Realm of Light (10 page)

“Please,” she
said, stepping carefully over the weapons to approach him.

He bowed his head
to her, not in obeisance, but because he couldn’t trust himself to look at her.

Her right hand
very lightly touched his head. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “What you did was
... it was not permitted. I know you seek only my safety, but I have seen you
exercise the powers of a sorcerer. I have seen you punish Lord Sien. I have
seen you walk surrounded in Choven fire, slaying demons. I have seen you
worshiped by Legion, horrible creatures under your command. You see the truth
of this dreadful place. You walk through it as though you know it well.”

She withdrew her
hand. “You have shocked me. I do not think I can accept what you are, what you
do. I—I am confused. My faith did not prepare me for such a moral quandary. You
have dared cast a spell over me. I—”

“What about this
kind of spell?” he asked hoarsely.

Seizing her hand,
he pulled her down into his arms and kissed her hard and hungrily. She
struggled in his hold at first, stiff with resistance, then she uttered a soft
moan and melted against him. Her soft lips opened to his. Flames roared in his
ears; he seemed to hear the ringing of a bronze bell from far away.

Then she was
clinging to his cloak with both fists, huddled against his breastplate, while
they both gasped for breath. He loosened his hold on her marginally, afraid he
might hurt her, yet his heart was thudding with triumph. He wanted to shout in
his joy.

“I love you,” he
whispered, bending to kiss her again.

She pulled her
lips away from his with a muffled cry. “Don’t say it!”

“Why not? It is
the truth.” He brushed back her hair tenderly from her face. “You are perfect.
Beautiful. I have wanted to hold you in my arms since the first day I saw you
in Agel’s workroom.”

She was trembling
in his arms. “Please,” she said breathlessly. “Please, Caelan—”

“What?” he asked,
laughing softly as he nuzzled her cheek and nibbled at the corner of her mouth.
Her skin was velvet soft. Her hair smelled of myrrh, ashes, and lavender. He wanted
to pick her up and run with lier. He wanted to laugh with her in the sunshine.
He wanted to kiss her until she lay soft and pliable beneath him, radiant with
love.

“Caelan,” she said
against his lips. She pushed against his embrace, and he released her
reluctantly. “Stop. I am dizzy.”

“Dizzy with love?”
he suggested. “Are you afraid of it?”

“Yes,” she said.
Her voice shook.

His joy crashed
around him. Concerned, he sat back on his haunches, letting his hands slide
from her shoulders, down her arms until he gripped her fingers. They were icy
cold against his.

“I have tried to
put honor above my feelings,” he said. “I have tried to hold back. But what I
feel is the truth. It is all I can give you.”

“You must stop,”
she said breathlessly. “This must not happen.”

“It already has—”

“No!” She shook
her head. “Nothing has happened. Nothing
wilt
happen.”

“If you claim you
feel nothing for me, then you lie.”

She drew back, but
he would not release her hands.

“Answer me!” he
commanded. “Do you not feel anything?”

Her eyes flashed.
“Will you force me to lie?”

“Tell me the
truth.”

She broke free of
his hold and scrambled to her feet, retreating swiftly when he followed her. “I
cannot say the truth,” she said unsteadily. “You know I cannot. Caelan, he will
have you killed when he finds out.”

And you,
Caelan thought to himself, but neither of them said that aloud. He took another
half step toward her. “He won’t know—”

“He will! He
always knows.” She turned her face away so that she stood half in moonlight,
half in shadow. “Kostimon has mysterious powers too. Knowledge given to him by
...” Her voice trailed off.

“I know you are
his wife,” Caelan said, struggling to voice what he had held back for so long.
“I know my feelings for you are forbidden. That’s why I prayed you would not
choose me as your protector. Yet what I feel cannot be denied. Elan—”

“Please don’t say
my name here,” she said in sudden panic, rushing to him to press her fingers
against his lips. “They don’t know my name yet. Please don’t say it.”

He took her
fingers and kissed them. “I have dreamed of you.

You are empress,
and I am no one, a former slave. Yet in my dreams we have always walked
together.”

