Bride for the God-King

Evernight Publishing www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2011 Adonis Devereux

ISBN: 978-1-927368-30-5

Cover Artist: LF Designs Editor: Dana Horbach

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION To JMJ

BRIDE FOR THE GOD-KING Adonis Devereux Copyright © 2011

Chapter One

Elemia assumed the master of the order would not call her name. As Master Ahketh assigned the other novices of the telepathic order to their posts in the celebration, she knew that she would have no place, for there were no floors to scrub. She did not mind. If she were not charged with a task, she would have the opportunity to watch the dances to the goddess. That would be far better than wandering the corridors of the festhall as she had been doing since her arrival. Since her presentation at the age of six, she had not left the convent until yesterday, and the city's sights, smells, and sounds fascinated her. “Novice Elemia!” Master Ahketh's voice startled her back to herself. “You are to be given a most important task.” Most important busy-work, he means. The novice beside Elemia dropped the thought into her mind. Elemia's cheeks burned, but she did not respond to the jab. It was true. “Here, Master Ahketh.” “We have received word that a group of Rolador savages have had the temerity to aspire to a bride from among our most recent crop of sisters. His Grace has, alas, not chosen a bride from among them, and though some are to be fitted with husbands, we would never stoop so low as to give any Ausir, let alone one of our telepaths, to a human.” Elemia nodded, wide-eyed. Though mostly humans rather than Ausir peopled the world of Gilalion, until yesterday she had never seen any humans, and the sight of their hornless heads still frightened her. “However, we do not wish to anger such unpredictable men as the Rolador, so you, Novice Elemia, will be assigned to a post on the

wall, to watch for their arrival. Look out east along the main road. When you see them coming toward this festhall – and you will not be able to mistake them – you are to tell me at once.” “Yes, Master Ahketh.” As Elemia bowed to the Novice Master, she felt the telepathic laughter of her fellow novices. She knew as well as they that this task had been invented to keep her out of sight, lest her plainness, in such contrast to the beauty of the other novices, shame the Order. Still, as Elemia climbed the stairs to stand on the wall, she smiled. She did not mind being kept out of the way. The less she was seen, the less she irked the High Mother. The winter sunlight fell on her face as she peered over the wall. Though this wall was only half as high as the convent's, the building complex sprawled behind it, and she was still not quite certain of all the rooms and chambers. From her solitary rambles of the day before, she remembered that there were two large baths, three primary courtyards, a fountain, and more receiving chambers, libraries, and feasting halls than she could count. Despite her desire to look back at the festhall's corridors and courts, Elemia fixed her gaze on the east road. The road was so full that the pedestrians had scarcely room to step. Elemia counted six lords' entourages, each more opulent than the last. She wondered which of them would be the fortunate purchasers of a telepathic bride. The High Mother rarely bestowed more than two brides a season, and this year there had been only five sisters to come of age. Even if the High Mother gave them all, at least one lord would be disappointed. The wind shifted, and Elemia shivered. The sun was bright, the air was still cold, and when the wind blew off the sea, even her thick, white novice cloak did not keep out the chill. For a moment, Elemia glanced back at the sea to the south. Though she had lived all her life only ten leagues from the shore, she had not seen the sea until yesterday. Elemia heard shouts in the street, and she whirled back to face the road. She saw three riders bearing down through the crowds, and the pedestrians tumbled over themselves to get out of the way. The lead rider's long, flowing hair was as a flame let loose. Its brilliant red contrasted equally with the stark white of his skin and the blue-andgreen swirls inked on it. The second rider was so like the first, even to the way he sat his horse, that Elemia took him at once for a brother.

The third Rolador was no Rolador at all. He sported the same blue and green tattoos, but the skin beneath them was olive; and the horns of an Ausir branched out from his black hair. Elemia felt her chest constrict, and she stared at the blackness of that hair as this wild creature came thundering toward her. His exotic beauty set him apart from his companions. He looked like nothing she had ever seen before, nor could she even have imagined this inexplicable perfection. She wished only to continue to look upon this apparition, this strange blend of Ausir and Rolador. Though she did not allow the thought to surface, she felt its presence. The very idea of being of the same kind as this man, of being Ausir like him, was enough to lift Elemia's chin and square her shoulders. Never again would she be ashamed of her plainness. It did not matter, for this beauty existed, and she was privileged to belong to his race. One of the Ausir lords Elemia had seen earlier refused to step aside for the riders, and the black-haired young man vanished behind the other two for a moment. Only when he was gone from her sight did Elemia recollect that she was to warn Master Ahketh. She ran back down the stairs and through the halls to the High Mother's receiving chamber. By this time in the ceremonies, Elemia knew Master Ahketh and his two ever-present knights would be attending the High Mother and the new sisters. She knocked on the chamber door and bowed as it opened. The Rolador have come, Master Ahketh. She did not wish to disturb the ceremony by speaking and so placed the thought directly into the Novice Master's mind. “Good, child.” Master Ahketh bowed to the High Mother and stepped out into the hallway. “Go to the fountain courtyard and stay there.” He was no longer looking at Elemia. “Just be certain to keep to yourself.” “Thank you, Master Ahketh.” Now that they were in the hallway, Elemia had no qualm about speaking. She bowed again and started toward the fountain-yard. She had twice to duck into alcoves to avoid being seen. This instruction of Master Ahketh's, however, Elemia knew was not to keep her plainness from reflecting upon the Order; it was to keep her from being alone in the presence of any man, even for so long as to pass in the hallway. As she passed through the arched doorway into the fountainyard, Elemia again heard men's voices. Without a thought, she ducked

behind a wrought-iron bench, hiding between it and the wall. Only when she hid did she realize that one of the voices belonged to Master Ahketh. She peered out through the ironwork. Master Ahketh, flanked by two knights, stood before the entry to the festhall. “You must excuse the High Mother,” he said. “She is too busy to receive you.” The two red-haired Rolador men towered over the Novice Master, and their eyes met over his head. But the black-haired one was some half-dozen paces back, and he kept his gaze fixed on the dead fountain. “We do not speak your Ausir tongue,” said one. “I am Volshaden of the Shanna clan. Do you speak the tongue of the city of Godswatch?” Elemia bit her lip. She wondered if she ought to offer herself to Master Ahketh as an interpreter, for she, touching the thought behind the words, understood any speech. “I speak it.” Master Ahketh put an end to Elemia's perplexity. “But the High Mother would not lower herself to speak any human tongue. She will hold no discourse with a human, and she will never bestow any of the sisters upon a human. Therefore begone.” He did not wait for a reply but disappeared back inside the festhall. “What did he say?” The one who had not spoken before did so. “He spoke too quick for me to follow.” “Cathal, he said he will not negotiate with a human.” Volshaden shrugged. “I told you this was a fool's errand.” “Then send Abbas.” Cathal gestured to the black-haired youth, still staring at the fountain. “He can pass for a full Ausir, and he can negotiate on my behalf.” Elemia followed Cathal's outstretched hand to gaze again upon the boy she knew as Abbas. Seeing him so close, she could determine that the Ausir angularity of his features was softened by human contours. His ears were not as pointed as an Ausir's, but his horns were high and branching. Elemia could not tear her eyes away from the perfect symmetry of his face. “Go, Abbas. You heard Cathal. Stand in that line of suitors and woo a bride on his behalf. And don't fail us. Father's dead, and if I were chief, you'd already be out of the clan.” Abbas glanced at Cathal, Elemia assumed for confirmation of the threat.

Cathal nodded once. “This means everything for the clan. A Shanna does not fail. Failure is treason, and I will punish it accordingly.” Volshaden gave Abbas a half-shove toward the door. “We'll take rooms at that inn we passed up the street.” “Yes, brother.” Abbas's speech matched that of the others. He spoke Rolador, and Elemia wished she knew what tongue to speak rather than merely to understand. Abbas vanished into the festhall, and the two red-haired brothers exited by way of the gate. Elemia crept out from behind the bench, curled up on it, and wrapped herself in her cloak as in a cocoon. She traced the shape of the fountain with her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like if it were summer, if the water played over the stones. But she failed. In her thoughts, all the water turned to silken black hair, and Elemia bowed her head, blushing despite her solitude. She was a novice of the Order of Yuilan, and she ought not to turn her eyes upon any man's beauties, leave alone such a one as Abbas. **** The sunlight fell red and orange into the courtyard, turning the falling snowflakes crimson. Elemia shivered. She was cold and stiff, but she knew better than to go inside the festhall. Master Ahketh had sent her here because no one would come here, and she was here until he summoned her back again. She suspected that Abbas would have seen the High Mother by this time – if they let him get so far. There would be no telepathic bride for the Rolador, though, no matter who wooed. Elemia sighed, and her breath hung frosty in the air. Then the door burst open, and Abbas, his arms pinioned by two burly men in the festhall colors, was dragged out. Behind him stepped the proprietor, a small dark man Elemia had seen yesterday. “Flog him,” said the proprietor. “Until he dies.” “I didn't do anything!” Abbas looked from one impassive face to the other, and his black eyes seemed to hold terror. “Why are you doing this?” “I must.” The proprietor nodded to one of the festhall guards, who unhooked from his belt a scourge.

“I wonder if it's true that half-bloods bleed black,” said the guard who held both of Abbas's arms. “We're about to find out.” The laughter that accompanied the words brought bile to the back of Elemia's throat, and she leapt from her bench, scattering the snow that had fallen on her cloak. Stop! Elemia placed the command in all three minds at once, the proprietor's and those of his guards. She ran out to Abbas. “Do not be afraid.” Abbas stared at her, but he made no reply, only turning to look back at the suddenly still guards. Elemia raised one hand and caught the scourge-wielding guard in her thoughts. She lifted him from the earth and dropped him on the other side of the fountain. Release the Ausir's arms. Elemia's command to the other guard was obeyed as quick as thought; then he, too, followed the first guard to land in a clumsy heap of tangled arms and legs. “He must die!” The proprietor was screaming. “I want him dead!” Elemia choked. How could anyone wish to harm this beautiful Ausir? “I did nothing.” Abbas spoke to Elemia for the first time, and he used the tongue of the city. “You must believe me.” “Of course I do.” Elemia was happy to be able to respond in the same language. “But why does he wish your death?” “I have no idea. I was just standing there, waiting to speak to the High Mother, when she looked up at me. She didn't say anything, just raised her finger. The next thing I knew, I was being dragged away.” Abbas looked over to the stirring guards. “Raised her finger?” Elemia knew the somatic aspects that eased the direction of telepathy. She had just used one herself to throw the guards. “The High Mother must have made him–” Elemia did not complete the words. She dove into the mind of the screaming proprietor. She saw the pulsing command at once. It was a simple thing, the work of an instant, and in an instant, it was also undone. Elemia released the command. The proprietor's mouth closed, and he glanced from Elemia to Abbas. “You're a lucky bastard,” he said. “I've changed my mind about killing you. For now.”

