Twin Passions: 3 (2 page)

Sorceresses and Twins battled as the great flying lions, the Griffons of Sentmar, fought to protect the Sorceresses given to their keeping. Blocking the paths, roaring out their rage as the magickal Twins struck them down and filled the base of the mountains with the Griffons’ blood.

What they did not kill, they enchanted. The females and babes were blocked from their inner magick then sent to the dark, violent realms of the Shadow Planes. A place so infected with the darkness of evil that survival was highly unlikely.

For centuries rage filled Cauldaran.

Wizards warred for lands, for power, for the few Sorceresses of lesser magick and the magickal descendants of human Joinings whose power was minimal, yet still, ’twas power to access.

The Raging Seas boiled with the fury of the gods. Storms swept the land, fought to cross the Winter Mountains yet rarely crossed to the Valley of Spring beyond.

For a hundred years Wizard Twins existed in a haze of blood-red rage. Until the descendants of those first Keepers crossed the great icy barrier and kidnapped the Sorceress the magick of that newly discovered magickal land had claimed.

A Keeper of the Power is bonded with the land and the magick it holds. In Cauldaran, she built the power of the land she oversaw, fighting to strengthen it, to hold back the weakness that unnatural Joinings had brought to it.

In Covenan, a Keeper controlled the magick of a center of power that boiled and surged, burned and raged beneath the land like an ungoverned child. Her magick centers it, soothes it and gives it purpose.

On that day, the Keepers of Cauldaran magick, Twins who harness the power of the Raging Seas, slipped into the lands the Sorceresses hid within and stole the Keeper the lands had just chosen.

Once forcing an alignment and taking the Sorceress their magick longed for, they cruelly and without thought tore from her soul the bonds the land had made with her.

Suddenly bereft, a piece of her heart, a portion of her soul missing, the Sorceress wept and grieved until her young heart could take no more. Leaping from the tallest tower of the castle she was imprisoned within, the Keeper of the Power of the Royal Forests of Covenan threw herself to her death.

The magick of Covenan grieved.

The magick of Cauldaran threatened to tear the lands apart with its rage.

If the gods were in opposition over the separation of Wizard Twins and Sorceress Consorts, then in their horror and disbelief at the actions of the magickal Twins they were united.

A surge of power swept over the lands of both magickal sects. Musera closed the remaining portals between Cauldaran and Covenan. Her Twin Consorts blocked their sons’ magick from ever breaching the divide from Cauldaran again. And together, the three ensured no Sorceress could ever be taken by force from her lands again.

The wound created that day was one the gods feared would never heal within their daughters. They watched as the centuries passed. As the divide between the magicks continued to grow.

They watched as the magick of all of Sentmar began to weaken.

The great billowy clouds of magick surrounding the twin moons began to dim. Humans began to strike and something dark and malevolent began to fill the land.

The One awoke once again, looked out at the danger to the daughters he so loved, and knew he must act once more.

The darkness that lurked in Shadow Hell could only be held back by the magick of Wizard Twin and Sorceress unions. Joinings natural to the hearts and souls of those unions, rather than the forced alignments his daughters had once suffered.

A millennium passed, and still, Wizard Twins had not seen past their arrogance and the mistakes of the past. If he did not act, if he did act quickly, then all of magick would be destroyed and the humans would persecute his children until nothing remained of them.

But he must be careful.

He must be diligent.

The darkness was strong, the magick was weak, and still his children knew a division that threatened all of the lands of magick.

That threatened their very existence.

Prologue

“It is the Keeper of the Power of Covenan that we are here to Court, Rhydan, we must not forget this,” Torran Delmari stated, his voice so dark and filled with sensual warmth it lit a fire inside Astra Al’madere that she could not cool, nor eradicate. “No matter our desires otherwise, she must be found.”

She opened her eyes slowly and watched the warriors as they stood now, their backs to her, their voices lowered.

