and diplomacy she’d learned as Princess in Trephysia and Archinus Elect in Qrazil.

‘I would speak, my Lord.’

Biting back words he’d been about to throw at his mother, he gave Gynevra a long, hard look, then tersely nodded.

Gynevra faced Nudon of Nyalda knowing that if she were to be convincing of her right to the crown she must be more regal than the woman herself. She would command obeisance but in the interests of future harmony, she would be gentle. Releasing her grip on the cloak, she stood proudly erect and apparently unconcerned for the immodesty of her gown.

‘Lady Nudon,’ she began, emphasizing the title, ‘I've not come willingly, as you so rightly observe. But now I'm here I deeply desire to remain. The King has conferred on me the title of Queen. There can only be one of us in this province. I am a practicing priestess-healer, which I expect to occupy much of my time. Therefore I'm certain there will be many offices presently undertaken by you, which I'd be more than happy to leave under your jurisdiction. Nyalda and her people will fare better if her Queens, past and present, can work as a team. I kneel to the Queen Past of Nyalda.’

As if gowned in the most exquisite of Queenly garments, Gynevra dropped to one knee, the shredded remnants of the priestess gown falling aside, exposing the golden perfection of her body. When she came slowly upright at Taur's side again, she calmly retrieved the edges of the cloak. As a Temple priestess she’d long overcome any sense of modesty, but as a Princess she deeply understood the value of dignity.

All about the chamber people were scrambling to their feet, eyes avidly absorbing the beauty of the fair Princess from Poseidonia and anxious to watch this battle of Queenly wills. There was an ugly stain of natural color high on Nudon's painted cheeks and her jaw worked convulsively.

After a tense and fraught moment Nudon stepped stiffly down from the dais, sank to one knee, and in a tone of deep aggrievement, said, ‘I kneel to the Queen Present of Nyalda.’

Gynevra reached to assist Nudon to her feet, then said, ‘Lady, please return to the throne. For now, I think it's more important the King find me suitable raiment to replace the only gown I have to my name—which he has destroyed.’

Nudon pursed her lips and commented acidly, ‘I don’t know what he was thinking to present you to us in that state, this being neither sacred arena nor House of the Night.’

‘What I was thinking, Movuon, is still on my mind. By all means return to your throne. My Queen has no need of it just at the moment.’

Swooping a protesting Gynevra into his arms, he strode across the Chamber to where a pair of lustily grinning warriors parted the leather curtains with gold-tipped staves.

‘Taur, put me down!’ Gynevra commanded.

‘Not likely,’ he growled, breaking into a run down a long hall hung with rich gold net. ‘You just stole a throne from one who'd held it for nigh on a quarter of a century without so much as a drop of blood—nor scarce even a harsh word! I've only seriously claimed my power in the last few tonni and I don't intend to risk the possibility of you getting
me
on my knees! Woman, do you realize what you just did?’ he demanded, shouldering through another set of heavy leather drapes to fall with her through voluminous silk curtains into the utter seclusion of a huge, soft box bed.

He reached out and removed the cover from a small lamp on the gilded corner shelf. Smoothing the tangle of curls from her face, he held her captive by her hair and said again, ‘Woman, do you understand what you've done?’

‘I think—I've made you quake in your boots,’ she said, her eyes dancing with mischief, ‘and I can't think of a better punishment for a kidnapper!’

‘You would punish me for doing what you wanted me to do anyway?’ he growled, pulling playfully at her hair.

‘Oh, I did not! Who would choose to be drugged—and stuffed in a box? Or to risk their life sailing in a gale of the Gods' greatest fury? Who would choose to be tossed about by a great oaf who has delusions of being the lustiest bull who ever served a cow? Who—?’

‘—can make you moo like a cow, growl like a bear, and purr like a cat because he is—
your—
bull!’

With a realistic bull roar and one deft movement he parted her thighs and joined their bodies. Gynevra couldn't suppress a squeal of surprise and valiantly tried to turn it into a moo between breathless giggles.

‘I forgot to mention squeal like a hogging sow,’ Taur chortled, then folding her in his arms he rolled so she lay on top of him. ‘Ride me, Golden One, ride me, before I give you my throne just for what you can make me feel.’

Gynevra needed no urging. High priestess, Princess, or even Queen she might be, but she'd just been gifted her first arousal by laughter and she knew it for a gift more precious than any she'd ever received. Long after Taur had removed his boots and properly undressed them both, covered the lamp, and slept with her held close in his arms she stared into the enclosing darkness, tears of wonder seeping down her cheeks. The tears were as much for happiness as they were for the underlying fear that such happiness could only come with a price too terrible to contemplate.

The price of ecstasy is agony. Like an echo from the past, the thought brought to mind Ianthe's words at the time of her joining with Gotham. She'd known a kind of ecstasy with Go' at first but they'd both suffered great agony in the aftermath. If the depth of agony was governed by the intensity of the ecstasy Gynevra knew she'd be called to account for loving Taur by a cruelty beyond imagining. For herself she knew she'd suffer gladly but the thought of any harm befalling this man whose precious breath feathered her brow, brought agony in reality to the pit of her stomach and turned the gentle tears of wondrous joy into a torrent of ugly grief.