“Dreams?” she said
in startlement. “You have dreamed of us?”

“I know you must
think I am mad, but even if I die for it, I will not deny my passion.”

Again he pulled
her into his arms and kissed her. This time, shyly, she returned his kiss, then
pulled away. “You have said too much. Stop now. We must both stop now.”

“A condemned man
can say all he wants,” Caelan told her thickly.

He cupped her face
in his hands and kissed her deeply, passionately until her breath was his
breath and their hearts beat in rhythm. He touched her with
sevaisin,
rejoining their spirits, their hearts, their minds.

When they fell
apart for breath at last, she was crying.

Aghast at what he
had done, he wiped away her tears with her fingers. They were warm on his skin,
and he realized he had let his emotions carry them both too far.

“Please don’t
cry,” he said. “I am sorry. I am sorry.”

She clung to him,
weeping harder. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I cannot explain.”

In silence he held
her, and her tears cooled his ardor. As his head cleared, he realized he had
been a fool. In a moment he had swept aside all his good and noble intentions.
He had rushed her like a beast and frightened her. He had done everything he
had sworn to himself he would not do. Now it lay in the open, and they would
have to deal with it, or have it dealt with by others.

He rocked her in
his arms like a child, loving her, adoring her, knowing they had no time for
this, aware that their danger increased with every passing second. Yet this
moment had come to him like a gift, a single opportunity impossible to
relinquish. He had stolen it, and he gloried in it even as it faded for them
both.

“I am sorry,” he
whispered again. “I would not cause you a moment’s pain. Yet I have broken my
vow never to reveal my heart to you.”

She buried her
face against his shoulder. How good she felt against him like this. How
perfectly she fitted in his arms. He felt protective and invincible. All his
strength seemed made only for the purpose of shielding her from harm.

“You are good and
courageous,” he told her. “You are brave and wonderful and infinitely precious.
I honor you with all my heart, and I do not wish to bring you grief or
unhappiness. Yet here I have made you cry. And now you are wondering what we
will do, and all I can offer is myself. Is that not arrogance?” He almost
laughed from the bitterness that suddenly filled his mouth. “I am a big fool,
hoping you will finally say you love me.”

She drew in a
sharp breath and touched his cheek. “I—I cannot.”

Pain cut through
his heart. He shut his eyes against it. “I know.”

“I am not free. I
belong to Kostimon.”

“Is your heart
his?” he asked fiercely, suddenly furious. “Is it?”

At first she was
silent; then she said very quietly, “You know that does not matter. My vows
were spoken. I belong to him.”

“But not forever,”
he said grimly.

“Don’t speak of
that,” she said in sudden fear. “Don’t foretell his death. Let that not be
between us, ever.”

His arms tightened
around her in hope. “Then you do care?”

She remained
silent, but she did not resist when he kissed her forehead and eyes. Her tears
tasted warm and salty on his lips.

“You are too
stubborn,” she said unsteadily. “As my official protector you could have been
with me daily, hourly.”

“No.”

She pulled back to
look into his eyes. Her own were frowning. “You say it would not have been
honorable. Is this better, when you seize me like a bandit?”

“It is on my
terms,” he said angrily. “As a man, not your adoring servant.”

Her eyes dropped,
and she seemed to shrink a little. “Oh.”

He let her go
then, and stepped back from her. She continued to look at the ground, her hair
half across her face.

After a moment she
said in a soft, shy voice, “Then some day ... perhaps ... you would be my
consort?”

His heart
tightened. She had just offered him everything ... and nothing. After all he
had said to her, she still did not understand. Regretfully he shook his head.
“No,” he said with pride, “I will not.”

They stood in the
shadows, facing each other, trying to find a way to cross the barriers.

“Because you
cannot serve an empress?” she said softly, un-happiness layered in her voice.
“Am I so horrible? Does my offer insult you so greatly?”

It was Caelan’s
turn to avert his face from her gaze. “No, there is no insult. You are
wonderful.”

“Then why? You
know who and what I am. My destiny has brought me to the throne. Unless the
empire is truly lost, I will rule after Kostimon. What do you ask of me?”

