The Twelve Kingdoms (23 page)

Andi touched my hand. “I found something that mattered.”

It stung. “Ordnung should have mattered to you.”

“You can't force loyalty, Ursula. I never felt the way you did.”

“I know.” And I hated it. Uorsin, though, had always treated her with suspicion. Much as I'd tried to coax her into toeing the line, into being a daughter he could trust, I'd also been glad enough for his shunning her. Better that than a more unpleasant sort of attention.

“We'll talk more later. For the moment, come and eat. Rest. I've called someone to tend your injuries as well.”

“I don't need—”

“Thank you, Queen Andromeda,” Harlan cut me off. “We appreciate that.”

She laughed, taking us in. “First Ami, now you. Annfwn is magical, indeed. I'll fetch the healer.”

“Whatever that means,” I muttered darkly, scowling after her.

“I think you know.” Harlan ran a hand up my back, reminding me of the way Rayfe had touched Andi. “You'll feel better to have at least the concussion tended.”

“I'll feel better not to have you all nagging me to death.”

“That, too.”

The Tala healer did not inspire much confidence. Looking like a feral version of the Moranu priestess I'd met at Windroven, she wore her white hair long, in unkempt braids, and possessed light green eyes similar to Ash's. He'd saved Ami's life, I had no doubt, though I'd been banned from watching exactly what he did. The eye color might indicate the healing ability, as it seemed they didn't all have it.

She stepped into the tent I'd been given—surprisingly luxurious within—and stopped immediately upon entering, sucking in a breath so abruptly that Harlan nearly drew his blade. Her gaze fixed on the sword I still wore, then flew to my face.

“Of course she gave it to you,” the priestess murmured, almost to herself. “We should have known. Welcome home, Princess Ursula, daughter of Salena, Star of Danu—we've awaited this day more years than I care to count.” Her brown hands wove a complicated pattern in the air and she knelt, pressing her forehead to my feet.

Harlan hadn't missed a detail, settling himself back on the cushion he'd appropriated to oversee the proceedings, with half a smile for my discomfort and a pointed glance at my sword. No, he hadn't missed a thing. Danu take him for his stubborn refusal to leave me unguarded. As if I needed guarding.

Before I found a way to urge the woman up, she uncoiled with fluid grace and studied me, all professionalism now. “Returning to Annfwn has helped, but you've more healing to do,” she pronounced. “Please sit.”

Figuring to get this over with quickly, I complied, steeling myself not to flinch when her sure touch found the still substantial lump at the back of my skull.

“You took quite a hit,” she observed. “Cracked the bone.”

“And here some claim it's so thick, too.” I flicked a glance at Harlan, who seemed grimly unamused. Magic gathered around the priestess, both like and unlike Andi's. Greener and sparking with life, streaming into me, the pain lessening.

“The nose has been decently reset and should heal clean,” she continued, soothing over my cheekbones and brow arches. “The headache is somewhat from the concussion and the rest from that which eats you up inside. Your back, too.” She stood before me, lifting my face to gaze deeply into my eyes. Mesmerized, I couldn't seem to look away. “Those injuries are not ones I can heal. Because the pain can't find its way out of your body, it lodges in you, crawling into your bones and muscle to hide. Only you can lance the wound, drain the poison. But you must. You will not be able to do what lies ahead if you are not whole.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Feel. Allow yourself to feel and then release it.”

I groped for a reply, but my brain fogged through, sizzling with the fire of her magic. Dimly aware of her lips pressed to my forehead—a benediction that infiltrated my bones with the ache of memory—I lost time for a bit.

So much so that I didn't see her leave.

“B
ack with us?” Harlan inquired.

I shook my head to clear it. Noted that the sunset light slanting through the tent flaps had declined half an hour at least. “This is one of the many reasons I'm not fond of magic,” I commented.

“Understandable.” He rose. “People like you and I prefer what we can lay our hands on.” Drawing me to my feet, he framed my face with his big hands, as if in demonstration. “If I hadn't witnessed the results myself, I wouldn't have believed it. The bruising, the swelling—all gone as if it never was.” His thumbs smoothed over my cheekbones as the priestess had done, but my blood leapt to the caress in a different way, hot, needy. Yearning. “How does your head feel?”

“Better,” I managed, focusing on his mouth. Something about the magic had lit me up from within, and I longed to have his lips on me, his hands. I shouldn't want it, want him, but in the exotic intimacy of the tent, I couldn't quite remember what made having him such a bad idea. The clamoring need drowned all else.

His face grew intent, full of lambent desire. “Ah, my hawk. Don't look at me like that.”

“I didn't mean to.”

“That makes it worse. I don't want to make things more difficult for you.”

“I think—” I had to stop. Try again. “I think I need you to kiss me—would you do that?”

