The Fisherman's Daughter (6 page)

“It is not proper,” he says. “I must go. It is too soon to linger with you through the night.”

And yet he still doesn’t move. He stands there, waiting, and she can hear his breaths start to tremble.

She shakes with nervousness… and anticipation. If she’s going to do this, she’s going to do this now. “I don’t care. Stay the night with me.” She knows what men and women are supposed to do. She’s heard of it and seen it in the creatures of the forest. She’s never experienced it herself, and her father never spoke of it. But she wants him to stay, to test him… but not just that. She wants him to stay for herself.

He lets his hand fall to his side. He slowly turns. “Leave us, Tomoril.” She had forgotten the servant was still present.

The servant obeys, closing the door behind him. Prince Kaladan turns the lock and then approaches her slowly. “Why?” he asks. “Why must I stay?” His eyes dare her to say it.

“Be with me,” she tells him, voice trembling. Her heart beats loudly in her ears, and she finds it hard to draw breath for words. “I want to claim you, by right of my body.”

He stands so close to her now, never breaking eye contact. The depth of his blue gaze makes her feel dizzy, but she manages to keep her ground, unflinching.

“It is forbidden,” he whispers.

How far can I push him?
“My prince, you have already done what is forbidden by bringing me here. You have already taken the life of one of your own for me. Do not let that blood be spilled without reason. Take what is yours; I offer myself to you freely.”

Faster than she can see, he seizes the collar of her gown and tears it asunder, pulling the silk away to expose her breasts to the air. “I am your slave,” he murmurs in despair. “I am helpless before you.”

He kneels before her, and she cradles his head to her bosom. He kisses her breast, taking her nipple into his lips and tenderly biting.

“Then we are even,” she says while sucking in a breath. “For I know you will never let me go.”

He holds her tight and stands, lifting her off the ground. He carries her to the bed and lays her back, pulling the rest of her gown away. She props herself up on her elbows, half sitting and bending one knee, swaying it gently back and forth.

Kaladan lets his own clothes slide away, and she can’t help but admire his angular hips and chiseled chest, creating a delicious convergence of lines down his body. He moves as she expects from a prince of magic, liquid motions as he slides onto the bed beside her. As his fingers brush over her hips, her thoughts of testing him, of studying him, fall away, and she surrenders to the bliss of their lovemaking.

“It’s true then! Kaladan, what have you done?”

Meiri awakens, not wanting to rise from the comfort of her slumber beside her prince. It’s warm and safe here, and she’s content sharing in the captivity of his desire.

His desire… he suffers some glamour, but it is his greatness that allows him to capture me so.
She curls her toes and smiles, sliding against her lover’s naked body.
Whose voice was that?

The covers are torn from the bed, and an elven woman stands over the two of them, face flushed hot in anger. She has similar blonde hair and blue eyes to Kaladan’s. “I made Tomoril tell me,” she accuses. “He’s loyal, I’ll give him that. It took a while to get him to confess your treason.”

Meiri frowns. “Who is this?”

“Silence!”
the woman commands.

Kaladan rises from the bed and stands before the woman, apparently unconcerned with his nakedness. “My sister, Princess Uendil.” He glances down at Meiri. “Yes, it’s true. I have fastened upon a human.”

“You know what this means.”

“It means you must choose to keep my secret,” the prince replies, “or declare me
saldaka
.”

“You should recuse yourself of this city. Father would be merciful with you and let you choose exile. You’re his son!”

Kaladan shakes his head. “No. It is because I am his son that father will have me killed. I have been betrayed by my heart, and he will see it as mercy. I’m sorry you saw this. I didn’t want to put you in this situation.”

Uendil’s face twists in anguish. “Then run away! Leave this place, and take her with you! I cannot bear to see you dead.”

Kaladan’s face grows grim as he reaches for a robe, slipping it over his shoulders. He retrieves the covers from the floor and brings them to Meiri so she might cover herself. Meiri eyes the torn gown from the night before and wonders if she will see Tomoril again to ask him to bring her some more clothes.

“I will not,” he says. “This is my home, and I would have her here, not in their barbaric lands.”