As he turned back toward the doorway, Elemia heard the muttered curses called down on Abbas, and she clasped her hands around her throat. She ought to have known. It was impossible for any telepath, even the High Mother, to implant a command without leaving emotional traces. The hate that had fueled the false desire for the beautiful Ausir's death would remain, perhaps for years. “Wait, please!” Elemia grasped at the edge of the proprietor's furred cloak. “Please, take this.” She fumbled with the clasp of her gold novice bracelet, the only thing of any value she possessed. “Perhaps it will repay you for your inconvenience.” As his fingers closed around the gold, carved as only Ausir could, into the very image of living roses, the proprietor smiled. “That it will, little novice.” And then he was gone, the two guards following him, both of them giving Elemia a wide berth. “What just happened?” Abbas sat down on the fountain edge, almost as though his legs would not support him. “Who are you? Why did they want me dead? Why did you stop them?” Elemia wrapped her cloak around herself and backed away from the youth. She was alone with a man for the first time in her life. She swallowed, but she could not force out words. Forgive me for touching your thoughts. Elemia dropped her gaze. I do not talk often. I do not know why, but the High Mother ordered your death. She placed the command in the proprietor's mind. “Who are you?” Abbas must have been shocked by her thoughts in his mind, but Elemia saw no sign of discomfiture. He rose from the fountain's edge and took a step toward her. “And what brought you here just in time to save my life?” I am Elemia, one of the novices of the Order of Yuilan. I did not mean to overhear you. I was out here because Master Ahketh ordered me to keep out of sight. Abbas smiled then. “My brothers keep me out of sight, too.” Oh why? Elemia stopped herself from marveling about the young man's beauty in his own thoughts. “Can you talk now?” asked Abbas. “I'm not used to hearing voices in my head.” “If you want me to, I will.” Elemia found her tongue. “Why did you help me?” Abbas advanced toward Elemia, who backed away as he came on. “You're terrified of me right now, but you ran out here and saved me. That doesn't make sense.”

“I have no explanation, sir.” Elemia bumped her calves against the wrought iron of the bench where she had been sitting. “I knew you were innocent, and I could not let you die.” “You knew I was innocent?” Abbas stopped. “Can you prove my innocence?” Elemia nodded. “Yes, if one will take the word of a telepath. I saw the command for your death, and there was no cause.” “Then come with me!” Abbas held out his hand. “Cathal is the Shanna chief. He'll have me killed for ruining his chances here. They wouldn't be sorry to get rid of me, anyway.” Elemia's breath caught in her chest. How could anyone wish to harm this man, whose beauties were the model of perfection? “Will you come with me, please, to the rooms they've taken? If you could explain it to them, prove it to them–” He broke off and laughed. “I don't even know what I need to have proven. I don't even know what my crime was. All I did was go into the High Mother's room.” Elemia stared at Abbas's outstretched hand. It was a rough hand with heavy calluses on the first and second fingers. The fingers were long and strong, and a white scar ran across the palm. “Will you come?” asked Abbas again, and she heard the increase of fear in his words. The sound of the proprietor's voice in the hallway sent a dart of answering fear into Elemia. “Yes.” She laid her hand in Abbas's. He turned, however, not toward the festhall door but to the outer gate. “Where are we going?” Fear froze Elemia, holding her still. “My brothers took a room in an inn down the road. This festhall was full.” Cold sweat stood on Elemia's brow. To leave the festhall? To go somewhere she had no permission to be? And with a man? Elemia never disobeyed any rule before; how could she now? To leave with a man she did not know? To risk ruining her reputation? But as Abbas fixed her with his eyes, those black and depthless eyes, she knew she could not let him suffer. If her training had taught her anything at all, it was that she could not let an innocent suffer. The High Mother herself had wronged Abbas, and Elemia knew that she could not endanger Abbas by asking him to bring his brothers here. She resumed her stride, trying to keep pace with Abbas.

He ran, half-dragging her from the festhall grounds. Elemia could only hope they had not been seen.

Chapter Two Abbas burst through the front door, striding into the dim common room of the inn with Elemia in tow. No one save the innkeeper was there, and considering the crowds outside and the general mayhem the Order's presence at the festhall was causing, Abbas could see why the place was empty. The innkeeper's bushy eyebrows shot up as he looked from Abbas to Elemia and then back to Abbas. “Your brothers have stepped out.” He ducked his head and turned his lecherous eyes upon the deep shadow falling across Elemia's face. “Keep your hood drawn close,” Abbas warned. Elemia nodded. “So, what'll it be, master horselord? A tussle in the hay before the other stallions return? I won't tell if you won't.” Abbas's trained crossbow cut short the innkeeper's chuckle. “I've killed an elk from a hundred paces while on horseback at full gallop with this. I'm sure I can hit a fat sack of grease like you standing still.” The innkeeper raised his hands. “No offense. You may not have the red hair of the Rolador, but you've got their temper. Figured you'd brought the little miss in here for some snatch of pleasure.” “What I do is my own business.” Abbas did not wait for the innkeeper to make any more apologies. To Elemia, he said, “It would probably be best to wait for my brothers in our room.” Elemia shook her head and backed away. I have come this far. Too far. If we are to wait, I must wait here. She sat down in the nearest chair and her gaze went to the innkeeper's face. Abbas understood. As he holstered his crossbow, he took a seat beside Elemia and called for wine. “But it's dangerous here. We're exposed. It would be better if we were somewhere more private, some place unseen.” He was close enough to see her alabaster skin blush at the thought. Elemia looked down and shook her head, this time with more vehemence, but no thoughts spoke into Abbas's mind. Abbas watched her for several moments until her eyes flickered to his face and then away again. She liked him; that was obvious. Abbas would not have

called himself an expert on women, but any man not green in the way of wooing could have seen the marks of love in her. “This is a strange business.” It seemed Elemia could not find her voice, and Abbas did not wish to alert the innkeeper, who was peering over at them, to the truth of her identity. “It is.” Elemia's words were no more than a whisper. She looked around, from the door to the window, and it seemed as if she expected to be caught. “Peace, sister.” Abbas reached out and took Elemia's hand. Though she trembled, she grabbed on to his hand and held it tight. Abbas had ridden with his father and brothers in the hunt. He had killed the enemies of his clan. He had taken their women into his bed. And he was sure this girl, this little Ausir girl, brave and timid, beautiful and sweet, had never even touched a man's flesh before. He folded his rough tattooed hand over her fragile white one. She had just saved his life and disabled two of the festhall guards, and yet she looked as if a stiff breeze might blow her over or a banging door might make her jump from her chair in fright. “I don't understand,” he said. “What do you not understand, sir?” “Abbas. That's my name. Call me Abbas. I am a Rolador horselord. The title 'sir' doesn't suit me.” He turned his hand, indicating the blue-green tattoos that ran the length of his fingers, across the back of his hand, and up his forearm. “Abbas.” Elemia renewed her grip on his hand. “Why are you here?” “You needed my help. You asked me to come.” “No, no.” Abbas's throaty laugh filled the small room. “Why is your Order in the city? My eldest brother heard that you girls make very good wives. Is that what you do? Churn out wives for men rich enough to buy you?” He tilted his head to the left, and he felt Elemia's gaze fix on the black tail of his hair as it slipped off his shoulder. “Not at all.” Elemia shifted in her seat and turned her knees toward Abbas. He set his legs apart so that hers might be between his. She backed away and tried to escape his trap, but he pinned her legs with his knees. “Please, sir,” Elemia began. “Abbas.” He smiled a crooked smile at her.

Elemia looked down at her knees caught between his. “The Order of Yuilan was founded by the goddess herself a thousand years ago to provide her brother, the King, with a bride.” “Oh.” Abbas released her knees and her hand. “Sorry.” “I am not offended.” Elemia looked at his retreating hand, and Abbas knew she wished to take it again. “We novices train from a young age – I was six when my parents gave me to the Order. The year after we come of age, we are taken to Kartalon and presented to the King. He rejects us all. We make the return trip home, and the High Mother, to defray the costs of our raising, training, and lodging, as well as the expenses of the Order, sells about half of us off to noble husbands in Godswatch.” “Are you telling me that for a millennium, the King has been rejecting you?” Elemia nodded. “None have yet caught his eye.” Abbas laughed again. “Either the Order or the King has got to be doing something wrong. A thousand years and he can't find one girl to his liking?” Elemia smiled and locked her gaze on his mouth. “It is difficult to find a bride for a God-King.” Abbas nodded in assent. “Fair enough.” Though he had more questions, he thought it best to drop the subject since his brother was trying to get one of these brides and being rejected. Elemia reached out and brushed Abbas's knuckles with her fingertips, and when she spoke, she addressed his tattooed hands. “You call yourself Rolador, but you are Ausir.” She paused, and Abbas waited for her to ask the question he knew was on her tongue. “Was your mother Ausir?” “No.” Abbas extended his fingers and intertwined them in hers. He would not deny her this touch or anything. “Well, actually, I don't know. My father, the Shanna chief, found me when I was a boy. I was wandering the hills, alone and hungry and cold. He took me in and raised me as one of his sons, despite Cathal and Volshaden already being men.” As though the utterance of their names summoned them, the two red-haired brothers entered the common room. Elemia released Abbas's hand and popped to her feet. “Brothers,” Abbas called to them.

Cathal strode over to where his younger, adopted brother sat. His long hair was wet and combed, and he smelled of bathhouse soap and oils. “What's this, then?” Cathal indicated Elemia with a nod of his head. “Did you get one so quickly?” Volshaden's amused tone brought him over to where his brothers talked. “Not exactly.” Abbas rose and took a deep breath. “I waited in line to see the High Mother just like you asked me to, but when I got in to her receiving chamber – or whatever it was – she went berserk. I don't know why.” Cathal and Volshaden exchanged quick glances as their hands gripped the pommels of their swords. The chief shrugged, and Volshaden smirked. “Now you've done it,” Volshaden said, drawing his blade. Cathal, too, drew. “Failure is treason.” His voice purred, and Abbas knew the chief would enjoy his kill, finally to end the old chief's mistake. Abbas looked sidelong at Elemia to see what she thought of him. He expected to see her smirk like all the other purebloods in his life, whether human or Ausir, but instead her fierce pity comforted him. She stepped up to stand beside him. “Your brother is not guilty of treason,” Elemia said. “He did not–” “This is a Shanna matter,” Volshaden began. “Shut up, Volshaden,” Cathal said. “This is important.” He turned his disapproving stare back to Abbas. “Explain yourself. What did you do?” “Nothing! I went in and found the High Mother talking to one of her sisters or novices or whatever they are. I waited quietly until she acknowledged my presence, and when she saw me, she was mad as a stallion who's thrown a shoe.” “Who's this, then?” Abbas hoped that Elemia would be able to explain better than he. “They tried to kill me, and she saved me.” Cathal circled around Elemia, looking her up and down, but she stood unmoving and did not watch him prowl. “She saved you?” When he was standing in front of Elemia again, he addressed her. “Are you one of the telepaths, then?”

