The Charmer (20 page)

It was too late anyway.

With an ominous creak, the gates opened again
and spawned a new horror. Thirty Haunt soldiers marched out and
surrounded the riders, who backed their mounts into a loose ring.
These were not cadets. Jasmine began to rise to her feet, but
Jayems clamped a hand on her arm and dragged her back down. He kept
it manacled around her wrist, too, just as a precaution.

Jasmine could not sit still. The Haunt
advanced with eerie silence, and the only sounds were the grunts of
the fighters and the clash of blades. She tried to remind herself
that no one was going to be killed, that this wasn’t a real battle,
but there was nothing feigned about the cat-like maneuvers and
powerful strikes of the Haunt.

A man was finally dragged, swearing, off his
mount. Several women screamed as the Haunt swarmed over him, and
only Jayems’ hand on her forearm kept her in her seat. Incredibly,
the black sea seemed to struggle for several long seconds, and at
least one Haunt drew back with a roar of rage before the warrior
was bound and drug off. The procedure was repeated until only six
riders and precious few Haunt remained.

“They’re fighting under a handicap,” Jayems
explained, perhaps trying to distract her. “If not for that, we
would have needed to use more than twice as many Haunt.”

Jasmine’s lips parted.
More than
twice?

For the first time, she noticed that the
three captured men had been dragged over to the wall next to the
gates, and now hung there, chained with their hands over their
heads. Their feet barely touched the ground. More Haunt poured onto
the field, surrounding them. The six remaining riders briefly
conferred, and then they attacked.

Flash grenades exploded. Mathin swept in
close on his stag and swung a whip at the legs of the Haunt front
line, dragging several down. One of the other riders had a cord
with weighted ends, and he took out a soldier by throwing it around
his neck as he rode by, letting the weight at the ends twist around
his neck. Unfortunately, the Haunt had the same cords, and one of
the stags went down with it wrapped around his legs. His rider
continued to fight on foot while the stag was freed and rushed out
of battle.

A commotion started at the back of the line,
and Jasmine gasped. Somehow, one of the chained warriors had gotten
loose, commandeered a blade, and freed one of his brothers. They
were wreaking havoc from the back of the line.

Deafening cheers broke out from the crowd,
and this time Jayems let her go as she rose to her feet, urging the
fighters on at the top of her lungs. They were winning!

Keilor thundered by and with a powerful move
that could have severed the man’s wrist if he’d missed, he flung
his tomahawk at the chains binding the third man. The mob went wild
with exuberance when the head buried itself deeply in the wall,
severing the chains and freeing the prisoner.

The cheering turned to boos and hisses of
outrage as more Haunt poured out of the gates in an endless black
wave. It took them a considerable amount of effort, but finally,
only Keilor and Mathin were left mounted.

Drums pounded and Jasmine settled back into
her seat as the Haunt receded, taking its prisoners along with it.
Mathin and Keilor dismounted and sent their stags off the
field.

“Now they fight to determine the winner,”
Jayems explained to her.

She tried to calm down, a little shocked at
how difficult it was. This morning she’d been determined to hate
the men who were fighting so heroically, convinced she was worth
nothing to any of them. How could she still believe that after
seeing them today? How could any woman be unmoved by the sheer
magnetism of such powerful, masterful men?

And they fought for her! These primal,
beautiful men fought over
her
! She’d never even been given
flowers before she came here, and now men fought for her as if she
were a prize worth dying for. The enormity of it made her thoughts
spin like a top.

Keilor and Mathin did not waste time
dithering. At the signal, both men unsheathed their swords with
lightning fast moves and had at it.

The individual moves were a confusing blur.
Both men fought as if they’d just came fresh from their beds, not
spent the morning fighting off hoards of opponents. The men were
nearly equals in size, strength and endurance. What would tip the
scales of the fight?

Mathin on a normal day was difficult to
defeat. Mathin with charmer scented victory in his nostrils was a
demon.

Keilor fought him with every ounce of energy
and concentration at his command, sparing no thought to Mathin’s
increase in prowess since last he’d sparred with him, years ago.
The boy had held the promise of greatness. The man surpassed
it.

