The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (31 page)

What I desired was to lick the streams of water off her body, but I could barely keep up with how fast she was switching tactics. From one minute to the next Sienn was bold, demeaning, aloof, seductive, and a little bit too desperate.

Gliding toward me, the water broke around her body. It fell away as she stood and stepped out of the tub. Droplets fled the ends of her hair and ran swiftly down over the pale skin of her bare breasts. They soaked into my breeches as she knelt down in front of me and placed her hands on my knees.

I took a shaky breath. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Shhh.” Her hands slid; up my legs, my stomach, my chest, my shoulders.

“Sienn, don’t.” But it was a weak protest. I wanted her hands on me. I wanted mine on her. To find out if she responded like Imma, if she felt the same, tasted the same.

Her fingers wandered over my face. I grabbed them. Water trickled off her skin onto my wrist and it was still hot. If it were real it would have cooled by now.

I jerked away and stood. “Is this a spell? Did you cast this on me?”

“Your lust?” On her knees, she looked up at me and laughed. “No, Ian. Fate pulls us together.”

“Fate doesn’t like me.”

“Perhaps he likes me.” Multi-hued eyes on mine, Sienn began crawling, catlike, up the front of me. “You like me, don’t you?” Slowly, she rubbed her wet, naked body over my swollen groin, wound her arms around my neck and into my hair, and said, “You like me a lot.”

Held hostage by her eyes, my mouth moved reflexively toward hers. “More likely it’s magic. Another way for Draken to distract me from the Crown of Stones.”

“Such a wary man,” she teased. “Do you always look for something to mistrust?”

Putting a hand on her moist, bare hip, I pulled her in tighter. “I usually don’t have to look very far.”

Sienn opened her mouth to reply and I pushed my tongue inside. Her responding kiss was slow and sensual. Her hands roamed with a measured, easy pace, as if she was in no hurry to discover me.
Not like Imma. Not at all,
I thought, pleased. I liked the idea of leisurely exploring every inch of her.

Yet, tension had my entire body strung so tight it ached, and the more Sienn’s tongue stroked mine, the deeper her fingers kneaded my arms and back, the more I wanted to push her down on the bench, the floor—up against the wall. Where didn’t matter; only the outcome. I was desperately in need of the one thing I was never allowed in the dreams: release.

I dropped the bottle. My hands on her ass, I steered Sienn toward the wall and a blur of light flashed across my eyes.

Transitory, gone by the time we made contact, I dismissed it in favor of Sienn’s mouth. It was incredibly supple, her tongue agile and demanding.

The flash repeated. It lingered briefly, granting me a moment of form and color that were alarmingly familiar.

No,
I thought.
Not here. Not now
.

It came again, a burst of vibrancy. Suddenly, it was dark skin I was touching. A young, round face I was kissing. The damp body against me was small and strong.

Long curling, black hair fell wet over my arms. Full, found breasts pressed against me.

Trying to banish the apparition, I yanked Sienn closer. I kissed her harder. The lips beneath mine responded, but there was blood on the air. It was on her skin, her lips.

I could taste it in her mouth.

Pulling away in disgust, I looked into a set of wide, Arullan eyes.

A bruised mouth said, “Save me.”

I cried out—a wordless scream of rage—and the illusion shattered. The girl was gone and Sienn was standing naked in front of me, with a disturbing mix of humiliation and fearful dismay in her eyes. I knew I should say something. I just didn’t have the strength.

Despondent and breathless, I turned away, and Sienn pulled me back. Her smile compassionate, she silently and gently smoothed the hair from my face.

There was genuine kindness in the gesture, and I hadn’t expected that.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I folded her into my chest. I wrapped my arms around the small of her back and pulled her close. It wasn’t an advance. There was nothing sexual in the embrace. I just held her, drinking in the quiet, breathing in the steam.

Gradually, like she knew I needed it, Sienn put her arms around me too, and I couldn’t deny it felt nice. Her embrace was warm and accepting. It made me yearn to slow down and relax, to stop fighting against the dream and against myself. It tried to convince me to let go of the indignity and the pretense, and admit that I wasn’t okay. That I was barely holding on and I needed help. I just wasn’t sure I needed it from her.