“I am.” Elemia's voice held no fear of the tattooed savage hovering over her. “I am known as Elemia of the Sapphire Moon.” Cathal sheathed his blade, and Volshaden did likewise. The chief then reached up and removed Elemia's hood, revealing her eyes shining in defiance. Abbas still could not make any sense out of this girl, at times timid, at times bold. The festhall guards had assaulted him, and she had seen fit to rescue a stranger. She seemed to bristle under the brothers' undeserved hatred, offended on Abbas' behalf. “What can you do?” Cathal examined her face and let his eyes trace the contours of her horns. Elemia's countenance hardened even more. “Yes, I am plain, but you cannot keep your thoughts from me, nor can anyone who is not a King's Squire like Master Ahketh.” Cathal looked back at Volshaden, and they shared a mischievous smile. “Just what I'm looking for, though she is plain. Should fetch a cheaper price.” Volshaden swung around his brother. “So that's how you saved Abbas? You knew what they were going to do before they did it?” “No.” Elemia's voice cut like ice. “I took them in my thoughts and tossed them to the far side of the fountain.” Cathal slapped his thigh. “Even better! We can get her, and this girl will make the Shanna great. She will unite the clans under me.” Abbas stepped up and stood chest to chest with the Shanna chief, his brother. “Only if she wants to. You can't tell her what to do.” Elemia put her hand on Abbas's back and touched his mind. Though now I have some modicum of liberty, were I sold, my husband would have the secret word which would command me in all things. Abbas turned back to Elemia in surprise. “Now you see why men line up to buy us. What more perfect toy is there?” Elemia's sadness washed over his mind and left hopelessness behind. Abbas wanted to reach out and touch her face but he could not. Not while his brothers stood nearby. Elemia smiled and let her head drop. She had read that last thought, and Abbas, flustered, cleared his throat and turned back to address Cathal. The sound of tramping soldier boots frightened Abbas. “They're after me. I've got to hide.”

“No one will take a Shanna from his chief,” Cathal said as he reached for his sword. Elemia strode forward. “Do not draw your blades. They are not coming for him.” Panic constricted Abbas's throat. “Who is it, Elemia?” Elemia did not hide her fear from him. The door swung open and revealed Master Ahketh and two of his knights, all of them clad in blue-and-silver tabards. The grimfaced Ausir, clad in an ornamental breastplate, stood in wide-eyed amazement, and Elemia shrank away from his fury. “Jhaleed, the festhall proprietor, is a true and loyal friend of the Order.” Ahketh stepped into the common room, and his knights followed. “When he told me that one of the novices had left the hall in the company of a man.” He turned a withering stare at Abbas. “And a savage, tattooed half-blood at that, I thought he was mistaken.” His pompous tone carried his speech with ease. “No daughter of Yuilan would ever break her vows, disobey the High Mother's orders, or compromise her honor in such a scandalous manner. No good sister would betray the trust of her King by being discovered alone with, not one, but three painted horselords.” “We just got here,” Volshaden offered. Abbas elbowed his brother in the back. “The novice is innocent of any wrongdoing. She only prevented an injustice.” “Irrelevant!” Ahketh screamed. “Her actions are treason. To be found alone with men? It is a blot on the Order's reputation.” “Treason?” The gravity of the word compelled Abbas to step in front of Elemia to defend her. He did not know what was going to happen, nor did he quite know what he would do, but he wanted to be ready. He would not throw Elemia to these armored wolves. Ahketh's visage seemed to soften a bit. “The fault is not yours. Elemia made a vow to the Order, so her actions will be judged by the Order. Step aside, Rolador.” Abbas could see the effort Ahketh put into tempering his words with as much civility as he could muster. “Step aside and let my men take her into custody.” Abbas looked down into Elemia's eyes. “Will you be all right?” he whispered. Elemia's eyes filled with tears. I knew what I was doing when I saved you. I could not let a man so perfect as you come to harm. I do

not care what comes after so long as you are safe from the High Mother's injustice. Abbas could not help himself. “Elemia.” He reached out and took her hand. The only person who had ever done anything so selfless for him had been his adopted Rolador father, and that was in spite of what he was. But Elemia loved him because of what he was, though a tattooed half-breed with no real home and no real family. “Confirmed!” Ahketh's cry broke into Abbas's reverie, and he could have strangled the arrogant Ausir knight for that. “Hussy! Men, take her away from this place.” As the knights led her away, Elemia touched Abbas's thoughts one last time. They will learn nothing from me. You are safe. I will not tell the High Mother anything. And then she was gone, vanished into the evening. Cathal and Volshaden began to plan at once how they might snag this disgraced sister. Abbas had no stomach for such a conversation. He could not bear to think of his little Elemia yoked to his brother. Cathal had come to Godswatch to find a wife who might serve as a weapon against his enemies, but it was Abbas, who had found a girl to love.

Chapter Three Elemia paused as the door of the festhall clanged behind her. She closed her eyes, trying to compose her thoughts, to hide her tears, to bring no more shame upon herself than she had already done. She tried in vain, for the condemning thoughts of the other novices hovered around her mind. They lined the hallway, watching her, as she was marched down to the High Mother's reception hall, the very room in which Abbas had earlier stood. She had expected the condemnation, but the sting of the accusation of treason was not lessened. She bowed her head, accepting their estimation of her. It was easier to accept it than to fight, and she had always accepted their views of her. They had seen her for the plain and useless thing she was; they saw her for a traitor. They were right before; were they not, therefore, still right? Elemia looked up into the faces of the knights, men she had known all her life, who escorted her, and in their eyes, she saw no pity. She tilted up her chin. She had known what the price would be when she had held out her hand to Abbas that afternoon, and still she did not repent of it. “Follow!” Master Ahketh, it seemed, tired of her hesitation and slow steps. “I hear and obey.” Elemia gave the formulaic response of a novice, but the clamor from the minds of the gathered girls brought a rush of tears to her eyes even as she spoke. As if she knew the meaning of the word. What presumption! She still thinks of herself as one of us. Traitor! The two knights turned their backs to her, leading her toward the Mother's audience chamber. As she trailed behind the pair, Elemia envied them their inability to hear the thoughts of others. At the door to the audience chamber, Elemia hesitated again. In all her life as a novice, she had been brought before the High Mother only once. Twelve years had passed since that day when her parents had placed her six-year-old self in the High Mother's hand. She remembered that day; it was the curse of a telepath never to forget. She had hated that day. She recalled the line between the High

Mother's brows. She remembered, too, that despite her youth and lack of training, she had caught the thought behind it: the thought that Elemia would be so plain as to disgrace the Order. It had been only the strength of her telepathy that had prevented her from being turned away. She wondered if that same line would be there now. “You dawdle in the doorway, Novice Elemia of the Sapphire Moon.” Master Ahketh's voice jerked Elemia from her recollections and back to the unpleasant present. Elemia hesitated no longer. She stepped across the threshold and bowed, first to the Mother in her high seat of oak then to Master Ahketh, flanked as ever by two silent knights, who took a seat opposite the High Mother in a matching chair. Elemia did not know where to look, but she did not, being as she was unrepentant, think it right to bow her head. She stared at the sigil of the goddess Yuilan, the blue rose, enameled on the High Mother's horns. All full sisters received the blue rose. She never would. “You stand before us, novice, accused of high treason, treason against King Kelvirith, our Eternal King.” Master Ahketh's imperious voice filled the wide hall. “You have betrayed the Order of Yuilan by breaking your vows.” I broke no vow, sir. Elemia's nervousness precluded speech. “But you broke our rules, child.” The Master rose and strode to tower over Elemia. She had never realized how high his horns were until this moment. “And you exacerbated your disobedience by leaving with a young man – and not returning until we found you. You have compromised your honor and broken faith with your King!” My honor is intact, sir. I am a maid. “That is irrelevant.” “Is it?” The High Mother's voice, so rarely heard, broke in. “I would like to hear precisely what went on between my novice and this youth.” Elemia did not miss the look that Master Ahketh gave the High Mother, a look, she would have thought, of disbelief and fury. “Speak, Elemia.” The High Mother smiled at her, and Elemia saw no mercy in the High Mother. Why should she wish to hear the tale when she was as determined as the Master to condemn her? Elemia could not fathom it, but then, she could not fathom why anyone would hate Abbas, either.

“I prevented the proprietor of this festhall from murdering the young horselord.” Elemia said only what the High Mother would already know. She did not understand why the High Mother wished Abbas's death, and without that knowledge she did not dare accuse the High Mother before Master Ahketh. “And why should Jhaleed wish this youth's death?” The Mother's roused emotion frightened Elemia. “For your own sake, High Mother. Abbas told me that he had offended you, though quite without intent, and for that insult to you, the proprietor wished to take his life.” “Did he say no more than this?” “No more, High Mother.” The Mother sat back in her chair, and Elemia felt the texture of the Mother's thoughts alter. There was no further interest; her next words might have been about the next day's bread rations. “So there is no excuse for you, novice.” Master Ahketh nodded. “Your own Mother, try as she may, can find no palliation for your conduct. I name you faithless and oathbreaker, and I cast you out.” “Sir.” Elemia was willing to accept any punishment they could mete out. She had known what she was doing. But she would not accept the title of oathbreaker. “I swore, when I was given to the Order, that I belonged to the Roses of Yuilan, that I placed myself at their disposal, to be given or kept at their pleasure. I have not broken this. I admit, without shame, that I broke the command not to leave the festhall. I would, were the circumstances the same, do it again.” Master Ahketh's eyes grew wide, and he gasped; but Elemia ignored him. “We train here to be Queens. How could a Queen turn away a supplicant?” “Ral-nau-thal!” Elemia felt her mind go blank. The esoteric syllables assigned to her at her acceptance into the Order now wiped her mind clear. The imprinted words left her lips. “I stand ready to obey.” She did not want to speak the words, nor did she speak them. The High Mother's invocation of her command word overrode her will. Elemia spoke at the High Mother's pleasure. “Be silent.” The command was inexorable, and Elemia could not disobey it. She fell silent, and she knew she would not speak again

until given leave. She implored Master Ahketh with her eyes, but the look that Master Ahketh gave her then pierced Elemia's core. She knew that he despised her utterly, and she was sorry that this should be so. She had always admired him, the Master of the Roses, but she would not lie, nor could she be sorry to have helped Abbas. “You, plain and little and dull, think to succeed where hundreds of your betters have failed?” Elemia sensed renewed emotion in the High Mother, and that emotion was hate. “You compound your crimes with arrogance and impenitence!” Elemia waited, unable to speak, even to beg for mercy, which she refused to do. Again the High Mother invoked the word. “Now, speak, toad.” “I am sorry to have spoken out of turn, High Mother.” Elemia still kept her gaze on the blue roses on the High Mother's horns. “Forgive me.” “There is no forgiveness.” Master Ahketh took up the condemnation. “You have brought shame upon the Order of Yuilan.” Elemia said nothing, projected no thoughts. She remembered instead the black sheen of Abbas's hair, his strong tattooed hands and steeled herself. “Indeed, you claim still to be a maid, and that may well be.” Master Ahketh's thought of her plainness was unspoken, but Elemia caught it nonetheless. “But your guilt or innocence is irrelevant to the Order's disgrace. You have sullied our name, our reputation, our honor. I am the Keeper of the Roses, chief of the King's Squires, and I have failed to keep the flowers entrusted to me above reproach. If you could go out alone with a man, why, then so could any maiden here! You taint your sisters by their association with you. You pollute our convent with your treachery.” Tears welled up in Elemia's eyes. She was accustomed to being ignored, to being berated by the other novices, to being assigned the tasks no one wanted, but she had never been so hated as at this moment. The raw emotion of Master Ahketh combined with the High Mother's hate, and Elemia, for the first time since she had entered the chamber, dropped her gaze to the floor. She had expected a death sentence; treason was punishable by death or exile, and she did not deny that she had broken the convent's rules. But the thought of death hurt more than she had anticipated. Elemia felt a strange pain in her middle as she thought of never seeing again Abbas's face, but