“Then you force me to keep your secret!” Uendil cries in anguish. Meiri’s heart shudders in cold fear when Uendil makes eye contact with her again. The elf woman’s face reflects such venom that the human woman shrinks away. “My love for my brother is the only thing protecting you,” she says. “If our father ends his life, you will not live the day.”

Uendil turns and leaves the room, but not before she says to her brother, “And set wards on your door. Already she makes you reckless.”

After the princess departs, Kaladan walks to the door and lays his hands on it, uttering words of magic. Light flashes around the door’s edges and then fades.

“She’s right,” he says. “I have grown careless, because the more I’m with you, the more I can only think of being with you.” He pushes her back on the bed and kneels, rising to her body under the covers. She wants to speak, but his tongue fills her with a gentle sweetness that rises and will not be ignored. She surrenders once more to his passion, and the sun has risen higher by the time they rest again in each other’s arms. She lays her head on his chest, listening to the rise and fall of his breath.

“The Archmage will find me out, eventually,” he says as he strokes her hair. “He will kill us both.”

She grows still. She knows she must push again. “I refuse to accept such a fate,” she tells him. “You are powerful. I know it in your touch, and in your eyes when you look at me.” She rests her hand over his heart. “I know you can find a safe place for us.”

He kisses the crown of her head and sighs. “It will be done.” He rises from the bed, pulling his clothing back on. “I will send Tomoril back to see to your needs until I return.”

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“It is no trivial task you require,” he says, “to become the Archmage.”

And then, with a word of magic, he vanishes. She sits alone in the room in shock. She is playing with a magical storm beyond her understanding.

A week passes. Then a month. Tomoril continues to bring her food and clothing. He ensures she’s comfortable but won’t tell her the prince’s whereabouts. He provides neither conversation nor distraction. Meiri paces the room, unable to wait in peace as the days drag by. Stress and worry slowly dissolve into boredom. She spends most of her time sitting at the window, looking out over the towers, drinking the wine Tomoril brings.
Can one die of boredom?
she thinks. She grows soft and plump in places that had been hard and lean. She wonders if she could run across the shoreline or pilot a fishing boat like she used to, or would she lose her breath?

Every day she asks Tomoril, “Do you think he’s forgotten me?”

And every day, Tomoril replies, “No he has not. I am sure of it. Be patient, my lady.”

Then one day loud cracking sounds echo through the city from the streets. She rushes to the window to see what is happening.

Fire burns outside, and smoke rises between the towers. She sees elf battling elf, wands raised to direct elemental fury down upon each other.

“What’s happened?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Everything Prince Kaladan has worked for is coming to fruition. All because he can’t help but love you.”

She wonders if she hears bitterness in Tomoril’s voice. Bitterness that eats away at his loyalty.

Then she sees him. Across the way, on a bridge between two neighboring towers, stands Prince Kaladan. Fury contorts his face, and he is terrible to behold. He confronts another elf, this one with white hair and a crown of floating jewels. The lines of age frame his eyes, and she guesses this one is older than the prince.

“You betray us all!” says the elder.

“Our ancestors sprang from humanity’s greatest dreams,” Kaladan tells him. “And by forbidding us to know them, you have denied us the greatest beauty. The love of our creators.”

“Blasphemy!” the elder spits. “You are no longer my son. You are
saldaka,
you and all your followers. You create
saldaka
and then lead them here in defiance of our ancient traditions. Never before has one of the sidhe defied the Imperium.”

There are more?

“You cannot stop us, Father. Your magic is weak. Unprepared. I challenge you for the mantle of Archmage.”

The elder sneers. “You cannot create such beauty as I. I have no equal in the magical arts.” He raises his wand and creates a vision of such indescribable splendor that Meiri weeps from where she watches at the window.

Beside her, Tomoril whispers in her ear, “By tradition, the prince will build his own vision of beauty. If his is greater, the Archmage must concede. Or the prince will stand down.” Tomoril sounds hopeful.

Prince Kaladan shakes his head. “I can never concede to your lack of vision. You know not what I have seen in the human soul.”