Taur stirred.

‘Gyn'a?’ he murmured, touching his lips to her brow. His fingers found the tears coursing down her cheeks.

‘Woman, what's wrong?’ he demanded, uncovering the lamp again. In its brightness he stared down at her tear-ravaged face. He swore gently. ‘Cloaba! Golden One, what ails you?’

Gynevra could no longer hold in the sobs she'd been desperately suppressing in the darkness. Turning her face into his chest she clung tightly to the strong muscular body and tried to banish all thoughts of its destruction.

‘Gyn'a, have I hurt you?’ Taur demanded harshly.

Gynevra shook her head.

‘I'm just so afraid of what price the Gods will demand for this happiness.’

‘Aa-ah, Gyn'a,’ Taur breathed. ‘The Gods would not give us this only to take it away again. You were always meant to be mine. You can't deny that, my Golden One, you who show me the other side of the stars every time we join.’

‘Our joining is ecstasy beyond ecstasy and it's this which terrifies me. The price of ecstasy is agony. It's a natural law. The price of great ecstasy is therefore, great agony. I can't bear that for you.’

For a moment Taur stared into her eyes. Then he shook his head as if to shrug off an old memory or a deep premonition, and said, ‘Alara, why dwell on such thoughts when we make such beautiful music together? Come, let me show you how to play my instrument, show you new melodies I can coax from yours.’

With the hands and mouth of a musical genius he dried her tears and strummed her body into harmony with his and Gynevra had no strength left for crying, let alone for fearing.

Light kisses across her eyelids woke her and for long moments she lay gazing up at the dim outline of the man leaning over her and her first thought was a prayer to the Goddess that she wake this way every morning for the rest of her life. Then Taur slid open a section of the inner wall of the bed box and the rising sun streamed across the bed and Gynevra felt the dawn latreia rise within her, a paean of praise and joy. She pushed aside the exquisite woven wool bedding and knelt before the crystal window—and gasped.

She looked straight down for hundreds of gladvenon into terraced gardens where water fountains danced in the crystalline light of dawn and down further again to where a tiny trail snaked its way in a back track down the cliff-side. A small herd of milch cows trudged along the trail ahead of a cloaked figure walking with a staff. A falconer released a bird from the bluff at the outer edge of the garden and the creature soared directly towards the rising sun.

Gynevra drew in a sobbing breath of wonder, then reached for Taur and drew him to the window at her side.

I sing you Hail! Great God of the Morning

I sing you Hail! who comes with the dawning

I sing you Hail! who the mountains adorning

I sing you Hail! for your great light a-borning

Rise in the east to lighten the Air

Heaten the south for Fire is there

Quicken the north so Earth is not bare

Set in the west all Water to clear

Taur's deep base voice joined with her on the second line and there was an aching sweetness in remembering how Gotham had sung the dawn latreia with her that first morning on the Isle of Ebbawen. There was a sense of rightness to his intrusion on her thoughts in just the same way Taur had intruded those long days ago. For the first time since the destruction of Fyr Trephyr she could think of Gotham and the beauty they'd shared so briefly as a thing apart from the ugliness that had followed. Perhaps she'd needed to come to Fyr Heceuda—and Taur—to heal. She shivered and Taur pulled a blanket about them both.

‘I'm not cold,’ Gynevra averred. ‘In truth, this castle is amazingly warm. How long before the snows come?’

‘Two tonni. Maybe less. Each day it gets colder. We put larger crystals in the indoor braziers so the temperature stays pretty much the same all year round.’

‘I will need some clothes.’

‘Why, when I don't intend to let you out of bed?’

Gynevra chuckled.

‘I'll be gone the moment you sleep. I long to explore your beautiful country and I'm sure I'll find Sons of the Dragon cousins a-plenty in Nyalda as there are elsewhere, who'd be delighted to guide their naked Queen on such an expedition and keep her warm.’

Taur tumbled her back onto the bed.

‘There's only one Son of the Dragon in Nyalda, or anywhere else, who'll be anywhere near my naked Queen—and don't you forget it,’ he growled, cupping her face and taking her mouth with his.

More than content to have it so, Gynevra twisted her fingers in the tangle of his hair and it was long before either of them cared whether she had clothes or not.

‘How many seamstresses are there in the castle?’ Gynevra asked when they lay replete once again.

‘I've no idea,’ he said, closing a hand over her fingers teasing at his flat male nipples.

‘I shall need at least twenty.’

‘Twenty! Cronos! What are you dressing? An army?’

‘No. Just a Queen.’ Gynevra freed her fingers from under his hand and slid them down his belly to close over the flaccid length of his manhood and the soft ball pouches beneath. ‘Queen's—need a lot—of clothes. I intend to empty a few of those sacks in your stadrag just as I've emptied these sacks here. I believe you owe me.’