she did not understand it. Were she to remain in the convent she would still never see him, and that thought hurt equally. “There is no punishment fit for your crime,” said Master Ahketh. “No one honored by the Order's acceptance has ever turned against it.” “Death, then?” The High Mother rose from her seat. “No.” Master Ahketh, still standing in front of Elemia, looked down at her face. “Death is better than she deserves.” “Then we sell her?” The High Mother tilted her head to the left. “But who would purchase a disgraced novice? And how could that be sufficient punishment when we sell some of our fairest blossoms to worthy lords?” “There is a Rolador chieftain here in the city,” said Master Ahketh. “It was in his brother's company that Elemia was recovered, so they are already aware of her disgrace. It would spread no further. The Rolador people are rude and wild, and they have no cities.” Elemia saw the High Mother's repressed shudder and bit her lip. “Never before has a novice been sold to a human.” Master Ahketh spat the final word. “They are lesser beings, and to be the bride of such a one would be a daily humiliation fit for one who could so betray her sisters.” “They will be far from all civilized lands, and her disgrace will be buried with her.” The High Mother joined Master Ahketh in standing before Elemia. “And her bride-price will offset the costs of having raised her. She will be blotted out of our annals; she will be wiped from our books. It will be as though she had never been.” Elemia could not breathe. This was exile and worse than exile. For an instant, she wished to kneel before the Master and the High Mother and beg for mercy, but that would entail repentance – and she could not repent. She was no loss to the Order; she had never aspired to be Queen. Somewhere in the world, Abbas would live and be happy. Elemia found her breath again. “So let it be done.” Master Ahketh nodded to the Mother. “Take her bracelet. No more is she, Novice Elemia of the Sapphire Moon. No more shall any sister be accepted under the auspices of the Sapphire Moon. Let all her name be forgotten.” Blood filled Elemia's cheeks as the High Mother took her naked wrist.

“I gave it in exchange for clemency for Abbas.” The Mother's sudden blow stung Elemia's face. “You accounted your sacred duty so lightly that you traded it away to a stranger!” “Have her sent out into the courtyard,” said Master Ahketh. “She must not continue under the same roof as the virtuous sisters, the pure Roses of Yuilan, while we conclude the negotiations for her permanent removal.” In response to the command, the two King's Squires who had brought Elemia into the chamber escorted her out, but they did not speak to her. They did not look at her. As they walked, Elemia felt the High Mother's mind touching all those of the Order, novices and sisters alike, and she felt her name be expunged. Outside, the snow fell over the dead fountain. She was no one.

Chapter Four Abbas's half-sleeping mind stumbled toward wakefulness, fleeing the same dark dreams he had every night. His eyes opened on the narrow crack of morning light coming through the thick curtains, and his dark visions of snow slushed with steaming blood and a cave slick with gore were replaced by bright thoughts of Elemia. He sat up and saw that he was alone in the room; his brothers were no doubt downstairs in the common room wolfing down tuna pies the innkeeper had laid out the night before. Abbas rose, washed his face, hands, and forearms, took up his crossbow and marched down the stairs. Cathal and Volshaden sat at their breakfast table surrounded by empty plates, and before them stood a servant of the festhall, a dainty lad of, perhaps, ten summers. “What do you think, Abbas?” Bits of half-chewed food fell from Volshaden's open mouth as he looked back to where Abbas had paused on the staircase. “If the innkeep runs out of pies, should we eat him?” He indicated the boy with the jerk of his head. The boy fidgeted, taking an immediate step back and rolling his cloth cap in his hand. Cathal grunted. “Speak your piece, boy. What message from your master?” His voice held no amusement. “My master, Jhaleed, has commanded me to bring word to you from the High Mother of the Order of Yuilan.” The boy's high voice trembled, but he carried on, closing his eyes as if the exact wording of the message were important. “The Order is prepared to offer you one of their novices, if you would come to the festhall with all haste to purchase her.” Cathal rose and brushed the crumbs from his hands by slapping his palms together. He nudged Volshaden and laughed heartily. “See? And you said I came on a fool's errand. The Earthmother smiles on the Shanna! We'll have a telepath in time for the Meeting of the Clans.” Volshaden looked back at Abbas. “More like luck, as I see it.” Abbas completed his descent and came to stand near his brothers. “So, is it to be Elemia?” he asked the boy. “I–I don't know, sir.”

Volshaden burst out laughing. “On a first name basis with her, are we now?” Volshaden teased. Cathal silenced Volshaden with a stare. “It could be no other than she. You know these Ausir.” And he looked up at Abbas's horns. “They despise us, and so would sell to us only one they would wish to punish.” Punish because of Abbas, because of what he had asked her to do. In a flash, he saw Elemia in Cathal's arms and ground his teeth. He would rather have still been in the nightmare. “There's plenty of food left,” Volshaden said as he, too, rose. “Stay, eat. You've already done your part.” Abbas's fury boiled against his brother, and for all the years of barbed jibes he laid Volshaden low, but only in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to come over the table and throttle his mocking brother, but he did not. He swallowed his rage and kept his place. Since his adopted father's death, Abbas remained a Shanna on sufferance, because Cathal honored the dead chief's memory. But if he attacked Volshaden as he longed to do, he knew he would be expelled from the clan and never see Elemia more. “I will go with you,” Abbas said. “It is only right that the Shanna chieftain have his brothers by his side when he weds.” The thought was too much for him, and he reached down and grabbed Cathal's half-drunk tankard of ale. He poured the bitter drink down his dry throat. “Run on, boy,” Cathal said to the boy, and the boy ran. The chief gathered up his bow and shouldered it. Volshaden did the same. “It's a shame Abbas didn't compromise the honor of a prettier girl.” Abbas slammed the tankard back on the table. “Why do you two keep saying that? What's wrong with her?” Cathal turned and laid a patronizing hand on Abbas' shoulder. “Have you not eyes? The women of the Order are the most beautiful in the world – except for that one. She shows worse against her sisters.” Abbas snorted. “They're painted lilies, nothing more. Gilded horns and powdered cheeks? Hardly a proper match for a Rolador.” “True enough.” Abbas detected the grudging admiration for his acumen in Cathal's voice. “Come. Let's go get me a wife.”

**** The three Rolador brothers arrived at the festhall. Snow had fallen during the night, and the courtyard showed no footprints. They entered by the side gate, the same one they had entered the day before. And just like the day before, Master Ahketh was there to meet them. The fountain was silent, its basin filled with snow. Abbas had almost died in this small courtyard. He looked at the wide, flat stones under his feet, the high walls, the recessed benches where customers might sit and talk in private. There Elemia sat, huddled in her white cloak, her knees pulled up to her chin in a pose Abbas had assumed on many a frosty night. Beside her stood two vigilant knights in blue and silver. Abbas wanted to run over to her, but he did not move. His anger burned bright against Ahketh for his treatment of her. “Cathal, chief of the Shanna.” Ahketh addressed the Rolador, and Abbas saw the disdain in his curled lip, his scorn in the haughty tilt of his chin. “You are come to take a wife from among the Roses of Yuilan, but know this: the rose you would take is already withered from the bush. Do you wish to proceed on these terms?” Cathal grunted his assent while gesturing with his hand to speed Ahketh's ponderous speech. “Let's get on with it.” “Then enter, and we will set a price.” Ahketh looked past Cathal and Volshaden to where Abbas stood some few paces behind. “That one has no place at the table. The High Mother will not suffer the half-breed's presence.” Abbas did not care about any insult Ahketh might offer him. His gaze was on Elemia, who hid her face in her hands. He was impatient for everyone to leave, so he might rush to her side and comfort her. How had she spent the night out here? The bench had no snow on it. Had she cleared it so she might lie down, with no blanket but black heaven? Abbas did not hide his hatred for Ahketh as he returned the knight's baleful gaze. Cathal and Volshaden followed Ahketh inside, and before their retreating forms were even out of sight, Abbas ran to Elemia's side. “Elemia.” He lifted her face to his. Her teeth chattered; her lips were blue. “Impious cruelty!” he spat at the guards. Abbas sat down behind Elemia and wrapped his arms around her, then draped his own wolfskin cloak across her. Elemia started, but Abbas prevented her. “If

two sit down together, they may keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone?” The two guards said nothing, but they did not hide their disgust from Abbas. “Sir,” Elemia began softly. “Abbas. I share no title with these tin-plated monsters who would stand by and let a girl freeze.” “Abbas.” Though she was cold, the mere pronouncement of his name seemed to warm her. Abbas snuggled closer to her. Her hands were icy. “Why are you kept out here?” “I am not allowed inside with virtuous women.” Elemia did not remove her hands from Abbas's but let him rub them. “I might corrupt them.” “Veirakai's syphilitic dick! These fools know nothing of virtue.” Virtue was helping a stranger without any thought of the consequences. Virtue was not sitting by and letting an innocent man be flogged to death. Elemia had more virtue than anyone he had ever known. She possessed the courage of her convictions, and for that cause alone, Abbas knew he lived. He wanted to kiss the back of her head, but that might make her fly from his arms. She did not understand her own feelings for him, and if he pushed too hard too soon, she would retreat into the shell of her convent training. “Come away with me, Elemia,” Abbas whispered in her ear. The guards did not move; they had not heard. “What?” Elemia's voice was an equally low whisper. “While my brothers and that bastard Ahketh are inside. Let's make a run for it.” Elemia half turned around in her seat, straining to look at Abbas's face. “To what end?” “That we might be together, of course. I cannot bear the thought of you married to my brother.” Abbas stroked her hair. “No, no, you do not need to do this because you think you are in my debt. I aided you freely. You owe me nothing.” Elemia's eyes lost their focus as they fell on the empty fountain before her. Abbas crushed Elemia against himself. Here was a girl unspoilt and modest, a girl of great power, with a kind heart, and a seeming contradiction of timidity and courage.

