Time Dancer (10 page)

Feena handed him the lamp and lifted her skirts. Jana followed and soon the sound of tearing cotton grated in the stillness.

“Your mother is in our chambers so she’s safe enough. I wish I knew where your brother was.”

“He’s busy.” Batu’s pained grin was sheepish. “He has a lady friend and didn’t return last night.”

The king’s brows rose. “All night? Who?”

“I’d rather you talk to him about that.” Batu grimaced.

“I will.” The king pressed the whiskey bottle at his son. “Drink, quickly and deeply.”

“Trying to get me drunk, Papa?” Batu’s chuckle was grim.

The king didn’t laugh. “I wish I could. But a bit will help brace you against the pain.” Batu lifted the bottle and swallowed several times. Two piles of torn white cloth strips landed on the ledge beside him. King Taric had Feena sit, holding the light high. He turned and drew Jana a pace deeper into the dark.

“I can hold him still but you must pull the arrows out. Can you do that, Jana?”

The scent of blood filled the tiny space. Blood. Her stomach roiled with the loud voiceless call to dance but she commanded it to remain quiet. She had to help here, now, in the present. “Of course, but I’ve never done anything like that.”

“I’ll talk you through it.” The king squeezed her upper arm then spun back to his son. He grabbed a wad of cotton and twisted it into a rope, offering it to his son. “Bite on this. Try not to make much noise.”

All their gazes looked up, to the unseen ceiling that still echoed with activity. Whether it was Eldwyn’s soldiers or an invading force was unknown. Batu nodded, bit down on the linen and fisted his fingers in Feena’s skirt.

The monarch’s crested ring on the king’s right hand caught the illumination and sparkled as he pointed to the weapon. “A swift yank then tight pressure. Move quickly, Jana, on three.”

She ripped a smaller section of cotton from the pile. The king gripped Batu’s leg above and below the wound. Girding her courage, she sucked in a breath and knelt beside him. Her fingers trembled as she took hold of the slim shaft.

“One, two, three!”

Jana tore the shaft free and slapped the wadded cotton on the gash. Batu bucked but no sound came from him. Jana dropped the arrow and leaned into the padding, putting as much pressure on the cut as she dared. A hand on her shoulder moved her back.

“Bite, Batu!”

The words had scarcely left the king’s lips before whiskey splashed into the bleeding wound. A grunt flew from Batu’s gut and his body jerked. Tight lines stood out against his clenched jaw. King Taric clamped his hands once more around his son’s leg, nodding to Jana. She hurried, wrapping strips of linen around balled cotton and knotting it tightly.

“There. It’s done, rest a minute.” The king sat back on his haunches and hung his head. Overhead, a shout broke through the stone, words indecipherable but the tone heavy with command. “What the hell is happening? How could a troop get through the gates and by all the guards?”

“The kirk.” Batu’s voice rasped dryly and he gratefully took the bottle, sipping once more. “The attack came from the chapel roof. I don’t know how many.”

Jana laid her clammy head on the stone bench, the chill burning her skin. Thick blood covered her hands and she wiped them along her skirt. The coppery smell gagged her. She could feel the stickiness on her hands and choked her nausea back.

A shifting in her soul raised her head. She couldn’t see beyond the dim glow of the single lamp but somehow she knew. Darach was there in the darkness. This small room encased in stone kept them hidden but it could not keep Darach away.

She rose to her knees. She felt him. She squinted, trying to see through the nothingness.

The pulse of magic was a living shadow that surrounded him. Four steps into the black and breath sailed into her body. Her lips spoke his name but no sound came.

Decadently smooth, his voice caressed her. “I have returned,
nayeli
.”

She reached out, afraid to feel wetness, the protrusion of wood and steel, the torn flesh. Rock-hard skin met her touch. A band of tension around her released and she threw herself at his chest. “You’re alive.”

“When I am with the Earth, I am reborn.” He held her, one hand sinking into the back of her hair. “Nothing can keep me from you.”

“What’s going on up there?”

