VirtualWarrior (17 page)

“Just forget about me,” he said. “Close your eyes.” His lips
roamed her shoulder. “Forget about me.”

Impossible.

She leaned back on him, let her heart jump and thud. Let his
touch bewitch her.

Unbidden, she spread her thighs wider for him. She closed
her eyes and gripped his left hand. His right hand roamed. He stroked,
caressed. Invaded.

Strange sounds came from her throat, sounds she could not
stay, sounds of madness.

She pushed against his fingers. Sought something elusive.

And found it. Suddenly. A tide of sensation flooded her. It
swamped her body from his fingertips to her breasts, feet, hands.

She gulped air again and again to keep from screaming.

Then it ended. In waves of tiny spasms.

“Ardra?” He wrapped his arms tightly about her. “Are you all
right?”

How to answer? Should she lie? Should she tell the truth?
The truth would enslave her.

“I understand now.” She stood up. Her legs trembled; her
body ached. Her gown seemed so far away, discarded by him.

He reached for her, but she evaded his grasp, sweeping up
her gown and pulling it over her head. She went to the table and snatched up
some bread. Her hands shook so hard she could barely get it to her mouth. It
was dry, but she forced herself to eat it.

The room tipped.

“Ardra?”

She turned around. He was standing. A black line of hair on
his belly drew her eyes straight to his hard manhood.

Then she saw the snake about his arm. It had writhed as if
alive when he had caressed her.
Or had it?

Where had that thought come from?

She took a step and offered the bread. “Are you hungry?”

“Not for bread.” He held out his hand to her. The snake on
his arm shifted.

She stumbled to the table and lifted the goblet.

“No. Don’t drink the wine.”

He took the goblet away. When he touched her, her fear fled
and it seemed all nonsense, all some strange trick of the light. She skimmed
her fingers over the snake. A pulse ran through her fingers—an echo of the
pleasure he had given her.

“Come to my bed, Lien.” She tugged on his arm, then stumbled
on the hem of her gown.

“Steady,” he said, guiding her back to the bed.

She lay down on her side, and when he settled beside her,
she burrowed against his heat. “What comes next?” She yawned.

“Nothing, Ardra. Just rest.” He kissed her forehead. “I
guess the drugs were in the bread, not the wine. How do you feel?”

“Who are you?” she managed.

He kissed her mouth. “Your faithful guard dog.”

“Nay. You wear the snake. And the roses—” She wanted to say
more, but he slipped from her embrace and picked up his tunic.

His manhood still jutted from the dark hair at his groin.

She wanted to call him back, invite him inside her, know all
the secrets hidden by the mating ceremony. A surge of liquid heat made her
shiver. The words would not come. Her lips felt thick, her tongue slow.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and he faded. She tried one last
time to call to him, but he made no answer.

Lien tiptoed from the chamber and set out to explore the
fortress. All of Ralen’s men were fast asleep. It was Sleeping Beauty’s castle.
Nothing stirred.

Why had they all been put to sleep? What was Cidre hiding
that an unexpected visit might interrupt?

He investigated a whispering sound. The source was a young
woman who walked toward Cidre. They stood in the entrance to a stairwell
leading down into the bowels of the fortress.

“Ywri! There you are,” Cidre said to the girl. “I have
looked everywhere for you.” Her voice rose. “How many times must I tell you,
strangers are dangerous?” She gripped the girl’s wrist and dragged her to the
hall. “Look. Dangerous men, fortunately asleep. You know what may happen with
men.”

Lien held his breath and willed himself part of the stone
wall as the two women neared his hiding place by the stairs.

The hearth lighted the young woman’s face, and Lien
understood the goddess’s concern. From where he stood, he could see that the
girl was a beauty. He could also see the vacant look on her face, the
puzzlement in the angle of her head.

“I will try,” she said to Cidre. “Is not my gown pretty?”

Cidre sighed. “Aye, but you are not to show yourself until these
men leave. Do you understand, Ywri? Do you?”

The young woman nodded, but she was peering around at the
sleeping warriors and Lien suspected she did not.

“Thank the gods I found you before one of them did.”

Lien waited until Cidre had led the girl away to the lower
levels of the fortress. He considered exploring further but didn’t want to risk
tripping over one of Cidre’s guards.