Trembling, shaking with such pain and betrayal she distantly wondered why her magick wasn’t filling the hall with the furious sparks of her rage, she fought to hold back her tears.

Her outrage.

She could feel it crackling inside her, threatening to spark from her body and strike about the gracious Covenani marble columns and striking sparkspur stone floors that gleamed with hues of darkened red before blending into lush, red-orange streaks of the magick stone. Covenani marble and sparkspur tone amplified female power, called to it, and would have surely betrayed her had she not learned at an early age to contain her pain.

She was going to die from the effort though.

She was certain of it.

Deep in her heart, in her soul, where her magick protected her even against her tender Sorceress emotions, Astra could feel herself weakening, losing the will to stand to her feet, to protect herself from falling into the yawning pit of agony that opened inside her fragile spirit.

Her eyes filled with moisture, tears that were all but unheard of for the heir to the Keeper of the Mystic Forests.

Astra Al’madere did not cry.

Were these Wizards not aware of the laws of magickal Joinings?

Fools.

They were such fools.

Of course they were aware.

The magick that existed inside all magickal beings that was responsible for finding their natural Consort would not tolerate such betrayal of the natural ways of courtship.

Did they not remember why Wizards and Sorceresses separated a millennium before? How could they not know that once they sought to betray their natural Consort, their magick would forever hide her identity from them until the day they rectified that most heinous mistake?

She had not shed tears since those first nights after her mother, the Keeper of the Mystic Forests, had sent her from her land and gave her to the keeping of the Queen of Covenan.

She had thought, believed with all her soul, that no betrayal could ever be greater than the betrayal of a beloved mother.

As the golden rays of the life-giving sun spilled their heated magick into the receiving hall, Astra learned there were far greater betrayals.

There was the betrayal of a Sorceress’ Wizard Twins. Her Consorts, and the Wizards she alone had been created for.

She slowly flattened her back against the great stone column of the entry hall of the castle Sellane, the ruling house of the land of Covenan.

She could not believe what she heard. Surely she must have misunderstood.

Turning slowly, silently, she peeked around the column to where the two great warriors stood, discussing matters they would have done well to discuss in private.

Torran’s eyes, a deeper blue than even that of the Raging Magick Seas, like Rhydan’s lighter blue ones, were narrowed and glittering with irritation. Shielded by the enviously long black lashes that surrounded them, they gleamed the color of pure magick. Hair as black as the deepest night fell about their wide shoulders and emphasized the white of their cord cotton shirt, while their black warriors pants outlined their lean, powerful hips.

The crystalline spores of power, invisible but intuitive, reached out from the Wizard Twins, always seeking, always on alert for even the most hidden sign of danger.

It was a magick she did not fear though, one that whispered over her as it had before, caressing her with an invisible touch of such exquisite pleasure that she could only close her eyes weakly and acquiesce to it rather than protest.

Protesting would mean allowing them to know she was there. For some reason, their magick never alerted them to her presence.

The magick that filled the two men was so strong though. So strong that their natural Consortress felt it reaching out desperately for her, twining around her with a hint of confusion.

How very odd, she thought as her neck arched to the heated warmth that stroked over it, caressing the sensitive flesh with a slow, delicious touch of magick. She could sense the strength of the intuitive magick these warriors possessed as it sought her out, confused why she did not reveal herself to the Wizards standing just beyond the column.

The urge to go to them, to reveal herself and her knowledge that they were her natural Consorts was an impulse so very difficult to deny. An impulse that only grew at the knowledge that
her
Consorts were seeking another.

“Did you hear me, brother?” the eldest Delmari Wizard questioned harshly.

“I have not gone deaf, Torran. I but question this plan you intend to enact. I am not so certain it is the wisest course to take,” Rhydan snapped. “Already I feel our Consortress, I feel our magick reach for her and I am certain we met her the day of our arrival. As much as I agree with the Veressi in their present plan, still, this reeks of a deception I am not certain needs to be practiced.” As he spoke, their magick feathered against the lobe of her ear, the ghostly tug of its touch urged her once again to reveal herself.