He squeezed her hands, the strength in his grip hurting her fingers. “If this is what humanity’s like, it sickens me. To attack innocents while hiding? There’s no honor in creeping like a fog.”

She tugged her hand free. “Humans have our faults but we love as well. There’s beauty in my world, Darach.”

“It pales beneath the ugly.”

“Is your world so perfect?”

“Yes, it is. There’s no deceit, no discord, no pain. It’s harmony on every level and plane.”

“If you miss it so badly, why did you choose to leave?”

Even in the black, she knew he was looking at her. She could feel his gaze caress her face. “I came because of a call but I stayed for you.”

A hiss turned her head. In the small lamp glow, Batu bit the twisted cotton as his father bent over his shoulder. The king straightened and met her just outside the firelight. He never blinked at the sudden appearance of another soul in the underground room.

“The arrow in his shoulder, it’s caught on the bone. We’ve got to twist it loose then pull it out but he’s going to bleed very heavily. We’ve only the one lamp and no needles. I need the dagger hot enough to seal the wound, Jana.”

Her lips parted to protest. She’d never called that much fire. Snapping them shut, she nodded. She was a time dancer. She had power. She could and would do this. Batu’s life depended on her alone right now.

Darach braced his broad hands on Batu’s arm and shoulder, holding him still. The thin line of the king’s mouth pinched white. Licking her lip, she focused on the blade. She centered, found the fire inside herself and called it out.

“
Hot
,
hot
burns
so
bright
,

Come
with
heat
.
Come
with
light
.

Fire
hear
and
fire
obey
.

Come
and
do
as
I
say
.

Heat
this
blade
.”

It began in the middle of the blade. A tiny spark flickered then grew until fire encased the steel. The dagger turned orange with heat. Amazement rushed through her. She blew and the flames went out but the knife glowed red hot. The king grabbed the arrow shaft, twisted and pulled. Batu lurched but Darach held firm. Blood sprayed, dotting her face and dress.

The king plucked the dagger hilt from Jana’s hand and laid the orange blade along the spurting wound. Buried in Feena’s skirt, Batu’s muffled yell bounced off the stone walls.

The acrid scent of burnt flesh stung her nose, and Jana turned her head. King Taric tossed the dagger away, blew along the smoking flesh, then doused the gash with whiskey. Batu’s stifled scream rang out. Darach pressed harder. Silent tears left silver streaks in the dirt on Feena’s cheeks. She stroked Batu’s dark hair, soft words of comfort falling from her lips. Jana balled cotton and handed long strips to the king, who wrapped the mangled shoulder until not a drop of red seeped through.

“Now what?” Feena asked.

King Taric’s hands shook the slightest bit as he scrubbed blood from his fingers with a bit of leftover cloth. “We wait.”

* * *

The hush was as frightening as the noise. Sweat trickled down Jana’s back. Waiting was torture. The crack of the door seal pulled her spine straight. King Taric held out his hand, a call for silence. Light bounced on the stairwell, growing closer. When the light grew brightest, everyone released a breath.

The seething anger in her father’s voice tore through the chamber like a rusty blade. “The walls weren’t breached. There are no invaders. The kirk top was empty within seconds of the last arrow being shot, and no one could have gotten past my men storming the stairs. But I have three dead soldiers and one who may never walk again.”

“Argot?”

Her father swallowed but ignored her question. Instead, he bent and grabbed a bloody arrow from the floor, extending it to the king. “Look familiar?”

Intense scrutiny lined King Taric’s face then realization smoothed it. “Red and white fletchings. This is a Segur arrow.”

“Four hundred and fifty-eight Segur arrows to be exact. Every extra arrow in the armory was fired into the garden within a five-minute span. But there wasn’t a single stranger on that roof.” He fixed a hard expression on Batu. “And for that reason, I’m issuing High Captain’s Right.”

Batu’s eyes snapped wide.

Feena gripped his good arm, fear evident in her whisper. “What’s that?”

“He’s exiling me.”