Although he thought it extreme, he understood why Cidre had
put them to sleep. Perhaps some warrior had threatened the girl in the past. It
showed a concern he had difficulty reconciling with the evil reputation she
had.

The sunrising announced itself outside, though Ardra saw
none of it. She knew only that it was a new day when Deleh burst into the room.
A slave girl brought buckets of hot water and clean linens. Deleh and she
shared the water; then Deleh washed Ardra’s hair.

“You must appear at your best, Ardra, else Cidre will treat
you badly.”

“Or Einalem will,” Ardra muttered. Deleh combed her hair
loose about her shoulders.

Next, Ardra stepped into a gown of soft ivory linen. Over
that she wore a long-sleeved amber tunic, tied with turquoise thread. She
slipped a silver chain over her head. From it dangled a disk of silver with a
chunk of amber at its center. Etched around the amber was the path of the
labyrinth beneath her fortress. No one seeing the lines would guess ‘twas
anything more than a knotwork design from the ancient days. No one would know
it was the key to the maze’s many twists and turns.

The pendant was a symbol of her power in Selaw just as the
Black Eye was Cidre’s in the Tangled Wood.

Thoughts of another chain, another symbol, entered her head.
Roses, red roses, sliding across Lien’s dark chest as he moved toward her…

“Hurry, hurry. Everyone is waiting,” Deleh nagged.

Lien will be waiting.

She shooed Deleh away and sat on the edge of the bed. She
stroked the covers and furs. Had she really sat just here and let Lien bring
her pleasure?

She now understood what Einalem received from Ralen.
Physical pleasure did exist. Not in a mating ritual, but in private, between
one man and one woman when no one watched.

And why had Lien not stayed the night with her? Where was
he? Had he slept outside the door? Or here in her arms, leaving with the first
light?

She remembered his words about the bread. It was gone, taken
by the slave girl with the water.

Did Lien despise her for leaving him unsatisfied? Think her
useless? Or was he grateful that his pilgrim vows had remained intact? Or
somewhat intact.

A sudden sensation coursed through her. A small reminder of
the greater sensation, the twisting, ripping pleasure of a climax.

She jumped to her feet, her palms sweaty. She wiped them
down her thighs.

Shoulders back and chin up, she left her chamber.

The morning meal had been set out in the great hall. It was
filled with light from the dazzling white walls and tall windows that were
inset near the ceiling. A long table on a dais, draped in white, now stood
before the hearth.

Samoht, Einalem, and Ralen descended the stairs together.
Where was Lien?

Deleh tugged on Ardra’s sleeve. “Whose bed did Einalem share
last night? ‘Tis said she loves her brother more than is natural.”

Ardra’s breath hissed in. “I have told you not to speak such
tales. It is kitchen talk.”

Lien and Nilrem walked down the steps behind the goddess,
who was dressed in a gown the same color as the one she’d worn the night
before. The sleeves of this gown were tighter, however, the neckline higher,
the Black Eye no longer about her neck.

Although Lien used his stick, he moved as fluidly as a cat.
She now knew he faked the need for it, but did not blame him.

Were they not all hiding something?

Was she herself not hiding her fear and loathing of the
goddess?

“How shall we address you?” Samoht asked.

“Why, simply as Cidre. We need not be formal, need we,
Ralen? We became good friends on your last visit, did we not?”

Cidre sat at the head of the table and waved everyone close.
“Come, sit on my left, Samoht, and Ralen, on my right.”

Einalem sat beside her brother, and Ardra walked around the
table to Ralen’s side. She did not wish to align herself with Samoht or miss
some silent exchange between him and the goddess.

Lien sat with Nilrem—far away. The sight of his sun-darkened
hand on the snowy cloth made her insides heat. He had magic hands. But she did
not believe in magic.

“Where is your consort?” Ralen asked of their hostess.

“Venrali? He is indisposed, but I am sure you will meet him
soon.”

“Can I be of some service to him? I am a healer,” Einalem
said.

Cidre waved a negligent hand. “Oh, he suffers only the pangs
of age. He needs no healers.”

Servants handed around platters of warm bread, bowls of
sliced apples, and pitchers of sweet wine.