With a groan, he brushed my lips with his, sweet, gentle, tender. The touch burned through me, laying me open as he always seemed able to do. It wasn't enough. I moved in, pressing myself to his muscular body, every pore starving for more. Sliding my hands behind his thick neck, I dug my nails in, drinking in his increasingly hungry kisses in great ravenous bites.

We devoured each other, my hunger feeding his, his fueling mine, his hands roving over my body, me pressing against him as if I might somehow pull him inside of me. Through my skin and into me, into that cold, empty, lonely space.

“Ursula,” he said against my mouth, trying to pull back. I wouldn't let him, nipping his lip to show my displeasure and holding him there to drink from his hot mouth again. He groaned, kissed me back with urgency. Then wrenched himself away, holding me by the shoulders at arm's length.

“What?” I demanded, hurt and determined to cover it. “I thought you wanted me.”

“More than any woman I've known,” he ground out. “But not like this.”

I looked around. “In a tent, you mean?”

Impatient frustration clouded his brow. “You know full well what I mean, Ursula. I won't touch you until I know what happened.”

“Nonsense. Danu take your excuses and your ultimatums,” I snapped.

“It's not like that,” he fired back. “Stop calling it an ultimatum.”

“I won't be pressured into talking about something I don't want to. It's in the past. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“You heard what that priestess said, and even I can see how the poison of it works on you.”

“I don't know that's what she—”

“Of course it is. Maybe it's not the only thing, but it's the worst. Else you'd tell me and be done.”

“You don't need to know. It's private.”

He held out his hands, palms up, showing me something I couldn't see. “What if I do what he did? How can I touch you, not knowing how he hurt you, what might turn pleasure into pain? Don't ask me to do that.”

“It wasn't the pain.” It hadn't hurt nearly as much as some of the blows I'd taken. Even the flat of a blade hadn't made me feel ill that way.

“Then what?” He cursed softly in Dasnarian, framing my face in his hands again. “You go so pale when you think of it. Don't you see that the only way to drain the infection is to let the light in? As a soldier you know that an undrained infection can kill. Sometimes slowly, but all the more lethal because of it. Just say the words.”

It sounded easy, put that way. Just say it. “I—” A burst of laughter from outside caught me. “Not here. Not now.”

To his credit, he didn't comment on the irony that I would have shared my body, but not my words, where we could be overheard. Instead, he nodded, in confirmation.

“After we eat. We'll walk down to the lake where we can be private.”

My stomach knotted at the prospect.
Only you can lance the wound, drain the poison.
I had faced worse than telling a simple story.

Still, at the moment, I'd rather face an army of Tala wolves and dragons than that.

Andi and Rayfe sat at a table on a rise, drinking wine in the golden evening, deep in conversation. They rose as Harlan and I approached, Andi smiling as she surveyed me.

“Much better,” she said in a relieved tone. “Sairah said the blow bruised your brain. You'll tell the story while we eat. Captain Harlan, will you join us?”

For once he seemed uncomfortable. “I don't wish to intrude.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, reminding him he'd shown little such reserve with me.

“The Tala do not much stand on ceremony,” Rayfe said. “The consort of my heart-sister is welcome at my table.”

I drew in a breath to correct him, then stopped myself. If I'd had my way, Harlan would have become my lover mere minutes ago. Whether or not that came to pass, I would not shame him by pretending otherwise. He seemed surprised, then nodded, a small smile on his lips, and held my chair. “Your Highness.”

Andi seemed terribly amused and I narrowed my eyes at her as I sat. “Dasnarians are big on courtesy, I have discovered.”

“Among other things,” Harlan agreed easily.

“No more evasions.” Andi poured me wine. “Tell me how it came to pass that Uorsin beat you before the entire court.”

“That's putting it strongly.” The wine tasted delicious—like sunlight and magic.

“Tell it truly or I will.” Harlan stared me down. “Or we can call over Dafne, who witnessed it also.”

“You all act as if I've never been injured before, giving this incident more weight than it ought to have.” But I gave them the report of the evening as we ate, chary of security details here and there. No sense giving Rayfe of the Tala an advantage, should he decide to attack Ordnung again. I doubted that would come to pass, since he'd won what he sought. Still, Andi might act as if we were merely sisters sitting down for an al fresco dinner with our consorts—something I'd never envisioned for us—but I would not forget that we remained on opposite sides of a contested border.

“Have you heard of these Practitioners of Deyrr?” Andi asked Rayfe when I finished, flashing me a stormy glance before she turned to him, making it clear we had not finished discussing our father. Danu save me.

Rayfe picked up a lock of her hair and wound it thoughtfully around one finger. “There are tales. Some say that certain wizards among the Tala have dabbled in such, black magic, death magic. None do so openly, as it would mean banishment from Annfwn.”

“Hardly a dire punishment,” I commented.

His blue eyes darkened. “On the contrary, Heart-Sister. The Tala dread nothing more. Many would prefer death to separation from our homeland. You knew Salena better than your sisters—surely you saw what she suffered.”