“Having the entire royal line in one place is too dangerous with a traitor in our midst. I’ll select a small group of men to guard here, and I’ll accompany Batu and return when he’s safely tucked away.”

“No.” Batu’s command was firm. “You need to keep my father safe. Assign me another man.”

Her father’s chin wobbled as he ground his teeth. “Here soldiers will watch each other. I’m not sending you away with one man who could very well slit your throat while you sleep.”

“I’ll take Darach with me.”

“Me?” Darach shook his head vehemently. “No. I came to this realm for Jana.”

“I’d rather have you than a soldier I can’t trust. If Jana’s your issue, we’ll bring her with us.” Batu wiped a shaking hand across his mouth and closed his eyes. When they opened, pure royal fortitude turned them dark. “And I marry Feena now.”

As if he were struck with a whip, her father jerked. “Like hell you will. If she’s your legal bride, it puts her in twice as much danger.”

“It makes her my heir by marriage. If I fall, Feena inherits the crown by law. I trust
you
to take her somewhere safe. Only those in this room will know. The formal wedding can still happen in April, if I’m alive. If not, I’ll leave a legal heir if not one by blood.”

“He’s right, Papa.” Dirt and grime couldn’t hide the serenity on Feena’s face as she stepped to his side. “The crown must continue, no matter what.”

“If Batu dies unmarried, Warric will inherit. The crown will survive.”

Feena arched one eyebrow, the look so queenlike that Jana bit her lip to hide a laugh. “Papa, think. Warric as king? He’s trained all his life for magic, not the monarchy. If he were here, he’d be begging us to marry and spare him that fate.”

“This isn’t the wedding we wanted for you,” Papa grumbled.

Feena smiled. “You wanted me to marry the man I love, who loves me. That’s all I need.”

He stared at her for a long moment. A rueful curl to his lip accompanied his permission. “Go wash your face. I’ll not send you to bride looking like a street urchin.”

The king and Feena helped a limping Batu up the narrow staircase. Jana lifted her skirt to follow but her father gripped her arm. A sternness in his face fluttered her stomach. She waited until the stairwell was fully dark before speaking. “Is Argot alive?”

“He’s alive.” Something hidden in that brusque tone slithered over her skin but he turned away. “Darach, you need to be on guard. Think. To fire over four hundred arrows in less than five minutes would have taken a full platoon of men, not a single traitor. Unless...?”

“Magic.” Understanding illuminated Darach’s face. “But only immense power.”

“Yes, and who in this castle has that much power?”

“The queen,” Darach answered immediately. “But she wouldn’t wish her son dead. Warric has great magic but his broth—”

“He wouldn’t be the first Segur to try to get rid of his elder sibling.”

Jana gasped. “Papa, no. Warric isn’t even within the castle walls. He’s never wanted the crown. From the time he was a child, he’s openly said he was glad to have inherited the queen’s magic, not the throne.”

“Men often say the opposite of what they mean.” Her father sighed. “I
want
to be wrong. I don’t
want
Warric to be the traitor but I can’t overlook it.” A cold deliberation washed over him and her father disappeared beneath the soldier he was. “Warric will be under watch. Stay vigilant, Darach. You protect not only my country’s future, but my daughter. I’d die for either and expect nothing less from you.”

A calculated stillness embraced Darach. “Nothing will harm them while I’m of this world, I vow to you.”

Chapter Six

Papa halted her escape to the healer’s with a stone-firm hand clamped on her arm. Royal duty overshadowed her betrothal commitment. As Lady-in-Waiting, her place was at her sister’s side. The hurried wedding of the Crowned Prince of Eldwyn and the Princess Presumptive took place in the king’s study. Both their clothes were covered in grime and blood but love shone from their eyes.

Jana twisted her ring throughout the ceremony. After the perfunctory but obviously welcome married kiss, the king knighted Darach, the first time in written history that such honor was given to a spell. King Taric stumbled over Darach’s solitary name then simply created a human one for the royal records.

