Time Dancer (14 page)

Pure feline force took her to the ground. A claw raked her shoulder. Snow filled her mouth and she spat, spinning with her small dagger in her hand. She thrust up before her turn was complete. The blade sank into thick fur, biting through a tightly bound neck. The cat chuckled with a purr then was gone.

Jana jerked upright, scrambling for her bow. Her fingers were going numb with cold. Huge boot-encased feet sent snow flying as Batu skidded to a stop beside her. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Jana panted. “You?”

“I’ll live,” he spat into the woods, “if just to piss off whoever is doing this.”

Darach’s bear he threw yet another lion aside, his wide head tilted back with a bellow. The feline’s spine cracked against a sturdy maple trunk before vanishing. In a purple swirl, Darach transformed into a man and pointed behind them. Five lions crept from the south. They uncoiled sleek bodies and, as one troop, pounced through the snow, eating the distance. He was too far away to help them.

“No!” He stomped his foot and a quake spread out.

Mother Earth responded to his call with a vehemence. The snow shimmied, sliding like sand in a box. Jana’s knees vibrated and Batu wobbled on his feet. A crack split the terrain. The gaping mouth of Mother Earth swallowed ice, snow and feline with a demonlike bite. Then her jaws clamped tight, rocky teeth slamming shut. Ice dropping from the trees filled the now calm air. Jana gaped at the shallow depression in the pristine snow. Earth slept once more. The magic sent a shudder through Jana.

Darach melted into the ground then seconds later rose from the ground to stand before her. No scrape or cut marred his face. He tore her cloak and tunic away from her shoulder and his lips peeled in a snarl.

“It’s just a scratch,” she soothed him.

“Magic tricks,” Batu sneered. Fresh blood trickled from a line on his cheek and his good arm sported a collection of tooth scrapes. “Fucking deadly magic tricks. Those mountain lions were no more real than my shadow but they could’ve killed us.”

“It talked,” Jana whispered. “The lion...she said she was my mother.”

Batu snorted. “Yeah, whatever. Mine said it was Argot. It’s someone messing with our heads, that’s all.”

“Well, he succeeded.”

“He did not,” Darach said. “You didn’t hesitate to shoot the cat. You knew it wasn’t your mother.”

“Of course it wasn’t. My mother loved me.” She stepped away and gathered the remaining arrows littering the ground. Tossing her hair out of her face, she caught Darach’s stare. “What?”

“You shoot well.”

The compliment made her smile. “I do.”

“Nobody beats Jana at accuracy. But in distance, I can whip her ass.” Batu chuckled.

Jana tossed a handful of snow at him. “I may not have the strength of a man but my eye is better.”

“Your eyes are beautiful,” Darach murmured.

The last man who had called her beautiful died beneath her kiss. That knowledge stole her smile. “Thank you.”

The Crowned Prince wiped his face with snow, cleaning the blood away. Jana wondered if he realized how he’d changed in so few days. He’d always carried himself with a regal presence, an innate fiber of royalty lifting his chin. But now he’d been bloodied and fought back, stood firm when faced with adversity. It gave a new maturity to his eyes, a new polish to his invisible crown. He’d grown in spirit, in experience and in self-realization.

She turned to Darach. He too had changed. That newborn innocence had peeled away one harsh layer at a time until his face carried a man’s perception. He’d learned from his mistakes. He’d seen cruelty and death, faced both, and still kept to his vow to protect them.

They had changed, had she? Had she been tempered to hardened steel as they had or had she grown brittle and cracked? Sucking in a calming breath, she looked up and wondered. She had no idea. The unknown chilled her more than the snow-flecked air.

* * *

Warric came aware slowly, little details slipping into his consciousness. He was warm. Whatever he lay on was soft. It smelled of lemons and apples with a hint of woman. He rolled, stretched and realized he was nude. He jerked upright.

“You’re awake.” The sunny smile Kya gave him couldn’t hide the concern in her eyes. She laid the poker aside and crossed to the bed.