I drank from my wine to cover the cut of that, the remembered bewilderment of watching our mother decline. As a child, I hadn't understood. Even as an adult, I didn't see how not living in Annfwn, lovely though it might be, could make the difference between health, sanity, and . . . whatever you would describe as our mother's behavior in those last years.

“So.” Andi tapped her fingers on the table, clearly still mulling the tale. “This Illyria has designs upon the High Throne. Even should she succeed in marrying Uorsin, that would not change the succession.”

“Except that the High King has already indicated he would put Astar in the role of heir,” I pointed out. “Arguably he sees Astar as the better choice, the son he should have had. What's to prevent him from getting a boy out of Illyria? That would make her queen mother and potentially regent.”

“Particularly if Uorsin executes you,” Harlan inserted.

Andi stilled, that thundercloud sense gathering. “Is it that bad? I knew you weren't telling us everything.”

“No, it's not that bad.” I glared at Harlan, regretting the impulse to have him join us. He returned my stare evenly.

“Regardless of the High King's motivations,” he spoke to Andi and Rayfe, “Lady Mailloux, Ursula's own lieutenants, and I all agreed the situation had reached such a level that it seemed wisest to extract the heir as hastily as possible, despite injuries that made travel a poor decision.”

“Which is why we must find Amelia and bring her and Astar to Ordnung,” I stepped in, determined to divert the course of this speculation.

“Is that the best idea?” Rayfe interrupted. “If your life has been in danger, surely an alternate heir's would be also.”

I was already shaking my head. “I'm not further discussing internal politics with an erstwhile enemy of Ordnung. Annfwn has no stake in this situation. I'm updating my sister on events in her family and appealing to you both to allow this rescue mission.”

“This has everything to do with Annfwn, Ursula!” Andi's magic snapped with her temper. “You might not think you need help, but by Moranu, you have it. The High Throne of the Twelve belongs to you by right—and by our mother's sacrifice. There are good reasons she laid the plans she did.”

“How do you know her plans weren't for Ami's son to take the throne?” I pointed out to her. “Salena waited out those years for her third daughter to be born. She'd had you, born with the mark to fulfill her obligation to her people.” I nodded toward Rayfe, who inclined his head in tacit acknowledgment. “Perhaps her plan had been to birth Astar's mother all along. We can't know what she meant to do that the childbirth sickness prevented.”

“That makes no sense—you were born to be heir,” Andi insisted.

Unless Salena had seen how flawed I was, how unsuited to follow in my father's footsteps. I let the wine ease that ache. So many ways I'd failed.

“Besides”—Andi took a deep breath—“I'm convinced that Uorsin killed our mother.”

I set the goblet down. Andi held my gaze, waiting. “That's a horrifying and treasonous accusation.”

“He's not my King,” she replied.

As if I needed reminding that she'd defected. “You have no reason to think it.”

“Don't I? Ami thinks so, too. Lady Zevondeth knows the truth. She's been trying to tell us, in her way.”

“Zevondeth is old, possibly demented from age and illness. Her words cannot be relied on.”

“Ursula!” Andi reached across the table and took my hands. “I know you think Uorsin is a great king, but he's a tyrant. He's abused his power and now I think he's treated you worse than ever we guessed. How can you defend him?”

“He is the King. I'm loyal to that. It's my duty to be. It's not my place to judge him.”

“Loyalty does not have to be blind and deaf,” Andi insisted.

I shook her off. “Coming from someone who discarded her filial loyalty to pledge herself to the enemy, that's not a convincing argument. Keep to Annfwn and the Tala, Andi—this has nothing to do with you anymore.”

She made a sound of incoherent frustration.

“What about the Star of Annfwn?” Harlan asked.

Rayfe sat upright, as if stung, and Andi and I both rounded on the mercenary. She with astonishment and me with righteous anger. He stared me down, not bothered in the least. “Illyria sought it in your mother's jewels. I told you that I—and I feel I can safely speak for Dasnaria—would have a concern over anything the Temple of Deyrr pursues so diligently. It occurs to me that Annfwn would also have a stake in something named for it.”

“You have the Star of Annfwn?” Rayfe demanded.

“That's what you brought through the barrier,” Andi said at the same time.

Rayfe rounded on her. “You knew, Andromeda, and didn't tell me?”

“I didn't know what it was,” she returned. “Don't pull that attitude on me. If you want to be helpful, you can explain the significance of it.”

“Why don't
you
explain, Uorsin's heir?” Rayfe focused on me. “How came you to have this jewel?”

“Jewel?” Andi echoed. She knew, then. It showed in her face though she avoided looking at my sword, having at least that much discretion still.

“I've never seen it.” Rayfe's intent gaze swept over me. “I thought it a myth, in truth. It's described as perfectly round and smooth, light amber in color, and shines as if lit from within.” He touched Andi's chin then, lifting it so she met his eyes. They exchanged a long moment of wordless communication.