The newly knighted Darach Tero Ursat, temporary Captain to the Crowned Prince, barely had time to rise, mist to smoke and seep into her necklace before Jana and her father raced from the study.

Her father paused with his broad hand on the door latch. “Argot’s not going to make it.”

“No.” Denial thrust heat into her face. “He’s strong. He can fight.”

“He’s dying. You need to say good-bye, to let him go in peace.”

Cold reality seeped the warmth from her skin. She had to force her feet to move, to push open the chamber door and step inside. The stench of blood no longer registered but the odor of lingering death leached the feeling from her cheeks. The healer looked up, her weathered face lined with compassion. She nodded toward the far corner.

Jana lifted her chin. A warrior’s woman didn’t cry, not while he could see. Argot would not go to the other side with her tears in his memory. No smile would rise to her lips but she made sure her eyes were dry before she crouched beside the bed.

He lay flat on his stomach, head turned to the side and arms dangling to the floor. Raw pink ringed each wrist and she swallowed revulsion, knowing he’d been tied down as the arrows had been torn from his body. Only a white cloth covered his buttocks. His long thick legs and broad back, still covered with blisters and burns, were left exposed. Ugly, half-crusted crimson wounds wept sluggishly.

She counted eleven marks from shoulder to calf but knew which was stealing his life. One ragged gash, between his ribs on the left, oozed darker blood with every beat of his heart. Frothy bubbles burst silently along the edges as his very breath sped death closer.

Her hand shook as it brushed his shorn scalp.

His eyes opened. “You look like hell.”

A laugh snorted from her. “Do I? I feel like it.”

“But you’re still beautiful.” His eyes shone so bright, so crystal clear.

She focused on them. “Are you in pain?”

“Not much. Took some caralic so I’m a little...drunk.” He grinned and that puppy-dog look nearly shattered her heart.

She rubbed his hair, marveling at how soft it was. Somehow, she’d thought it would be prickly. It wasn’t. Something touched her knee and she laced her fingers with his searching hand.

His thumb stroked the band he’d put there only last night. “Batu and Feena?”

“Fine.” She padded the truth, hoping to ease his mind. “They married in secret and she became his heir. The royal line is safe...for now.”

His eyes closed. “He got hit first and threw her to the ground. I did my best to cover them.”

“You did everything. They’re alive because of you.”

“My duty.” He choked, coughed, then noisily drew in air.

She wiped his lips, swiping pink-tinged spit away. “Don’t talk about it.”

She’d seen enough of the arrow storm, couldn’t bear to hear more. He coughed again and more bubbles burst along his ribcage, trickling down his side in a soapy rivulet. Smoothing her fingers across his brow, she wished for some magic words to say to give him peace.

“I remember the first time I saw you.”

“When?” she whispered.

“You and Warric came home on break for the Minstrel Festival. You stepped out of the carriage just as I was coming out of the stables. Your cloak was white, like the snow, and your gown was as pink as a rabbit’s nose. You looked like some candied treat, far too sweet for someone as gruff as me. But then you looked right at me and smiled.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I was lost.”

Jana blinked blurriness away. “That was three seasons ago. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Have you ever been afraid of reaching too high? That was me. I was an orphan who became a soldier and then pulled myself up to be the Crowned Prince’s Captain. Wanting more seemed selfish.” His eyes closed and she watched his back rise. It did, slower, not as far, and with a gurgling noise. “I thought I’d just be your friend. Stupid. That just made me fall completely in love with you.”

“Oh, Argot.” She bit her lip. Her knees were numb from the stone floor, and an ache formed in her lower back but she didn’t move an inch. She’d never known and now felt unworthy of his silent devotion.

A haze shifted over his gaze as his breath rattled deep inside him. “I would’ve been good to you.”

“I know. You always have been. I wish I’d known before...before this.”

“Me, too. I was afraid.” Humility rasped with finality in his deep tone. “But at least you were mine for a little while.”

“Too little.”

“I wanted to make you proud, to be half the man you deserve.”