Cidre sipped her wine from a goblet decorated with etchings
of vines and flowers. Her guests’ cups were plain wood. The goddess saw to
their every need, even noticing when Lien refused the wine and ordering spring
water fetched for him.

Was the food tainted with some potion? Ardra wondered. Was
it safe to eat? Only Lien and she picked at their food, while the rest ate
heartily.

“Are you Ardra of the Fortress of Ravens?” Cidre asked while
the slaves served the next course of fish and river snails.

Ardra inclined her head. “I am.”

“I am honored to meet you. I have heard much of you and your
work with the Selaw miners. Your efforts have eased the hardships of many who
cut the ice.”

“So has the fine price the Tolemac treaties have placed on
the ice,” Samoht said.

Ardra acknowledged his words with a nod. “I do not wish to
take credit where it is not earned.”

A child of no more than six conjunctions edged down the
steps. Her hair was wrapped in a yellow cloth to match her gown. She curled on
a cushion in the corner.

“What a sweet child. Is she your daughter?” Einalem asked.

“I have no children,” Cidre said. “Nay, a slave’s child. She
fancies a place here.”

“Children serve here?” Ardra frowned.

“If it suits me. Here is her father now.”

A man not quite as tall as Lien or Ralen, nor as handsome as
Samoht, carried in a huge meat tray. He set it before Samoht and offered him a
carving knife.

Ralen smiled. “Cidre’s kitchens are magnificent.”

“Pork?” Einalem said, looking at the meat.

“It is the wild sow, slaughtered when she is in heat. One
cannot surpass it for taste,” Cidre said.

“You do us great honor, then,” Ralen said.

Cidre turned to Ardra. “The sow is my totem spirit.”

The food stuck in Ardra’s throat. How was she to go about
finding the Vial of Seduction in such a huge place? It could be hidden in some
knothole in the tree hearth or behind a stone in Cidre’s bedchamber. Failure
seemed inevitable.

The meal ended and everyone rose. Ardra took her courage in
hand. “Might I speak with you in private, Cidre?”

“Of course you may. You need a potion, do you not?”

When everyone fell silent, Cidre laughed. It was an amused,
seductive laugh. “Not
that
potion. Rather, one for a womanly ill we all
must tolerate from time to time. Come, follow me.”

Heat filled Ardra at the personal remark, but she fought a
retort. She must get close to the goddess.

As they passed the men and Einalem, Cidre stopped before
Lien. “I must say, I have never met a man with hair so dark.”

She touched her hand to his cheek, then his lips, then the
center of his chest.

Lien merely sat there, one dark brow arched in question.

Ardra felt the molten flames of envy.

“You are strong,” the goddess said. “Not just of body, but
of soul. You defend. It is your nature, is it not?”

“I’m just a humble pilgrim,” Lien said and bowed.

“Come, do not be too humble, else you will disappoint me.”

Cidre turned away, and Ardra followed her to a small chamber
in the lower levels of the fortress. The herbarium was a simple, whitewashed
room, fragrant with hanging bunches of herbs and simmering pots of oil, lighted
by ranks of candelabra fitted with thick candles.

On one wall was a painted wheel. It was intersected by lines
marking the holy days and festivals.

There was a painted wheel much like it in Ardra’s fortress,
in the kitchens.

“Fear not, Ardra. Sit—” Cidre indicated a chair. “I am a
simple healer, nothing more. Now, might I have your hand?”

Ardra placed her hand in the goddess’s and wiped her mind as
clean as possible. She sensed that the goddess used her touch to delve into a
person’s thoughts.

“You are mourning, are you not?”

“That is easy to divine. I wear no ornaments in my hair or
rings on my hands.”

“I too wear no ornaments in my hair or on my hands, but I am
not in mourning.”

“Then someone has told you my lifemate recently died.”

Cidre smiled and leaned back in her chair, releasing Ardra’s
hand. “You are correct. I heard it from one of my slaves as I saw to our meal.
Let us not mince words. Samoht may say he is consulting me about the potion,
but he believes I have it. You are his instrument, am I right?”

“He has charged me to find the vial.”

“You will not find it here. You are foolish even to try.”

“I have but my eight days of mourning to find the potion;
then I must submit to Samoht’s wishes in regard to my fortress. Would you want
someone to claim this fortress? Would you not make the effort regardless of how
futile?”