Elemia continued after a long pause. “I thank you for offering to rescue me from a marriage not of my choosing, but despite what Master Ahketh says, I have not broken my vows. I pledged my life to the Order, and I will not break my word now. They have the right to sell me to a husband of their choice. I am not my own mistress.” “I don't want to take you away out of pity, Elemia. Don't you understand how I feel?” “Of course. You are so very kind and generous that you would offer to take a poor, friendless girl like me under your protection.” Abbas rose and came around to stand in front of Elemia. He searched her face for any mark of affection, but virginal innocence veiled the love he saw, and he knew she could not recognize it. He knelt before her and took her hand. “You're mistaken. I can't stand to think that you will be so close to me yet so far away when my brother–” The festhall door swung open, and Abbas popped to his feet. He helped Elemia to stand, as if that had been his intention all along. Cathal strode forward smiling. “It's done.” Volshaden and Ahketh came after him. “Now what?” Abbas could not help asking, and he wondered if his brothers understood the way he looked at Elemia. Ahketh broke in. “Now they wed in whatever fashion best suits the chief. I ask that it be done at once, since I am commanded to bear witness to the union.” At once? Abbas despaired of ever getting Elemia away from this union he despised. He had hoped that once she understood how he loved her, she would submit to and flee with him, but what little time they had shared had just run out. Abbas looked down at Elemia and willed her to read his thoughts, but she was not looking at him, and he had no idea about how a non-telepath would wordlessly invite a telepath into his mind. “Our Earthmother priests did not ride with us,” Cathal explained to Ahketh, “but their presence is not necessary for the nuptial rite.” Ahketh rolled his eyes. “Then get on with it, man.” Cathal drew himself up, and Abbas recognized all the signs of his brother struggling with his temper. Abbas fingered his crossbow. He wondered if Ahketh had pushed too far in his discourtesy. He hoped he had.

But the Shanna chief mastered himself and spoke through gritted teeth. “For the sake of this contract, I'll not rip your jaw off and shove it through your eye sockets.” The sound of unsheathing steel echoed in the stones of the courtyard, and Abbas turned to see the knights advancing with swords in hand. “Hold.” Ahketh raised his hand as he smiled at Cathal. “We are not fit company for each other, that is clear, so the sooner you marry this–” He paused. “This girl, the sooner you can be on your way.” Without looking away from Ahketh, Cathal called Volshaden to his side. “Brother, fetch my reins.” Abbas noticed the surprise and fear that crossed Elemia's face. “Don't worry. He won't hurt you.” I had thought never to marry, but now the moment has come. I am afraid, Abbas. “I won't let him hurt you.” Abbas's voice was the slightest of whispers, for he was confident she was taking his full meaning from his mind. “I won't let anyone hurt you.” But what could he do? How could he help her? Cathal was his chief and his elder brother. Elemia was bound to vows she would not break and was about to take even more vows that would keep her yet further from him. Though she stood beside him, she might as well have been back behind her convent walls. Abbas had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he had not noticed Volshaden's return with the reins. Cathal took Elemia's hand and moved her to stand before Volshaden. Gripping her forearm, he bade her grip his in return. Elemia did so, and it struck Abbas how much smaller she was than the chief. He imagined Cathal topping her, entering her, and her moaning in pleasure at his ministrations. He choked on the thought of Elemia enjoying giving her maidenhead to Cathal. She would unite her flesh to his, take him inside her, and give him children. Cathal would be everything to her in time, and it would not take her long to forget her blossoming affections for Abbas. Volshaden wrapped the leather strap from the reins of Cathal's stallion around Elemia's and Cathal's joined forearms, binding them together in the ancient rite of the Earthmother. It was simple, just as the Rolador were a simple people.

“Speak, and be named husband,” Volshaden invited his brother to begin. Cathal, towering over Elemia, turned and looked down upon his little bride. “As Jehiel Sunlord took to wife Elendrie Earthmother to rule over her and make her fruitful, so I, Cathal of the Shanna, take to wife you, Elemia–” He paused and looked to Ahketh. Ahketh sneered. “Though she has been stripped of her title, she was called Elemia of the Sapphire Moon.” “Elemia of the Sapphire Moon,” Cathal continued. “Speak, and be named wife,” Volshaden said to Elemia. “As Elendrie Earthmother took Jehiel Sunlord as her husband to obey and to give him children, so I, Elemia, take you, Cathal of the Shanna.” And her glance flitted over to Abbas. Murder entered Abbas's heart, and he saw Cathal dead at his feet, lying in bloody snow. Ashes fell on his corpse, and Abbas tasted blood in his mouth. As he shook away the dark vision of his dreams, he realized he had bitten his tongue. “Satisfactory,” Ahketh proclaimed. “As agreed upon, I will wait in Godswatch for your return with the full bride-price.” The knight snapped his fingers at his men, and the Ausir all departed. Cathal nodded, and then to Elemia, he said, “Come, my wife. Let me take you to my chambers.” Abbas watched them through glowering eyes as they passed the gate, hand in hand, man and wife. Volshaden moved over to stand by Abbas. “You can return with Cathal to the Pettegsh if you want. I have to stay here with Elemia and that Ahketh bastard until Cathal returns with the horses.” “What is the bride-price?” Abbas was hardly there. His mind followed Cathal and Elemia up to their room. “Forty. So much for getting a cheaper price. Never has a face so plain fetched a sum so high. But that's not why Cathal has married her.” Abbas bristled at Volshaden's appraisal of Elemia. “She is more than you know. Her worth cannot be bought with horses.” Volshaden slapped Abbas on the back. “Sure you feel that way. She saved your life. Now she'll save the clan.” He stretched his back and looked back at the festhall's walls. “Well, if I'm staying in town, I'm going to take a room here. Once the Order clears out tomorrow, there will be plenty of space. You staying?”

“Yes.” Abbas could manage nothing else. Volshaden turned to enter the festhall, and as he disappeared inside, he called back, “Don't worry. The bathhouse slaves here will bed anyone, even half-bloods!” Abbas brushed off the insult. His heritage did not matter to Elemia. To her, he was perfect the way he was. But would she even have eyes for him once Cathal had his way with her? Was she now standing naked before her husband and trembling in virginal fear? Did she grow damp at the thought of being penetrated for the first time? Abbas needed a strong drink.

Chapter Five Elemia followed Cathal into the inn. Her mouth was dry, and she felt lightheaded. Though she had not eaten since the day before, she doubted it was hunger that so affected her. She did not know what this large man, her husband, expected of her, and fear warred with her gratitude for having been saved from her shame. She glanced away from Cathal's muscular, tattooed back. The common room looked just as it had the day before, deserted and only half-clean, but Elemia smiled. She could see, in her memory, where Abbas had sat. The darkened corner of the common room, unswept and dusty, glowed in her thoughts, lit by Abbas's eyes. “Welcome, chieftain.” The innkeeper laughed. “I thought it was your brother that liked this one.” “No, she is my wife.” The speech of the city clung to Cathal's tongue, and Elemia realized that he did not speak it so well as his brothers. “Your room has already been cleaned, sir.” Elemia did not understand the broad wink that the innkeeper gave her new husband. “You can go right on up.” “I need hot water and–” Cathal broke off, and Elemia saw by the tentative shapes of his mouth that he was searching for a word. “May I, sir?” Elemia darted into her new husband's mind and pulled out the image he held. Her eyes widened, and her heart quailed. “My lord requires needles.” The innkeeper shrugged. “I'll have some sent up with the water, chieftainess.” Elemia started. She had not thought of this before; she was the chieftainess of a tribe she had never seen. But she could not think long of it. The image of the silver needles in Cathal's thoughts still frightened her. “Can you understand me when I speak my mother-tongue?” asked Cathal, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. “Yes, for I can touch your thoughts.” Elemia responded in the tongue of the city. “But I cannot speak it yet myself.” She paused. But there is no need of any words, my lord. I can touch your thoughts in this way as well.

Cathal stopped still on the stairs. “I see why the High Mother gave me such assurances that the word would control you. Otherwise, you would be too terrifying to wed.” Elemia hung her head. Already she had displeased Cathal. She should have known she would fail as a bride. Cathal resumed his steady pace to his rooms, and he continued to hold Elemia by the hand. “Stand here.” He placed her on the hearthrug before the bright fire. “Yes, my lord.” “You shall not call me that again.” Cathal knelt by a leather satchel and rummaged through it. “'Lord' is a title used to flatter these soft city men. Call me 'chieftain' or 'Cathal' or 'husband', but not 'lord'.” “Yes, chieftain.” Elemia's thoughts still shrank from the word 'husband,' and she had never called any man – saving only Abbas – by his name without a title. Cathal turned to her and smiled then. “How old are you, child?” “I lack three days of my coming-of-age.” “And how old is that for an Ausir?” Cathal's smile turned to laughter. “Eighteen.” Elemia searched Cathal's face for any resemblance to his heavenly brother. There was none. Even aside from the Ausir features, Cathal lacked the natural beauty, the lissome grace, of Abbas. “Eighteen? I thought you Ausir lived hundreds of years?” “We do, but we mature at the same rate as you do. It is only that we stay in the bloom of our youth for…centuries.” “Eighteen.” Cathal sighed. “I am much your senior, wife. Twice your age. I have a son nearly fourteen now. His mother died in childbed with his younger sister, who did not live, either.” Elemia's heart twisted in pity that so much death had touched Abbas's brother. “I am sorry, chieftain.” A soft knock at the door interrupted them. “Your water and needles.” The innkeeper's voice carried through the door. Cathal opened it, took the steaming bowl and small cloth from his host, and shut the door again, all without speaking. “Now, to mark you.”

Elemia swallowed. She had no idea what Cathal would do to her, and she clasped her hands together, twisting her fingers. Cathal sat beside where she stood on the hearthrug and took her ankle in his hands. His rough and callused grip sent a spike of fear into Elemia. Was this part of what men did with their wives? She did not know. She knew nothing of what a man and a maid might do; it was the Order's study to keep their novices as innocent and ignorant as possible regarding physical love, and Elemia had never questioned that teaching until this moment. She trembled. Cathal had laid out two small bowls, one with a green paste in it, the other with blue, as well as the large bowl of water, and he washed her ankle. He used no cloth, only his hands, and Elemia bit her lip. Until Abbas had taken her hand yesterday, she had never been touched by a man. She shivered, despite the heat of the water. Cathal dried her ankle on the edge of his tunic. “The mark of the Shanna clan is an arrow twined with ivy. The women of our clan wear only the ivy.” Elemia nodded. She was to be tattooed, just like Abbas. She wondered if Cathal had been the one to give Abbas his tattoos. Cathal dipped his fingers in the green mixture beside him. With a few deft strokes, he outlined the shape of an ivy on her ankle, twining it halfway up her calf. Elemia stared at his hands as they touched her skin. She saw the greens and blues stark against his pallor, and she imagined that the colors would be as bright on her own flesh. A glint of silver flashed in his hand, and Elemia feared the needle that was coming. She quivered, and her ankle in his hands shook. “Be still.” Cathal glanced up at her. “Or you will spoil the ivy.” Elemia tried, but fear, and fear of more than just the needle in Cathal's hands, washed over her. She continued to tremble. Cathal sighed. “Ral-nau-thal!” Elemia's motions ceased, and whiteness flooded her mind. “I stand ready to obey.” “Be still.” Elemia's body went preternaturally still. Her mind held it motionless, both internally and by means of her telekinesis. She breathed without moving her chest.