With difficulty, I broke away and stepped back.

“You’re going,” she said; with more anger than surprise.

“It’s for the best.”

“Why? Because I’m not Imma, I’m not some barmaid you can lead around like a puppet? Some whore you can pay and walk away from? Is that what you want from me? Is that all you want for yourself?”

I looked straight into her eyes. “No. It’s not.”

“Then listen to me, Ian. Fate wants us together. I know you can feel it. Open yourself up. We are the same.” Sienn took my hand and placed it over her heart. It was beating strong and fast. I felt the pounding echo up my arm. My pulse stepped up to match hers and they formed a perfect, synchronous rhythm that seemed to resonate through us both. “It’s wondrous, isn’t it?” she said, watching amazement creep into my eyes. “I can show you how it’s done. I can show you so many things. With my instruction, your magic will rise to heights you can’t possibly imagine.”

I hid my disappointment in a dark, angry laugh. “Damn, you’re good,” I said, moving her aside. “But you’re wasting your time.” I went to the door and drew the bolt back. “No matter how many tricks you play, or how times you take your clothes off, I’m not joining your damn cause.” I gave Sienn one last, regretful look, and left her.

TWENTY EIGHT

T
he guise of Imma gawked at me from the kitchen. Underneath it, Sienn emoted nothing with her borrowed Kaelish face. She just stared, waiting for me to pull myself together and come clean.

She was entitled to it, having just bore witness to my violent waking. Watching my mind shifting back into reality, hearing me choke back a startled cry as recognition of my surroundings settled in; I’d be a fool to try and convince her nothing was wrong.

I just didn’t have the nerve to tell her that while the rest of the house slept soundly, roused by the gentle, pre-morning light streaming through the windows, I’d been in a dark cave, hanging by my wrists over a pit of fire, awakened by my own screams.

I could still feel the hot smoke in my lungs.

Needing water, I reached into one of the bags piled beside me on the floor, and knocked into something. As it tipped, rolled, and smashed into the stone edging of the fireplace, I realized it was the bottle I’d left in the bathhouse. Even after dropping it, and now banging it into the hearth, it was still intact, and as full as it was at dinner.

Bottomless and unbreakable
, I thought gratefully.

Helping myself to it, I found the courage and looked at her. Still, I said nothing, and neither did she. The alarm in Imma’s eyes made clear Sienn’s wish to know what was wrong. The longing in mine said I wanted to tell her. Yet she didn’t ask and I didn’t offer. Neither of us was willing to speak
first, and the moment stretched so long it could have easily turned awkward. Instead, it became something else, something intimate and vulnerable. It became the bathhouse all over again, with that same sense of crushing desire rising in me and the same, inexplicable attraction building between us.

It grew rapidly, making the impulse to go to her, to confess the dreams and beg her to make them stop—to strip off her dress and take her right there in the kitchen—so powerful, I could scarcely sit still.

“Sienn…” I said.

Jarryd ploughed through the front door. His abrupt presence startling us both, as Sienn jumped, I stood. Something hit the floor in the kitchen. The bottle fell from my hand, bounced, and didn’t break. There was a table and six chairs between us but we both looked guilty as hell.

If it were Malaq, he would have noticed the tension in the room right off and offered some witty comment that I wouldn’t have found funny. Jarryd, however, shut the door, placed his bow on the table, and didn’t react at all. He was visibly deep in thought.

“Everything all right?” I asked him.

“I guess,” he replied. “Something had Malaq’s horse going for a while.”

“See anything?”

Shaking his head, Jarryd slid the quiver off one shoulder and shrugged with the other. “You know that damn beast of his is quicker to rile than I am.”

I managed a smile. “We should get going. Where’s Malaq?”

Sienn pointed to the floor-to-ceiling curtain dividing the back section of the house. “It was late when he finished with the horses. I let him have my bed.”

I didn’t ask what else she let him have. “Wake him.”

“I’ll do it,” Jarryd said. He moved off and I grabbed my sword belt. I was strapping it around my waist when Sienn came over. She tried to catch my eyes but I wouldn’t let her.