But Mathin was making no progress against
him, either. Time and again their blades struck, and neither man
faltered or so much as blinked.

Until their swords locked.

For a moment, they strained against one
another, steel hilts biting into the flesh of their hands, neither
willing to give an inch. Then Mathin said, “Rumor has it you’ve
been at the charmer.” He paused a moment to make certain his
comment fully penetrated Keilor’s battle haze. When he was certain
he had his full attention, he asked suggestively, “Tell me,
how
does she taste?”

He never had a prayer after that.

Chapter 17

“I can’t believe you fainted,” Rihlia said
again. She shook her head.

“Be quiet,” Jasmine grumbled from her
position on the couch. She did
not
want to talk about
it.

Urseya smiled smugly. “I thought it was
romantic. The beautiful, love-sick damsel, swooning at the feet of
her lover…” She sighed, putting a wrist to her forehead and
ignoring Jasmine’s glare. “Everyone will be talking about it.”

Jasmine sat up on her elbows and snapped, “He
is not my lover!”

“Your warrior, then.”

“He’s not my anything!” she protested, but
was interrupted by a snigger in the corner. She glared at Fallon,
who had arrived earlier in the day and had watched from the crowd.
She pointed a finger at him. “You be quiet, too.”

He held up his hand, palm out, in a gesture
of innocence. With a straight face, he said, “Don’t worry, your
secret is safe with me.” He grinned. “However, I think there are
several hundred other witnesses who might possibly slip and tell
him.”

Snorts and open laughter greeted those words.
Why was it that the one and only time she ever fainted had to
happen in front of hundreds of witnesses?

She cringed just thinking about how Keilor
had been presented under her pavilion as the champion. She’d stood
to acknowledge him, and suddenly the blood had drained her head
with sickening speed. The next thing she’d known, Rihlia was
patting her cheeks and demanding to know if she was all right. And
the look on Keilor’s face once he’d realized she had swooned!
Swooned
!

She’d tried to tell everyone it had been just
a little head rush, caused by standing up too fast, but perhaps
she’d protested too much, because no one believed her. Portae had
scoffed and insisted it had definitely been a swoon, caused by too
much excitement, and stated with authority the only cure was lie
down and have some nice, sedative tea.

So here she was, lying on her couch with her
feet up, gagging on a truly awful tea, and being tormented by a
roomful of insensitive clods.

After a bit Rihlia took pity on her, or
perhaps she got tired of her friend’s mulish expression, because
she began shooing people out of the room. Urseya, however, wasn’t
leaving without a parting shot.

“Don’t worry!” she called out as she left.
“If you swoon at his feet again, I’m sure Keilor will find some way
of reviving you.” Fallon grabbed his sister’s arm and started
dragging her.

“I can still sick Mathin on you!” Jasmine
yelled back as the door shut behind them. “Great,” she muttered as
the tea cup she’d been precariously balancing on her stomach,
trying not to sip from, spilled on her dress.

With more muttering, she clinked the cup and
its saucer down on her coffee table and got up to rummage in her
wardrobe. She emerged dressed in her jeans, black T-shirt and bare
feet. She snagged a glass of juice flopped down on the couch again.
Casanova butted her hand, and she absently scratched around his
nubby horns.

Rihlia sprawled in an over-stuffed chair
opposite her and propped her chin on her hand. Eyeing Jasmine’s
clothes, she asked, “Are you planning to wear that for Keilor?”

Jasmine grinned and wriggled deeper into the
couch. “Why not?” She stifled a yawn. “He won’t be here for a while
yet. No doubt his fan club has him busy signing autographs.” No one
had asked him to sign anything, but he
had
been surrounded
by a rather large group of women the last time she’d seen him.

“Jealous, huh?” When Jasmine just sighed and
twisted her glass on her leg, watching the orange juice lap at the
edges, she prodded, “If you don’t like it, what are you going to do
about it?”