“That's better.” Cathal began to prick her flesh with the needle, countless jabs piercing her skin, outlining the green Shanna ivy. “You are unused to the idea of tattoos, I expect. A Rolador woman would be accustomed to them, would wear them with pride.” Elemia, now that the command was in place, could at least think, and she burned with shame. She was not ashamed of the tattoos; Abbas had them, and they were beautiful. But she had already failed to please her new husband twice, twice in the space of half an hour. She would be a failure as a wife; she knew it. “I tattooed my first wife just this way sixteen years ago.” Cathal addressed her ankle. “She was a little younger even than you. She was the daughter of the Ulo chief, and our marriage put an end to twenty years of fighting. Our son, Cailean, will be able to count on the support of the Ulo in the future.” Elemia could not, of course, speak, as she could not move, but she sensed Cathal was leading to something, that this was more than the idle train of recollection. “That is important, wife.” A particularly deep jab with the needle brought tears to Elemia's eyes, but she did not flinch. “It is so important that I will not jeopardize my son's place or inheritance by giving him rivals.” He paused, looking up at her face. “Do you understand what that means?” No, chieftain. It was the only way Elemia could answer him. “It means that I cannot give him a half-brother who is half Ausir.” Cathal continued to prick her skin. “A son of yours would outlive Cailean, and he would be strong when Cailean was old. Cailean is my firstborn; he is my heir. His place must not be challenged. So I will give you no children.” Elemia waited. She knew nothing of how a man and woman coupled but only that coupling produced children. “I shall not take you.” Cathal laid aside his needle and massaged the ink into her broken flesh. “I will keep you a maidenwife. This I swear.” The ink burned Elemia. “It is not because you are plain.” Cathal looked up at her, pausing an instant in his tattooing. “It is for the sake of my son.” Relief tinged with shame flooded Elemia. She was relieved that this wifely duty would not be hers to perform, for she had no doubt that, somehow, she would have done it wrong. She could not

fail at what was required of her if nothing were necessary, but the knowledge Cathal rejected her, her husband though he was, stung. She did not believe his assurances that it had nothing to do with her plainness. Cathal switched to the blue ink. “You can see here on your calf that there is a place for a blossom to appear. That is how we mark children, but you will have no blossoms.” He rose and stretched. “Keep it wrapped for the next week, bathing it carefully. By then it will be set, and you will not need to think of it again.” Elemia held her pose, her leg still raised as though Cathal held it. “I will be leaving in half an hour. I must go back home to collect your bride-price, and that bastard Ahketh won't let me take you with me.” Cathal looked out the window, down into the street below. “See? He is standing there right now. He doesn't trust me. He's keeping watch, making sure I don't abscond with you.” At Elemia's continued silence, Cathal turned back. “Gods. I'd forgotten. Ral-nauthal. You may move freely.” Elemia set her foot down. Her muscles had cramped; her ankle burned; her insides felt hollow; and she wanted nothing more than to cry. She did not, however. She was a chieftainess now. She did not want Abbas to see her with tear-stained eyes. He was so generous and kind; she feared he would blame himself for her tears, blame himself for her being here at all. But she would rather be here than anywhere else. “So a command I give you stays in force unless and until I release you?” “Yes, chieftain.” Cathal paused, his back to Elemia. “Ral-nau-thal.” “I stand ready to obey.” Elemia dreaded the whiteness that washed her will away. “Defend my life.” Why he was so anxious to have her guard his life, Elemia could not understand. “It is done,” she said. “Is that word the same one you had growing up?” asked Cathal. He moved again; already he was refastening his satchel. “Or did the High Mother give me a new one for you?” “No, the word is the same. It is only that it has been attuned to your mind. Even were another to hear the word and say it to me, it

would have no power.” Elemia hesitated to touch her husband's mind, but she sensed something at the edge of his thoughts. “Good. I had feared the other chiefs might learn it if they overheard me.” Cathal picked up his unstrung bow, and Elemia understood the source of his earlier command. “Goodbye, wife. I will return for you in a fortnight. Until then, you are to stay with my brothers.” **** Elemia leaned out the window. The shadows in the street below were long, and the sunlight was deep crimson. The snow was sullied and black from the passing crowds. Master Ahketh still stood at his post, unmoving as the walls behind him. Hunger gnawed at Elemia's stomach. She had not eaten since the previous day's noon meal. She was not certain how long Cathal had been gone. This city had no bells tolling the prayer hours as at the convent. Abbas, accompanied by Volshaden, appeared at that instant, rounding the corner from the festhall. Elemia smiled. Her empty belly did not matter; her failures as a wife did not matter. She was to see Abbas, and all would be well. She darted out the door of her bridal chamber and down the stairs. She was so quick that she already was well into the no longer empty common room by the time the outer door opened to admit Abbas, followed by Volshaden and Master Ahketh. Elemia had not expected the crowd of evening drinkers, but she ignored the gasps that greeted her arrival. “Sister!” Volshaden was the one who called out to her, and Elemia bit her lip. She had hoped to hear Abbas speak. “We have to get you something else to wear.” He took a place near the fire, one where the light was bright and the crowd thick. “Come, sit.” Elemia obeyed, and she smiled at Abbas as he also sat near Volshaden. “You draw too much attention dressed like a novice.” Volshaden snapped his fingers, and a barmaid, one whom Elemia had not seen earlier, appeared with a foaming mug of ale. “Thank you.” Volshaden winked at the girl, who giggled. “Abbas, you can see about that tomorrow.” “Yes.” Abbas did not look at Elemia.

Elemia sat silent. She wished that Abbas would turn his gaze on her, but she did not know how to draw his attention. She studied his profile as he stared at the fire. Something ailed him, and she ached to help. “Look, Abbas,” she said. “I have a tattoo like you.” The moment the words left her mouth, she could have bitten her tongue. They were so stupid, so insipid. Abbas did not turn his head. “Yes, I know.” “Why don't you start making arrows, girl? It will give you a way to pass the evening.” Volshaden set down his mug. “A chief needs a steady supply, and Cathal hasn't had a wife to make them for over ten years now.” “I…do not know how.” Elemia started to her feet. “I will practice.” Master Ahketh snorted. “You were trained to be a Queen, and look at you now. Stone arrowheads for savages.” He spoke in Ausir, and Elemia knew it was to prevent Abbas and Volshaden from understanding. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and Elemia turned away from her former novice master. Abbas shot a glance at Elemia and returned his gaze to the flames. “What did he say?” “You know Master Ahketh's feelings about anyone not Ausir.” Abbas nodded once. Elemia swallowed a sob. She could not explain her misery, but she felt her helplessness before Abbas's melancholy. She turned to go back to the chamber where Cathal had tattooed her, but she swayed on her feet as she went. Both hunger and her still-aching leg muscles fought her. She reached out to steady herself with the back of a chair, but the sudden chance movement of the sitter pulled the chair out of her reach. She fell to the floor in an unceremonious heap. Laughter filled Elemia's ears as she struggled to her feet. Abbas's dark hand closed around hers, and he was lifting her to her feet before she realized he had left his place. “What's wrong?” For the first time since his return, Abbas looked at her. She felt his gaze go to her neck, her wrists. “Did he do something to you?” Elemia nodded toward her ankle. “He tattooed me.” Her stomach growled, and her cheeks burned again.

“You're hungry.” Abbas cocked his head to the left, and Elemia watched the fall of his black braids over his shoulder. “When did Cathal feed you?” “He did not. He tattooed me and left.” Abbas whipped his head around to where Master Ahketh sat nursing a goblet of wine. “Did he give you anything?” “Not after I was named traitor, of course.” The Rolador curse Abbas breathed out then seemed to relieve his feelings. “Let's get you something to eat.” Within a quarter of an hour, Elemia was seated by the fire, a mug of spiced wine at her elbow, fresh bread in her hands, and a stone arrowhead on the table before her. Abbas, a slight smile on his lips for the first time that evening, held a wooden arrow shaft. “You can see here that the wood has been blackened. We straighten the wood in fire.” Elemia nodded. “And here is where the nock is made.” He pointed to a notch near the back of the shaft. “And here is where the feathers will go.” Again Elemia nodded, committing his words to memory. She watched his hands move up and down the wood, and she admired the blue and green tracings on his fingers. It warmed her to know she now bore the same inks that marked Abbas. She smiled. Even in the convent, she had never passed so pleasant an evening. Master Ahketh was wrong about the Rolador. He was wrong about Abbas. **** The room was crowded, just like the city. Though tomorrow the Order would depart, until then the inns were full. Thus the same bedchamber where Cathal had held her motionless on the hearthrug held Elemia, Abbas, Volshaden, and Master Ahketh. There were two beds, and Elemia, as the chief's wife, had been accorded one. Volshaden claimed the other, and Abbas and Master Ahketh had bedrolls on the floor. The fire was banked, and its glowing coals were the only light. Abbas's bedroll was positioned on the floor between Elemia's bed and Volshaden's, but Master Ahketh prepared to sleep half-upright, propped against the door. Elemia, having undressed for bed and slipped beneath the quilts before the others entered the room, stared at Master Ahketh

from beneath half-open eyelids. He was, clearly blocking the exit, lest Abbas and Volshaden attempt to carry her off without having paid for her. Elemia set her jaw. How could Master Ahketh think so ill of the Rolador? They had been kind and gracious enough to cover her shame, to take her in despite her sullied reputation because they knew the truth of her innocence. She turned to watch Abbas as he lay down. He laid out his pallet with an ease that betrayed he was long accustomed to sleeping on the ground. Elemia wondered if the Rolador had beds. She doubted it. Before lying down, Abbas loosed the braids of his hair, and the soft blackness of his long, straight tresses stole the breath from Elemia's chest. He lay down, tucking one arm under his thin pillow. For an instant, his eyes closed, but then he opened them again and looked up at Elemia. He did not, of course, speak, but his dark eyes glowed with an emotion for which Elemia had no reference. She assumed it was pity. Please, Abbas, there is no need to pity me. Even in thought, Elemia rejoiced at Abbas's name. I am the most fortunate of women. Abbas made a small choking sound and turned his back to Elemia. Elemia sighed. She had doubtless disturbed Abbas by touching his thoughts, just as she had disturbed Cathal earlier. But though she sorrowed at her clumsiness, Elemia trusted to Abbas's kindness. Surely he would not hold her errors against her. Sleep fled from Elemia, despite her exhaustion. She lay still, trying not to rouse the three sleepers who shared her bedchamber. She was accustomed to sharing a room with others; at the convent, her room had held four novices. But she had never slept in the same room as a man, and now she was nearly within arm's reach of one. **** The moonslight spilling in between the shutter slats told Elemia that the night was half-gone when she heard it. She could not place the sound, so she concentrated on it. She heard a man's voice, raised in a rhythmic chant, but the words were unclear. Fearful of disturbing the others, Elemia raised herself on her elbow and turned her head to look at Abbas. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. As the chanting reached its highest pitch, culminating in a cry to the

black god Veirakai, Abbas flinched, and Elemia knew she saw his nightmare. With the realization, her present surroundings melted away into the image of a cave, spacious and dark, with torches surrounding a large, square, stone slab. She fixed her gaze on the slab, and bile rose in her throat as she recognized it for some sort of sacrificial altar. Deep grooves ran the length of the sides with earthen vessels affixed to the corners. Earthen vessels to catch the blood of the sacrifices. Elemia hoped against reason that when she turned to the altar, she would see a calf lying on it, but the name of Veirakai, foul god of treachery and vice, told her otherwise. She looked up at the altar. Why was she looking up? She ought by rights to be able to see across at it, but she could not. She understood then that in this dream she was no casual observer; she saw this through the eyes of one who had experienced this firsthand. Even as she stared up at the altar, a hand fell, the arm striking the edge of the stone. Blood flowed along the arm, dripping from the fingers. In the darkness, a child whimpered. Abbas stirred and groaned. Elemia calculated that sleep still dulled the distress of the dream, but his suffering doubtless grew with each passing moment. She did not hesitate. She slid from her bed and knelt by Abbas' head. She reached down and smoothed back his sweat-drenched hair from his brow. The beauty of his hair entangled her, and she breathed a prayer of gratitude to the goddess that she, Elemia, the plainest and most useless of the telepaths of the Order, was given the privilege of gazing upon such perfection. She did not aspire to being loved by Abbas; that was as impossible as being loved by the moons in the sky. He was as far above her as they, but like them, he lit her whole world with his beauty. Still Abbas tossed, caught in the nightmare, and Elemia lifted his head onto her lap. She cradled his face in her hands, murmuring in his ear. “It is all right. You are here, with me. No one can touch you.” At her whisper, a spasm of recognition or realization flashed across Abbas's sleeping visage, and Elemia, encouraged, touched his mind. Abbas. It is Elemia. You are here, still with me. The emotion she sent with the thought, a wave of purest gratitude, pulled Abbas from his dream. His eyes opened, and he looked up into her face. “Elemia?” He started to sit up, but she held him fast.