“I’m going on ahead to the trail” I said, pulling on my coat. Slipping on my other sword, I ran a shaky hand through my hair. “I need to cast.”

“It’s more than that,” she said. “You look terrible.” Sienn reached as if to touch me, but I bent down to pick up the rest of my things and she lowered her hand. “I wish you wouldn’t leave. If you stay we can talk this out.”

I settled the bags on my shoulders. Looking at her, I struggled for words, but I couldn’t think of any that would get us past where we left it last night.

Then voices filtered out from behind the curtain and I stopped trying.

“Stall them,” I told her. “I don’t want them getting caught in my spell.”

Moving around her, I went out the front door and down the steps. Jarryd had the horses ready so I threw my packs on Kya’s back and tied them on. I could hear Sienn’s boots treading softly on the dew-wet grass as she followed me out.

“I thought you might want this,” she said.

I glanced back at the wine bottle in her hand. “Thanks.” Taking it, I stuffed it in one of my bags. When I turned again, I found myself resenting the fact that it was Imma I was seeing and not Sienn. “Can you break a dream-weave?” I asked abruptly.

The question didn’t seem to make sense to her at first. Then it did. “On you?” I nodded and she frowned. “I’m guessing it wasn’t traditionally done?” I nodded again and her expression deepened. “I’ve never worked with one.”

“Oh.” Her tone lacked the confidence I needed. “Never mind then.”

“Wait,” she said. “How many dreams have you had?”

“I don’t know.” I swallowed. “A lot.”

“Then it’s likely too late to reverse the damage.”

Reluctantly, I said, “What damage?”

“It depends on the dream. If its goal was to make you deathly afraid of spiders, I can cast a spell that will keep you from seeing spiders in your dreams. But the ones you’ve already had, the experiences and sensations of those dreams, are already imprinted on your mind. They’re woven into who you are.” Distress softened Imma’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Ian. They’re true memories now.”

“No,” I shook my head. “You have to take them out. There has to be a way.”

“That’s the deadly side of a dream-weave. If it isn’t properly managed, or it goes on too long, it wraps around your mind. It merges with your other memories, making it impossible to remove the false ones without drastically altering who you are.”

“I’m already altered, Sienn.” Anguish lowered my voice. “I
see
things.”

“Is that what happened last night, in the bathhouse?” I said nothing and she came closer. “With focus and concentration you can train yourself not to run when a spider drops from the ceiling. You can learn to live with it.”

“Spiders,” I laughed. “If only it were that simple.”

“Come back inside, Ian. Let me try to end the spell. You clearly need sleep.”

“No. We’ve been here too long already.”

“Just give me an hour. If can banish the dream, you’ll never have to see it again.”

Her words sounded so final. “Never?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it, to be rid of what comes to you when you sleep?”

“It is. But…”

Never?
An irrational panic tightened my chest and I suddenly realized how precious it all was. How precious the Arullan girl was to me. She was a figment, a ghost. A piece of bait that Draken and his witch threw out for me to catch. But the hook was in me so deep now that the torture, the pain of watching her die, was nothing.

It was the thought of losing her, of never being home again, that terrified me.

I grabbed hold of Kya’s reins. “I have to go.”

“You’re in no shape to ride. Let me stop this.”

“And then what?” I shouted, making her flinch and back away. “If I stop dreaming, what am I left with? Memories? Obsession? A craving that can never be satisfied? How am I supposed to live like that? How am I supposed to live without…”
her,
I thought. I put my boot in the stirrup and took to the saddle. “Ask him, Sienn,” I said, turning Kya around. “Ask your friend, Jem, about Draken and the crown. And if you don’t like his answer, then get as far away as you can.” I gave the mare a kick. “Because I’m coming for him, and you damn sure don’t want to be there when I do.”

TWENTY NINE

M
y ears split with her cries. My wrists burned as I pulled against the chains, trying to move that last, final space that would let me touch her before she died.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” Draken stepped over her body like a puddle of mud in the street. “No more pain. No more of this.” He nudged her leg with his boot. “You are in control, Troy. More in control than you realize, of many things.”

Leaning back against the wall behind me, I held up my shackled hands. “If I had any say in my life, do you think it would have come to this?”