The prince points his wand, and Meiri wonders what vision he’ll evoke that he’s so sure he’ll best his father.

Meiri gasps and Tomoril utters a cry of disbelief. Lightning erupts from Kaladan’s wand, seizing his father in its current. Sheets of electricity cascade over the Archmage’s writhing form, and the old elf screeches in agony. Smoke rises from cooking flesh, and Kaladan holds his wand steady until his father falls silent. The dead body continues to writhe in the lightning’s grasp before Kaladan finally releases the magic.

Princess Uendil appears on the bridge across from her father’s corpse. Her wand is raised, as if ready to strike back at the prince, but then she sees the Archmage lying in lingering smoke. Her lips press together, and she lowers her wand. “It is already done,” she laments. “Your followers have slain most of the elders. It’s been generations since we’ve needed spells of war prepared at our fingertips. We’ve grown soft and never foresaw a threat rising against us, especially from within.”

“Do you challenge me?” he asks.

She bows her head. “To challenge you would only mean more sidhe blood spilled. You are the Archmage. What is your command?”

“We will open our city to the human refugees,” Kaladan replies. “They will walk freely in our streets, and we will mingle with them.”

“Then we are all doomed to become
saldaka
,” she replies. “The High Court has fallen. We are the Exile Court.”

Prince Kaladan steps towards her over his father’s body and strikes her once on the cheek. “Never say that. If all are
saldaka,
then none truly are.”

Meiri turns away from the window. Adrenaline shoots through her limbs, and she breathes in excitement. Can she walk freely now? Her prince will come for her again, and they will… what? Rule together? From fisherman’s daughter to slave to elf queen. No one had ever risen so high. Thoughts of Lord Keeva and the other rulers of Fairholm who raided the lake villages fill her with newfound anger. Kaladan will take in the human slaves and refugees. Living as pets to the elves is better than the abuse of human masters, or starving in the wilds. But can she live by the side of the elf prince, one who has killed so many? His soul has rotted and is no better than Lord Keeva’s now. Maybe worse.

“Magic of aggression. How human.” Grief shakes Tomoril’s words. “I have always loved his wisdom…” Tomoril turns from the window. “But has his love for your beauty replaced his love for wisdom? I must trust my prince. I must believe he sees more deeply than me.”

She clutches her hand to her chest and slumps against the wall.
I must be careful.

The door opens and Prince Kaladan enters the room. Meiri stands quietly, doing all she can to keep her composure. Her emotions threaten to tear her heart open. Part of her shrinks away in disgust from the man who murdered so many in her name. From the man who killed his own father. Thoughts of her own father come unbidden to her mind, and she launches herself at the Archmage, pounding his chest futilely with her fists.

“Monster!” she cries out, angry tears falling over her cheeks. She wants to run past him and break free. But there is another part of her that ignites under his gaze. She wants this magical force of nature standing in front of her to overwhelm and consume her being. In that moment, he is everything terrible in the world, the living embodiment of the fate that has dominated her life. In that moment she recognizes the futility of resisting him, but not just him, of the unfeeling universe. But here, embodied in this elf prince, fate
wants
her. And now that fate has a face, with lips she can kiss and breath she can touch, she sees fate might have something to offer in return. She swoons and falls into his arms.

He holds her tight. He breath is ragged, and he whispers in tormented fervor. “I have done as you asked,” he said, “and even more.” She can hear the echo of her own soul’s war in his voice: desire, despair, anger at fate, and excitement all melting into a thick cord of passion.

“It’s safe to leave these rooms?” she asks softly. “I want to walk through the woods again and feel the open sky on my face.”

He picks her up in his arms, showering her face with kisses. He lays her on the bed. “Hush,” he says. “I will never let you leave. You are too precious a thing. But I will visit you every night.”

His worship intoxicates her. She wants to tell him no, but her heart thuds against her throat. It doesn’t matter, her mind’s indignation over the transgression of dominating her so completely, because it is the same domination that excites her so. Her irritation dissolves before her body’s overwhelming desire that he touch her deeply.