“Lie still, Abbas. Your mind is troubled, and your dreams are dark. I will guard your thoughts until you can rest without dreaming.” As Elemia leaned forward to whisper in Abbas's ear, her own loosed hair brushed across his cheek, mixing with his on his pillow. The black of her hair was indistinguishable from the black of his, and she smiled. “What are you doing?” He peered upward at her hand, the hand that was stroking his hair. “Forgive me.” Elemia did not cease her gentle touches. “Your sleep was disturbed, and I wished to help you.” Her smile broadened. “I am truly blessed by the goddess. No one is so fortunate in this world.” Abbas sat up, and his eyes flashed with a black fire. “I don't want to hear any more about my brother. I'm glad you're happy, but don't expect me to share your joy.” Elemia shook her head, perplexed, for she had not thought of Cathal, nor spoken of him. “Abbas–” But she cut short her speech as she saw the burning stare of Master Ahketh fixed on her and Abbas. How much Master Ahketh knew of the High Mother's plot against Abbas, Elemia could not begin to guess, but she would not risk Abbas's safety by speaking before her former novice master. Nor would she disturb Abbas with her presence in his mind. She would wait for the morning.

Chapter Six When Abbas awoke, the first thing he saw was Elemia's figure framed in the morning sunlight that streamed through the window. She was looking down at something happening in the street. Abbas heard the rumble of wheels and voices shouting. Volshaden's wine-soaked snores filled the room, and Ahketh was nowhere to be seen. As Abbas rose from his bedroll, he heard a shuffling of feet outside the room. From the crack beneath the door, he could see the shadow of someone standing guard. Ahketh was vigilant as ever, but he must have risen early and left the room, no longer able to bear the company of inferior beings. Abbas joined Elemia at the window, first looking to his brother's wife's face before following her gaze. Elemia was troubled; that was plain to see. He looked to the commotion in the street for explanation. The Order of Yuilan was leaving Godswatch. They had sold off what sisters they would and were returning north to their high-walled convent. The train of horses and litters was flanked on both sides by liveried knights dressed in blue and silver. At the head of procession sat the High Mother on her white horse. She was dressed much the same way Abbas had seen her two days previous: cloth of gold, and a chain, with fine links of silver set with a gleaming sapphire in the center, rested upon her brow. Her hair was elaborate: braided here, pinned there, piled and purposely teased to accentuate her horns. Abbas found her style garish, her painted beauty forced. Elemia's simple loveliness was far preferable, a simplicity that everyone else considered plain. The High Mother reined in her horse and turned toward the inn. Elemia gasped and pushed Abbas away from the window. “Do not let the Mother see you.” Elemia glanced back over her shoulder. “It takes only one look, and she is in your mind.” Abbas gently disengaged himself from her touch. “If she hates me that much, why didn't she do something to me when I first offended her?” Elemia shook her head. “Something must have prevented her. Perhaps a sister was watching.” Abbas knew that Elemia understood better than he what the Mother was capable of, but his own safety was not what concerned

him. “I'm sorry to see you saddened by the departure of your friends, chieftainess.” “That is not why I am sad. Besides.” She gestured to the window. “They were never my friends.” “You miss Cathal.” “How could I? I do not even know him. It is….” Elemia's voice trailed off. “Last night you said you were the most fortunate of women because you are my brother's wife. Because you belong to Cathal.” Abbas wanted to reach out and take Elemia's face in his hands, but he dared not. Cathal had taken her to his bed. She was his lawful wife. Elemia twisted her fingers together. “Yes, I said I was the most fortunate of women, but I said nothing of the chieftain. I am grateful to him merely, for by being his wife, I am able to stay in your company.” “That doesn't make any sense!” Abbas stalked away. “How can you say this after letting Cathal lie between your legs?” “What? No.” Elemia shifted from one foot to another, took a step forward and then back again, as if she did not know where to stand or what to do. “Lie between– No, the chieftain did nothing of the sort.” Her pale skin crimsoned again as it often did. “Cathal did not take you into his bed?” Abbas's voice, raised in surprise, disturbed Volshaden andcaused him to snort in his sleep. Abbas continued in a harsh whisper as he came to stand before Elemia once more. “Are you yet a maid, then?” Elemia stared at her feet. Abbas's patience had run out. He grabbed Elemia's head and turned her face up to look at him. “Do they teach you nothing of men in that Order of yours? Don't you know what it means to lie with a man?” He searched her face, but her only response was the tears that flowed from her eyes. “Don't you know when a man loves you desperately? Or do you play the coy, innocent girl for your own amusement?” Elemia shuddered and succumbed to weeping. “How is it that you, perfect as you are, can love me? I am rejected of the Order, plain, friendless, loved by no one.” Abbas leaned forward and kissed her brow. “At last you understand.” Taking her hands, he helped her to sit. “Now, tell me about yesterday. What did my brother say to you?”

It took several moments for Elemia to be able to compose herself well enough to relate Cathal's words. “The chief told me that he had a son, and for Cailean's sake, he would not give me children, lest they vie for control of the clan. So he said he would leave me a maiden-wife.” Abbas cocked his head to the left in thought as he scowled. “That's strange. The Shanna would be stronger for having sons of yours.” Elemia only nodded. “There must be some other reason.” “I am ugly.” “You are not! Why does everyone keep saying this? Because you don't smear bear fat and soot on your eyebrows, because you don't rub wine dregs into your cheeks, because you don't deck your body in silver and gold, you think yourself ugly?” “The sisters – and the High Mother, too – have always told me so. I was always kept out of sight when suitors came around.” Abbas marveled at this revelation, and at last, he understood. From what he could see, Elemia was a particularly strong telepath. She had disabled two festhall guards as well as undone the Mother's command in Jhaleed's mind. But she was meek, a characteristic haughty people despised. So the women of the Order kept Elemia down, told her she was plain, told her she had nothing to offer a man, and Elemia had grown to believe it. She believed it so completely that she unconsciously behaved as if she were plain, and her act was so convincing that everyone was taken in by it. Everyone except Abbas. He had recognized her beauty at once, but only because she had not hidden it from him. And he was certain why. “You love me, don't you?” Abbas again tilted Elemia's face toward his. She had trouble meeting his gaze this morning. “From the moment I saw you, riding through Godswatch like summer lightning, filling the city with the brightness of your face.” The weight that had crushed Abbas's heart since the moment Elemia had spoken of happiness with his brother was lifted, and he could breathe freely again. “I've never heard a more succinct account of love.” Elemia nodded. “I had never known love, neither in my own heart, nor from any man – until you.” “Then why did you marry Cathal? I asked you to run away with me.”

Elemia's cheeks flamed. “I did not know that you loved me. I thought you pitied me, wanted to keep me safe from the High Mother's wrath. But even if I had known, I could not have gone with you.” “Why?” “My vows to the Order were absolute. I promised to be ruled by the Order in the path of my life, whether to be a sister or a bride. I had no choice.” Volshaden's waking groan tore Abbas's gaze away from Elemia's lips. Abbas was sure that if Volshaden had not awoken just then, he would have kissed Elemia. And why not? He could not see her as Cathal's proper wife. She had not consented to the marriage, only to some nebulous vow to the Order, and Cathal refused to bed her. To Abbas, that was no marriage at all. Volshaden grunted and sat up. “Damn Godswatch and its dogpiss ale.” He squinted against the morning sun and scratched through his braided red mane. He seemed to realize that Abbas and Elemia were also in the room. “You two ever stop talking to each other?” He rolled left, then right, groaning like some irritable bear. “I guess she is one of your kind. Just don't lock horns commiserating over there.” Abbas's heart raced, and he stepped away from Elemia. “Can we move out of this dim, cramped room?” He hoped to distract Volshaden. If Abbas could offer Volshaden's mind sufficient diversion, he might not notice how Abbas felt about Elemia. Volshaden popped to his feet but then swooned. Once recovered, he said, “Yes, rooms at the festhall. I'll take some right after breakfast.” He gave Elemia a patronizing smile. “And make sure our chieftainess gets something to eat, too. The little mouse would starve if someone didn't feed her.” **** The festhall was not as crowded as it had been just the day before. The Order had left the city, and there was once again room to move about. Volshaden, Abbas, and Elemia, with Ahketh following some distance behind, entered by the main gate, for this time they were paying customers. They were greeted by festhall slaves, timid men, and shy girls dressed in plain cotton tunics.

“Begone, catamites!” Volshaden's booming voice scattered the men. The remaining women he gathered into his arms. “Come, my lovelies. Show us to our rooms.” Elemia and Abbas exchanged wordless glances as Volshaden's laugh carried them into the festhall. Abbas had been to Godswatch before with Volshaden. He knew his brother would carouse and drink and whore until Cathal returned. He just hoped Volshaden would take separate rooms. Volshaden is merry. Elemia touched Abbas's mind as they climbed the marble stairs. Abbas's reply was brief. “You don't want to see where his merriment will take him.” Ahketh then caught up to Elemia and said something to her in the Ausir tongue. Abbas resented their shared language, which he by rights should have been able to speak himself. He ran his hands across his horns. “What did he say?” Abbas asked when Ahketh resumed his customary distant position. Abbas knew Ahketh hated being too close to those he considered savages. Ahketh did not hide his desire to be gone from Godswatch, to rid himself of Rolador riders forever. Elemia only shook her head and did not respond, so Abbas knew Ahketh must have insulted her in some way. Abbas turned and came nose-to-nose with the Ausir knight. “Elemia is the wife of a Rolador chieftain. You will show her the proper respect.” Ahketh snarled. “Respect? Look at her. Once a member of the most holy Order of Yuilan, to what has she now been reduced? Yoked to an uncouth barbarian. Making stone arrows. Keeping company with a philandering sot and a half-breed.” It was the last barb that curled Ahketh's lip. He stepped away from Abbas and looked him up and down, derision in his eyes. Abbas raised his fist, but before he could strike, Elemia, quick as thought, interposed herself between Abbas and Ahketh. “Halfbreed, you say? Is not our own King, then, damned by your prejudice? His blood is merely half Ausir.” “He is half-divine,” Ahketh sputtered. “There is no comparison between the King and–” He broke off and stalked past Elemia and Abbas, following Volshaden. “Gods, let me get the brideprice and be gone from this place!”