“Nothing,” he said
swiftly. “Nothing ... except your heart.”

“And if I gave it
to you ... someday,” she said hesitantly, “you still would not stand with me?”

His heart thudded
with anger. He did not want to explain. There was too much confusion still
inside him, too much new ambition, too much stubbornness. Why could she not
leave well enough alone? She always pushed him, goaded him. Perhaps it was time
she heard the truth.

“First protector,
now consort,” he snapped. “I can carry a sword or I can wear a little crown.
Either way, Majesty, the position you offer is still the same one. No, thank
you.”

Looking as though
he had struck her, she drew back. Inside, Caelan’s entrails felt as though they
were being twisted into a knot. She had offered him a future beyond what most
men dreamed of, and he had flung it back in her face. She would hate him now.
Could he blame her?

“I see,” she said.
Humiliation burned in her voice. “You have made things quite clear.”

He sighed.
“Please. I didn’t mean—”

“You have said
enough,” she told him with a gesture of dismissal. “This incident is best
forgotten. We will not discuss it again.”

His dismay grew.
“I’m sorry I hurt you. I—”

“Please do not
apologize,” she broke in, her voice cool and haughty. “As you said, you are no
longer my guardsman, or my protector, or my friend.”

“That isn’t what I
meant—”

“I think it was
precisely what you meant.”

He opened his
mouth to protest when he heard a sound, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to
come from somewhere deep inside him. It was a voice, calling to him.

His blood froze in
his veins. Turning his head, he looked down at the ruins and saw the mist
curling back, parting to reveal an enormous mound of earth in the heart of the
city. Fragments and rubble lay strewn around it.

Caelan’s vision
suddenly leaped. Disoriented, he realized he could see every detail of those
fragments as clearly as though he stood next to them. He found himself staring
at a broken chair— no, a throne. It was immensely large, too large for any man
to sit on. The pieces were made of gold, unblackened even by fire and age. The
sides had once been solid slabs of the precious metal, with monsters carved to
flank the throne on either side. One half of a snarling visage remained, its
lifeless eyes staring back at Caelan.

He stood there as
though his feet had frozen, and had an unwanted vision of Beloth sitting on
that throne, towering over his suppliants. Dark coils of smoke belched forth
from openings in the ground.
Shyrieas
perched on the tall back of the
throne like pets, their wings folded, talons dark against the bright gold. A
gaming table stood before the shadow god, and tiny humans stood upon the
squares, crying piteously.

“Free me,” said
the voice of Beloth.

Caelan staggered
back into the cliff wall. The jolt, however, did not free him from the terrible
gaze of Beloth. It felt as though fire was blazing inside his skull, turning
his thoughts inside out. Sweating, he writhed, unable to break away.

“Speak my name
aloud, and free me,” Beloth commanded. “You have the power to
sever
my
bonds. Speak!”

Caelan screamed.

“Caelan!” Elandra
cried out. She gripped him and shook him hard.

Jolted from the
vision, Caelan blinked and saw her face instead of Beloth’s. He shuddered and
covered his eyes with his hands.

“What is it?” she
demanded in alarm. “What is wrong? Why do you stare at the ruins? What do you
see there?”

The forbidden name
felt heavy on Caelan’s tongue. He suddenly wanted to say it aloud to make it
ring through the air. He wanted to tip back his head and shout it.

The sound of
Beloth’s deep voice echoed through his mind. Panting hard, he stared at the
mound of earth that marked the god’s tomb and felt himself shaking violently
all over. His mouth clamped shut in fear, and he battled the urge to speak
until Beloth’s unspoken name burned in his mouth and felt branded on his
tongue.

Sweat popped out
on his forehead. He could not fight this. His strength was nothing against the
force of the god’s will. He was being crushed from inside. His heart was
jerking, no longer able to beat. He could not breathe. Fire was consuming his
veins.

“No,” he gasped.
“No. No!”

But the darkness
was reaching for him, engulfing him, and he could not fight it, could not even
sever
himself to flee it.

Screaming, he went
down.