Cidre took several dishes from a shelf. She spooned some of
the contents of each into a bowl, ground them with a pestle, then tipped them
into the center of a square of linen. She folded the linen into a triangle and
fit it into the neck of a stone bottle. Next, she shook the cloth and withdrew
it.

Last, she put a wooden stopper on the bottle. She held it
out. “Lie to Samoht. Hand him this and say ‘tis the potion. Tell him I wish to
keep the vial itself as it is far too lovely to part with.”

“Why are you doing this?”

A candle on Cidre’s table smoked, filling the chamber with a
spicy scent.

“I am not a thief. It insults me to be visited in this
manner and suspected. Samoht may have me taken to the capital and put to the
question. It is how my mother died, you know.”

Ardra took a deep breath. “Nay, I did not.” The questioning
was much like a Selaw testing. She had witnessed one and had no wish to see
another.

“The last high councilor had my mother questioned over a
boy’s disappearance. He was only a slave, but the councilor had some mad notion
that my mother might have ensorcelled the child and done some
wickedness—sacrificed him even. By the gods, men are so stupid. A goddess
practices herbal healing, nothing more.”

“And your mother died during her questioning?”

“Nay. She was questioned and found to know nothing. But the
child’s mother got wind that she was to be released and lay in wait for her.
She stabbed my mother eight times, one thrust for each year of her child’s
life. If the high councilor had not believed the tales of old women and slaves,
she would be alive today.”

“He did not stab her.”

“He put her in harm’s way. One cannot change the turning
wheel of fate.” Cidre indicated the circle painted on her wall.

Ardra stared at the wheel. Cidre’s mother had changed the
wheel of fate for a small child years ago—her fate.

“You are remembering how we are connected, are you not,
Ardra of the Fortress?”

“I know of no connection between us.” Her heart began to beat
hard.

“Was your mother not cursed by your father’s concubine? Did
the woman not curse your mother by calling on the Goddess of Darkness to avenge
her for your mother’s unholy treatment of her? Did your mother not fall ill and
die soon after?”

“My mother, wrongly, had my father’s concubine tested. The
woman’s wounds festered, and aye, she did curse my mother on her deathbed. And
aye, my mother sickened and died soon after.”

Cidre stood up and pressed the bottle into Ardra’s hand.
“But you believe your mother died because the concubine called on the goddess.
It is what many believe. Let me tell you the truth.

“Your mother died because her own evil permeated her body,
causing her to sicken. It had naught to do with
my
mother. The Goddess
of Darkness is a legend. A tale to frighten children and silly women such as
yourself. My mother was also named Cidre. She was Cidre, Goddess of the
Tangled
Wood
, nothing more.”

Ardra set the bottle of powder on Cidre’s table. “Samoht
will not believe this is the potion. He will not believe you gave it up so
easily.”

“Then you are doomed to failure.”

Ardra turned to go.

“Oh, and Ardra. Is it not also said in the legends that the
goddess birthed a beautiful daughter and an ugly son? I have no brother, just
as I have no children.”

“Lien? Where are you?” Ardra hurried toward him, weaving
through the hall, peeking in corners, opening doors. She was all dressed up. He
liked the way she looked, but much preferred her as she had been in his arms.
Softer, unsure of herself, ready to explore.

The woman approaching him had a determined frown on her
face. Much like the one Eve wore when she wanted to manage his life.

“Right here, Ardra.” He shifted his shoulders against the
swollen nipple of a dancing mantel figure.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I have looked everywhere
for you.”

“I’m just admiring the artwork.” He resisted the urge to
tell her the dancing babes made great scratching posts. It also sounded insane
to say that he thought Cidre had somehow caused his itchy rash.

“May we walk?” She gestured to the door, and he checked out
her nails. Too short to be useful. He cast a longing look back over his
shoulder at the dancing women. His glance also made a quick check for Samoht
and his men. They were still at the table, talking and laughing.

“Why are men so fascinated by large breasts?”

“I have no idea. Ask Nilrem, he’s the wiseman.” A guard
opened the double doors for them, and Lien noticed more of Samoht’s men and
Ralen’s wandering about the courtyard, eyeing the goddess’s guards. They all
wore expressions that said they’d draw swords in an instant and start a
mini-war if anyone farted wrong.