He collapsed back against the pillows. “Oh God, I...what day is it?”

“Wednesday.” She wrinkled her nose. “Did you black out again?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his cheek and the bristly whiskers irritated him. He needed to shave before his goatee turned into a full beard. “How’d I get here?”

“Your horse, I assume, since it’s in the shed.” Kya took his hand and brought his knuckles to her mouth. “I found you here but couldn’t wake you. I made some supper. Are you hungry?”

He was starving. He nodded and looked around. “Where are my clothes?”

Her giggle lifted some of his dread. “In the wash tub. You need a bath. I’ve been keeping water hot. Come on, get up. A bath, a shave and some food and you can then tell me what the hell’s going on with you.”

The steely glint in her eyes rocked him to his core. Kya had never demanded anything from him before. It made him feel awkward at times, as if she were afraid to question him. He followed her like a schoolboy, doing her bidding and washing behind his ears.

The razor was old but freshly sharpened. Her late father’s clothing fit a bit loosely but he liked the soft feel of the cotton and paused to stroke the tunic sleeve. She’d washed this tunic hundreds of times, had worked the fibers to a comfortable texture. He’d never known the man but sent a silent thank-you for both the clothing and the love Kya gave freely.

His head snapped up as his chest raged. A burn scored above his heart and he knew before he peeled the tunic neck away to look. The wide line of the Segur bonding mark branded his skin. Kya was his heartmate.

Mouthwatering scents of roasted chicken and brown bread hung in the air. She was bent over, lifting the pan from the stove belly as he approached. The hot metal barely touched the trivet before he had her back against the wall, his tongue diving into her mouth. A surprised gasp warmed his lips then she hooked her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

“If you think to escape talking by getting me into bed, think again, milord. And let me go before the bread burns.”

“I love you.”

Her face went slack. A subtle tremor began along her arms. “Warric, please don’t.” She pushed at him but he stood firm. “I’ve never asked you for anything. I can’t bear to be mocked.”

“I’m not mocking, Kya.” He never dropped his eyes but jerked the lacings at his neck loose, opening the keyhole. A soft inhale tickled his chin as she stared at his bond, at her brand on his skin.

“Those marks are real? I thought they were a legend.” Amazement rounded her cheeks. “Oh, Warric, I’ve loved you forever.”

The bread scorched but neither cared. They chopped the bottom layer off and ate in a silence filled with a thousand looks. The end of the meal carried an ominous gloom. He pushed it aside, drying dishes as she washed, a task he’d never done before but one that gave him something to do other than talk.

She sat at the table and waited. A warmth spread along his bones. This was Kya, his Kya, his quiet strength. She waited, never pushing, just letting him find his own path straight to her. An ache formed in his skull. “I have to go.”

“Warric!”

“Please, Kya. Give me a few hours. I’ll tell you everything but I need to do something first.”

A gentle nod shifted firelight along her dark hair, pulling day from darkest night. In a burst of fear, he rushed to her, kneeling before her and gripping her hands. “I’ll come back and we’ll talk. Things are spinning out of control and I don’t want to hurt you.”

That pert little nose scrunched again. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I know that.”

She might know it but the fear stayed with him. His cloak hung on a wall peg next to her shawl and he wasted several seconds just fingering the knitted yarn. He’d not been unconscious long and dusk had just fallen. In a saddlebag, the things from his mother’s workroom chilled him. He didn’t remember gathering them from the floor. What else had he done?

A stiff crust of snow crunched beneath his horse’s hooves as he sped toward the west. Wind sliced at his cheeks but his mind burned with spells, with wordings, with charms he had to master the first try. There could be no second attempt. He’d never dared dream of trying to reach so high but he knew no other person who might give him answers.

The moon was soaring before he settled to his haunches, gazing into the mound of herbs and roots. His fist tightened around the bit of lavender. Part of him acknowledged that if he managed this task, that was half his answer. He almost hoped he’d fail. Choking back his fear, he fought off the headache and called fire with his mind. Sparks crackled. The pile smoldered then whooshed.