“And for that reason alone I am most grateful that it was not of my design. Should you suspect who our Consortress is, then I beg of you, brother, do not reveal such to me.” Torran sighed. “I can do naught but pray to the Select that we are doing what is best for all concerned and that soon this will be over.”

What plan? If only they had entered the great hall sooner, perhaps when they were discussing the details of it rather than arguing the advisability of it, then Astra would at least have information to give to the Guardian of the Power of the Lands of Covenan and the commander of the Sorceress Brigade.

“We are to attempt to convince her to align with us in a Covenant as our Consortress and we are not even certain which Sorceress she is.” Torran seemed to be reminding him. “The Guardian of the Lands of Covenan hides herself well, but she is the only Consortress the Veressi will accept for us if we wish to ensure our lands remain within Delmari control as it has since the dawn of Wizard magick.”

Agony struck at her once more. She could not believe they would do this. Since their arrival mere days before she had known who they were to her. And she knew now, they sensed her. They might not know which Sorceress she was, but they sensed her. She had known she was their Consortress, yet they would take another instead? They would force the alignment of magicks rather than coming to her, the Sorceress who had awaited them since she had awakened to her female power and desires? They searched for another as Consortress, when they knew, she knew, they must be aware that their Consortress was near.

How had this happened? What stroke of insanity would make them consider such an act? To convince a Sorceress to “align” with them? Such an unnatural act of Consortship would never be considered by any Sorceress, especially the one Astra knew as the Guardian of Covenan.

“What of the one our magick seeks? Even now I feel it reaching out to her,” Rhydan asked then, his voice heavy. “I still cannot learn which Sorceress it is, as though the weave of magick that has searched evermore for her now refuses her identity to us. It is now to the point I believe I fear the ball to introduce the Sorceresses to those of us who have come seeking Consortresses.”

“Perhaps it is better we do not know which Sorceress it is, brother.” Torran sighed regretfully. “To know, yet to be unable to touch, unable to take her as our own, surely would be a fate worse even than seeking a Consortress not our own to possess.”

She could not bear this pain.

She could not bear such a betrayal.

Remaining hidden, feeling the consoling caress of their magick and the regret that lay heavy within it, Astra could only bite back the furious anger growing inside her, even as a single tear escaped her control.

A second later she felt their magick receding as they walked away and took with them the pleasure spilling over her body.

Her fists clenched as she felt her breathing accelerate, felt the searing betrayal burning with such white-hot force it weakened her will to hold back the fury rising in answer.

What manner of evil could possess warriors, Wizard Twins, to deliberately turn their backs on their natural Consortress for a Consortress whose Twins were already set to claim her? Wizards more than willing to kill to claim the Sorceress these two sought.

And well they would deserve such death, she thought furiously.

Wizard Twins were once known to kill over the Sorceress they claimed not just with their magick but with their hearts as well. And no doubt, the Sashtain Twins would kill for Marina.

The thought of the deaths of the Delmari Twins filled her with dread though. Could she survive if such happened? She feared she wouldn’t. But she was also aware that the Sashtain Twins would only kill should another actually try to take Marina from their hold, something Rhydan and Torran would never accomplish.

But the betrayal was destructive to her heart.

It ate at her.

The pain bloomed inside her until once again one lone tear fell. And with that tear came another. The proof of a broken heart spilling from her like beads of moisture from the Weeping Trees whose crystalline drops were said to bring comfort from the Sorceress Select herself.

There was no comfort to be found for Astra from her own tears. There was nothing to ease her pain, nothing to still the aching sorrow in her soul.

There was only the knowledge that her warriors had no desire to be her Consorts.

First betrayed by a mother who refused to love, and now by the Consorts who turned their backs on her as well.

She was as she had always hoped she would not be.

Alone.