Jasmine leaned her head back and let out a
slow breath of air. “Stake a claim, I guess.” She thought for a
minute. “This morning I thought he was pond scum; this afternoon,
he’s looking pretty good. Tomorrow, I might want to kill him again,
but maybe this way I can get him out of my system.” She rolled her
head toward Rihlia. “Avoidance just seems to aggravate the
condition.”

Her friend smiled. “I wondered how long it
would be before you gave it up.” Her smile died, and a very serious
expression came over her face. “There are some things you ought to
know about the Haunt, Jas.” She paused. “I don’t think it’s fair
that you should go into any relationship with Keilor without
knowing the truth about the guards outside the door—” she gestured,
“—and the other soldiers you’ve seen.”

Jasmine watched her without blinking, and she
cleared her throat. “They’ve got a lot more in common than you
think.”

“They’re the same. I know.” Jasmine’s
expression never wavered as she sat up and put her juice on the
coffee table. “I’ve known for a while now.” When Rihlia looked
uneasy, she sighed and laced her hands together. “You were afraid
I’d be scared, weren’t you?”

“You are scared!” Rihlia dropped her feet to
the floor and leaned forward. “I’ve seen you watching the guards.
It scares you spitless, and don’t pretend it doesn’t!” she
finished, almost defiant.

Jasmine bent her neck towards both shoulders,
popping the joints and stalling. “Sure, it scares me. It’s weird,
and I’d be a liar if I said otherwise. But,” she interjected before
she could be interrupted, “I’m not afraid of you, or your family.
It’s just going to take a while to get used to.” She searched for a
comparison. “Kind of like having someone you care for get in a
really bad wreak and mess up their face, or become a burn victim,
or—”

“Burn victim!”

“Hey, don’t take it personally,” Jasmine
admonished her. “You know what I’m trying to say.” She looked deep
into Rihlia’s eyes. “I’ve known you how many years, now? Should I
start believing that suddenly you’re going to go nuts and kill me,
or let anyone else hurt me?”

“No! You know I’d never let that happen.
They’d have to get through me first,” she vowed. “I know you’d do
the same for me, too.”

Jasmine smiled and looked down. “All right.”
She took a deep breath. “I will try not to be so jumpy around the
Haunt, but I can’t promise overnight results, ok?” She slanted a
teasing look at her friend. “You could have warned me sooner,
though.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and said, sotto
voice, “Hey, Jasmine, watch out for these guys, because when the
moons are full they turn into a Wookie!”

“They are not Wookies!” Rihlia protested,
laughing. “They’re more like—” she stumbled.

“Werewolves?” Jasmine supplied, lifting a
brow.

She winced. “They are not werewolves. They
won’t eat you.”

Grinning, she said slyly, “Poor girl. First
you get kidnapped, tricked into marriage, told you couldn’t go back
or
have any visitors, and then to top it all off, you find
out that you married a Wookie.”

Rihlia choked. “They are
not—
” She
giggled, unable to finish.

Jasmine continued blithely on. “I wish I’d
been there to see his face when you told him you were not going to
allow a walking carpet to sleep on the bed.” Rihlia hooted and she
chuckled. Waving a hand, she said with drama, “They say that men
are animals, but really, this is going too far.”

Rihlia wiped her eyes and smiled at her
friend. Then her smile faded. She said soberly, “The first time I
saw him change, I freaked out.”

Jasmine nodded with understanding.

“He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. When
I cringed away from him, he changed back and tried to explain he’d
only shifted in case we ran into danger, that he was better able to
defend us in that form.” She paused to explain, “Apparently they
only take on the Haunt when on guard duty, in training, or when
threatened.” She shook her head and winced. “The things I said to
him.”

She laced her hands together and was silent a
moment. “Things didn’t go well for a while. After everything that
had happened, I couldn’t trust him. Everything was so strange and
scary, and it took a long time for me to figure out that he
wouldn’t hurt me.”

She looked through the window and smiled
faintly. “He’s not a very patient man, my Jayems.” She said ‘my
Jayems’ as if unused to admitting the sentiments revealed by that
simple designation. She continued softly, “It was seeing him fight
so hard to be patient, to wait for me, that made me feel about him
the way I do.”

She looked so poignant, one leg drawn up
pensively, hands clasped around it.