“
Blood
to
blood
,
I
call
to
thee
.

Part
the
veil
and
cross
to
me
.

I
call
through
death
.
I
call
through
time
.

Heed
the
plea
in
my
rhyme
.”

He tossed the lavender into the flames.

“
I
call
Tarsha
Kimon
Narut
Segur
.

Grandmother
,
mother
,
wife
and
queen
.

Show
yourself
and
to
my
eyes
be
seen
.”

The dark night filled with glitter in every shade of purple. A circle formed, a single willowy figure at its center. It grew brighter and the figure more solid. So much power pulsed from the sphere. He suddenly felt small and weak.

Long golden hair fluttered in an unfelt wind and her eyes held censure as well as love. Her portrait didn’t do her justice. “Hello, Grandmother.”

The late Queen Tarsha’s spirit placed a slender hand on her heart, dipping her chin in greeting.

“You know why I called you.”

She nodded as sorrow filled her gaze.

“I’m a channeler, aren’t I?” Her silence was his answer and he barked a bitter laugh. “I should have seen it. Channelers are the most powerful sorcerers but the most unstable. You and Mama—the two most potent women ever known—both your blood’s in my veins. I’m a walking fireball ready to explode. Every channeler recorded has gone insane. My magic is tearing my mind apart!”

Clasped to her chest, her glowing hands were gripped tight. Night wind snaked beneath his mantle neck. “Tell me, Grandmother, can I fight it?”

Tarsha shrugged her slim shoulders and held out her hands. Those graceful fingers tightened into fists. One word floated across his mind.

Fight
.

He couldn’t hold the sob and it broke from his chest. “When I don’t remember, I’m hurting them, aren’t I? My brother? Feena?”

One teardrop slid over her cheek. Her eyes closed without answer.

“Why? I don’t want the crown. I don’t want him to die.”

Her mouth worked but he could hear no words. Tarsha raked her hands through her hair. She mimicked eating quickly with both hands, a fat stomach then eating more.

“A channeler craves power, craves anything he can’t have. The corrupted magic doesn’t want anyone to have it.” His knees nearly buckled in helplessness. “How do I stop it?”

One finger pointed at his chest, the other fist pressed to her heart.

“Kya? Kya can help me?”

A sharp wind carried her warning.
Save
her
.

“Save her? From what? I’m a monster! I need to save her from me!”

Tarsha shook her head, lilac-lit hair rippling across her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging tight, then motioned to his chest.

Warric understood. “I’ll keep her safe. I’m frightened, Grandmother. I’ve killed with magic. What if I black out and do it again?”

Those small fists appeared once more, urging him to stay strong. It wasn’t a promise, or even aid. Just an entreaty to battle something he couldn’t control. Weariness fell like a wet blanket and his eyelids drooped. Her glow started to dim. Frantically, he pulled more magic to keep her longer. He had to know.

“Grandmother, you’ve kept your power on the other side of life. What about channelers? Do they take their evil with them as well?”

Evergreen eyes held firmly with his and unspoken knowledge washed in. He gaped. “
None
of them are there? Where do they go?”

Even without her sadness, he knew. The other side of life held two realms. One filled with family and love, joy and reunion. The other side, the Abyss, was spoken of in hushed words as if giving voice to the terror would call it forth. Tales of unending torture, eternal flames, perpetual misery turned his stomach to water.

“If I can’t control it, can I avoid that end?”

Her thin brows slanted with thought. Her eyes shifted to the side, a brewing glimmer turning them luminescent. Her head snapped up, her face bright with excitement. She knelt, one finger scratching in the packed snow.

She drew a bear claw.

“Darach? How can he help?”

Black shrank the circle, his strength weakening under the immense strain of calling across the veil. Tarsha pushed back, giving his magic a small boost from her own. The circle lightened again. Not for long, just long enough for her to clasp her hands in prayer. She kissed her fingertips and blew the kiss to him. It landed on his cheek with a gentle weight.

Love
you
,
son
of
my
son
.