“You’re more than any woman could have ever hoped for.” He, perhaps more than anyone she’d known, deserved the truth. “In all Eldwyn, I couldn’t have found a better, more noble, more gentle man than you. I would’ve been your wife with pride.”

A tear crested his lashes then trailed down his cheek to dampen the sheet. “Can I just say it once?”

She nodded, sucking back hot, salty air. The muscles in his forearm trembled as he lifted their joined hands and brushed her knuckles with his mouth. “I love you, Jana.”

She pressed her lips to his, touched her tongue to his in a bittersweet farewell. Then his last breath mingled with hers. In her palm, his hand went limp.

Time passed but she made no note of it. She simply sat, cradling his hand and stroking his hair until the healer pulled her away. Her father stood behind her, discipline and training masking the pain she saw buried deep.

To honor the man she hadn’t deserved, she sat in complete silence as they rolled Argot to his back. Her father knelt, murmured low words of ceremony honoring a fallen captain, then used Argot’s dagger to cut his own thumb. He pressed a bloody print below his one visible eye, a tribute no captain ever wanted to earn.

With his massive arms crossed over his chest, Argot could have been sleeping. Jana had nearly convinced herself he was until they pulled the shroud over his face. Something inside her broke. She whirled and ran from the room with her skirt bunched high above her ankles. Had one person stopped her, she would have collapsed. Only a fragile thread held her sanity.

Slamming into her room, she spared only a single second to calm her racing heart before calling. “Darach?”

“You call and I come, my charge.”

She whirled, finding him standing so proud and strong, silent as a stone, beside her washbasin. She looked away, unable to withstand even that slight compassion. “I want to dance through time, now.”

“You cannot.”

“The hell I can’t. I want to dance
now
. I want to find the answers to everything. I want to know who did this. I want to break them and watch them bleed out, begging for a mercy that never comes.”

Darach merely shook his head.

She shoved at his chest. “Then go away. I’ll do it without you.”

He grabbed her upper arm in a stony grip. “You’re not yet experienced enough to dance without my guidance.”

“Watch me.” She ripped from his hold and tore the blankets from her bed. One knee hit the mattress, then she was wrenched up and carried across the room. Darach’s fingers bit into her arm like teeth. His hand wrapped in the back of her hair and forced her head steady, forced her to look into the mirror.

“Look, Jana! Look at yourself. Look!”

Blood—Batu’s, Argot’s and her own—covered her. Her hair was more tangled than pinned and red had dried to dark brown along the side of her head. One ear was missing the topmost ridge. Her dress was torn and splattered, stained and ripped. Dark circles haunted the flesh beneath her eyes and her skin was paler than winter moonlight. She looked dead.

“When did you last eat? You slept but an hour or two this morning and it’s near sunset. Today was an emotional hurricane and this is but the eye. There’s far more to come. In a handful of hours, you ride with Batu into the night, away from this castle and into the unknown with danger and death stalking you. Do not be stupid. You haven’t the strength to dance to a cricket’s song.”

In the silvered glass, her eyes locked with his. “I didn’t love him.”

The thread snapped and every emotion rushed outward. Sobs racked her shoulders, tears burned her eyes and her throat ached with the cries. When her knees buckled, Darach was there, lowering her to the rug and cradling her, letting her weep against his chest. She cried until there was nothing left—no pain, no remorse, no anything. It may have been minutes or hours, she hadn’t the faintest clue, but his arms never left her.

With a last shuttering sigh, she closed her stinging eyes and slept a dreamless sleep, knowing only that he held her.

* * *

Stealth was vital as well as speed as they made their escape from Thistlemount. Batu carried a single torch, leading the way through a snaking pathway of tunnels. Though his clothing was simpler, of heavier material and less ornate, and his arm was bandaged in a sling, Batu still carried himself as if a crown sat upon his head. How any man could mistake him for anything other than a prince confounded Darach.

Jana was dressed as a man. If anything, he found it more appealing than the layers of velvet and ribbons she’d worn previously. Dark fabric cupped her firm bottom, and the leggings drew his eyes to the curves along her thighs. But her face held his attention. It was blank, void of fear, anticipation or anxiety. She had barely spoken when she’d awoken, simply asking him to leave so she could bathe and dress. Concern stiffened his stomach but he said nothing.

Too many thoughts rumbled in his brain. How had he ever considered her weak? Although her frame was slight, she had an internal might that astounded him. Her entire world had changed in a blink and she stared it down, daring it to do its worst. She’d faced death, injury and bloodshed with quiet grace, dry eyes and calm competence. Even when her emotions erupted and she’d wept in his arms, she hadn’t wailed for sympathy, just cleansed her soul of the ugliness. His prior claims felt paltry now.

Their footsteps echoed against the tunnel walls, an occasional splash sounding where the Earth wept from man’s digging. Darach realized they had passed under Thistlemount’s outer bailey. At last, a pinprick of light appeared. The prince jammed the torch in a wall notch and shoved a door open with his good shoulder.

Bitter wind rushed in, carrying the nip of frost. Weak moonlight cast a blue-silver shine to the woodlands. Three horses tethered to a nearby tree raised their heads at the noise. One pawed at the dirt. Jana moved toward the animals but Darach’s hand held Batu back.

“I don’t need a horse. I’ll travel through the Earth.”

“Well,
I
need you visible. Jana’s a woman, Darach, and a beautiful one. There’re men who would attack us just for that reason. With this arm, I can’t protect her alone.”

His teeth ground together. “I’ll kill any man who touches her.”

“Good.” Batu nodded. “Would you take my sword if I gave it to you?”

Darach tapped his gloves. “No need. Human weapons must be wielded with thought. My claws become part of my hand and, if needed, my teeth are sharper than a blade.”

“Figured. But take this in case we get separated.”

A weighty leather purse pressed into his hand. “What is this?”

“Money. Silver coin mostly and a bit of gold.”

“I have no need for coin.”

“You might not but Jana will. She’ll need food and shelter along the way. It’s not a long journey but it’s north, where it’s colder and there’ll likely be heavier snows. If we stay together everything should be fine.” He motioned to the horses. “The black, called Storm, is for you.”

“I’ll ride no animal.”

“It’s a long damn walk where we’re going and we need to move fast.”

Darach tucked the coin purse in his waistband and smiled. “Batu, you have your ways. I prefer mine.”

In a mist of lilac, his bear formed and lumbered toward the horses. Wide nostrils flared as the horses caught the scent of a predator. The mounts reared and whinnied, fear fire-bright in their eyes. Jana fought to maintain her seat, tugging reins and clamping knees. One loud growl, magic to nature, and the horses calmed to a watchful stance.

Batu snickered. “It’d take a damn fool to approach a full-grown grizzly. Maybe your way is best, after all.”

The first full snow had fallen, covering the land in a thin blanket of quiet. They headed north in silence, climbing up a gentle knoll. Not ten minutes into their journey, Jana went rigid, her face trained on the castle in the distance. The very top of the kirk peeked from the outer walls like a gopher from a hole. Magic prickled through Darach’s hide.

“He stood here, listened to the screaming as the arrows fell.” Jana’s whisper raised the hair on Darach’s neck.

“What?” Batu pulled his mount to a stop and looked toward the castle.

“Lucky bitch.” Her voice was not her own. “Fucking prince and his pet have more lives than a damned cat. But this land is mine. This time, there’s no subtlety.” Her hands made a motion, waving outward, upward then down. A grin split her lips into a cruel slash. “Run. Run and fall, you bastards. The entire castle will bow before me as your blood drips into the dirt.”

The sight seeped from her and her shoulders slumped. Batu gaped in amazement. “What was that?”

A violent shudder worked Jana’s spine. She drew a deep breath then blew it out slowly. “It was like I became the man who’s trying to kill you, felt everything he’s feeling. He hates you so much.”

“Shit. When I find who this maggot is, I’m going to stick his head on a pike in the bailey.”