“Is the Ausir King a half-blood?” Abbas asked Elemia. The wakened beauty in her cheek cooled his rage and kindled his desire. “He is. His father was Ausir, his mother the goddess Mirsa.” Abbas inched his way forward until his hardening phallus was pressing against Elemia's stomach. “Then I'm in good company.” Elemia placed her hands on Abbas's muscular chest and looked up at him through her dark eyelashes. “The best, the only company fit for you.” Abbas leaned in to kiss her. “We cannot,” Elemia whispered. She did not look away, nor did she pull away. The timidity that had so overwhelmed her when they first met had vanished, and Abbas's attraction to her heightened more. Abbas wanted her, but he remembered how she had spoken of her vow. He hesitated. He did not consider Cathal and Elemia married, nor did he value any vow to an order that had proven faithless. He wanted Elemia to understand these things. He reached up and caressed Elemia's horns. “I've never been this close to an Ausir woman before. When I was a child, the Rolador children laughed at my horns and my black hair.” Abbas put his arms around her hips and held her against him. She did not resist. “Abbas, get in here!” Volshaden's voice carried down the hall. Elemia sighed and smiled up at Abbas. “Your brother calls.” “Wait here. Volshaden went in with an armful of bathhouse slaves. It'd be best if you didn't see what's going on.” He winked at Elemia, and she blushed. When Abbas arrived, he saw that Volshaden had taken two rooms connected by an antechamber. The antechamber contained the only exit from the apartments. Ahketh was standing near the door, and chittering laughter wafted out from the next room. Ahketh shot Abbas a questioning look. “I left her in the corridor, watchdog.” Abbas swept past the angry knight and into Volshaden's chamber. Volshaden was draped with giggling girl-flesh. “Why was I not born Lefhanor?” he called out to Abbas. “I should have been born here instead of the forlorn and barren horse-plains.” “What do you want?” Abbas had no patience for Volshaden's carousals.

“This is my room. You're welcome to stay here, too, if you want. I'm sure the girls will charge you double to mount a horned freak like yourself, but we're celebrating our brother's marriage, right?” “I'd rather stay in the antechamber with that bastard Ahketh.” Abbas set his jaw, not impressed by the sight of all those cheap prostitutes fawning over Volshaden. Elemia's simple and quiet beauty, as well as the fire of the woman that he knew lay underneath her outward shyness, drew his inward eye to the woman he loved. Volshaden came up for air. “Suit yourself. The other room is for Cathal's little bride, who, by the way, is still running around in her novice robes. Get her clothes that befit a Rolador chieftainess.” Abbas did not answer or acknowledge Volshaden, nor did Volshaden seem to care that his brother left without a word. The revels resumed. **** When Abbas returned from buying new clothes for Elemia, he found Ahketh on her door. Ahketh said nothing but stepped aside, turning his head, clearly that he might avoid seeing Abbas, whose presence seemed to offend him more with each passing hour. Elemia did not look up when Abbas entered. She was busy concentrating on binding with leather thongs the arrowheads to the shafts, just the way Abbas had shown her the previous evening. She held the arrow shaft between her knees. Abbas watched her in silence for a moment before announcing himself. She would excel as a chieftainess. She could excel at anything. “Elemia, I've brought something for you.” When Elemia turned toward Abbas, the brightness of her face was like moonsrise. “What is it?” She rose, set aside her work, and glided over to him. Abbas forgot all about the package he held in his arms. His eyes were on Elemia's form, and he wondered what she looked like under her loose gown. “You move like a dancer.” “I have danced.” Elemia stopped short of Abbas. “It is training every novice receives.” “I would love to see you dance.” He would have loved to have seen so much more.

Elemia's smile was wry. She shook her head and answered, “No one has seen me dance. I was never allowed to do so publicly.” Abbas' anger flared against the Order, and he thought of Ahketh, the symbol of Elemia's oppression. “Then they are all fools.” Elemia bowed her head, and her hair fell about her face, revealing the high tips of her ears. They were higher than Abbas's. Abbas wanted to kiss those ears. Elemia stepped closer. “So, what have you brought me?” It was only then that Abbas remembered his reason for entering her room. “I've brought you new clothes. I had to search through the city for various garments that could approximate the style of a Rolador woman.” “Show me.” Elemia gestured toward the bed. Abbas laid out the pieces of clothing: first a thin, white smock, then a tight, blue bodice with laces that he laid on top. He also showed her two skirts, one slightly longer than the other. They were woven in red and blue patterns. “And, of course, your riding boots. You will find yourself ahorse more often than on foot.” Abbas was thrilled that he could teach Elemia about his ways. “I'll step outside. When you've tried these on, call me back in.” He did not want to go. He wanted to stay and admire the lithe body she had hidden under her robes. “Thank you, Abbas. Yes, I will call you back in.” But she did not move toward the clothes. She simply stood and gazed at him. Abbas tore himself away, not trusting himself to study her body further, and his head spun as he closed the door behind him. Ahketh was standing there scowling at him, and Abbas's euphoria evaporated. The Ausir knight represented everything that separated him from Elemia: the Order and its absolute control over her life, and the enforced marriage to Cathal. “I hate you,” Abbas growled. Ahketh chuckled. “I am not too fond of you, either, half-breed. The sooner we are away from each other, the better.” Abbas brooded until he heard Elemia calling his name, more quickly than he had expected. “What's the matter?” he said through the door. “I need help. I am not sure what to do with this–this thing.”

Abbas's gaze darted to Ahketh's face. What would the knight think of him helping Elemia with her clothes? But Ahketh did not seem to care. He was staring off into the space before him. Abbas re-entered the room, wondering if he might find Elemia half-naked. Instead, he found her fully dressed in the shift and skirts. In her hand, she held the bodice. “Not bad for a first try.” He laughed a little louder than he felt, trying to cover his surprise. Elemia's breasts were round and full, larger than he had anticipated. He could make out little else save the slim curves of her hips. He cleared his throat, approached, and took the bodice. “This goes on before the skirts, and part of it tucks under them. May I?” Elemia spread her arms out wide and looked wonderingly into Abbas's eyes. “Please.” Her innocence and trust both aroused Abbas to fever pitch and hardened his resolve to abuse neither. “Here, let me.” Abbas reached out and loosened Elemia's skirts, untying them and letting them fall to the floor. The shift went to her knees. He admired the shape of her leg, strong and lean, as it disappeared up into her smock. But then he saw the tattoo, and the creeping ivy across her ankle brought him up short. “The chieftain said my ivy will never bloom.” Elemia must have read his thoughts, or, more likely, his disappointment was plain on his face. Abbas took what comfort he could in that promise and continued his work. He clasped the bodice around Elemia's waist and laced it from the bottom up. He worked slowly. He wanted to take his time and enjoy the feel of her flesh beneath his hands. With each pull of the lace, Elemia's form became more defined, more visible to Abbas's appreciative eye. Elemia was slender and small, but the fullness of her breasts reminded him that she was not a child. The bodice stopped short under her bosom, leaving them covered only by the shift. As he tied off the lace at the top, his gaze traced the outline of her firm breasts. Her erect nipples were visible through the thin fabric. “Is it too tight?” Elemia asked. “I cannot really breathe.” Abbas knew that the bodice was not too tight. “It's fine. It just takes some getting used to. You've spent your life in a flowing robe.” It pleased Abbas to think that Elemia was becoming as aroused as he,

for if anything was too tight, it was his breeches, straining to contain his erection. He slowly knelt and picked up the skirts, raising them around Elemia's hips, letting his hands brush against her buttocks. Elemia sighed and reached out to tuck a stray braid back behind Abbas's ear. As he wrapped the skirts around her waist, Abbas could feel Elemia moving against him. She was reacting the way her body wanted her to, but she was ignorant of the ways of sex. He realized had she known, she would have kept a tighter rein on her physical response. Abbas smiled to himself and tied the skirts in place, looping the belts through the bodice according to Rolador fashion. He stepped away from her then to appraise her, but he made sure he kept his hands folded in front of his straining breeches. “I have never seen a lovelier chieftainess.” He had never seen a lovelier woman. It still amazed him that others did not see Elemia's beauty. “You flatter me.” Elemia smoothed down the bodice. “It is kind of you to think so. You are the perfection of two races, more beautiful than either alone.” Abbas was glad to hear the voices of Volshaden and Jhaleed in the antechamber. He could not trust himself any longer in the room with Elemia, for he wished to seize her, rip the bodice from her breasts, and lick her rosy nipples. He wanted to throw her on the bed, tear off her skirts, and thrust his throbbing phallus into her. He knew that her body would accept him; surely it had already prepared itself. She would wrap her legs around his hips and pull him in deeper, all the while devouring his mouth with her own. “They are calling us.” Elemia brought Abbas back to reality. They stepped out into the antechamber, and everyone stared at them. “Well, it's an improvement,” Volshaden, bare-chested, said. Abbas saw the smoldering anger rekindle in Jhaleed, though the proprietor said nothing to him. He continued talking to Volshaden. “So, two weeks, then? You've never stayed with us so long.” “We're here on important business, right, Ahketh?” Volshaden winked at the sullen knight and turned his attention back to the whores on his arms. “My brother's taken a sister of Yuilan to wife.” “Yes, I've heard.” Jhaleed peered at Elemia. “Many of my customers are amazed that the Order would sell one of their own to a human. Maybe times are changing.” The proprietor's toothy smile swallowed his face. “And change is good for business.”

“Yes, yes.” Volshaden was too distracted by his women. “The Order couldn't refuse the Shanna.” Jhaleed hummed to himself before answering. “Or maybe they know.” “Know what?” Abbas asked, apprehensive of anything that concerned Elemia. Jhaleed did not hide his ire for Abbas. “Haven't you heard, boy? The King is ill, gravely some say. The word is he's lost in his own mind, but I wouldn't know anything about that. All I know is people are skittish, and the merchants of Godswatch wonder who will be ruling from Kartalon come next year.” “His Grace is of divine blood,” Elemia said. “No sickness can claim his life.” “As I said, I don't know anything about that. I only know what I hear.” Jhaleed walked out. Abbas quickly dismissed this talk of the King. It could have nothing to do with Elemia, so it did not touch him.

Chapter Seven As Elemia fastened the blue bodice beneath her breasts, she smiled. Abbas loved her. It was her first thought upon waking, her last upon sleeping. Abbas loved her, and, just as astonishingly, he found her beautiful. He did not love her for pity; he loved her for herself. This truth overshadowed the other truth of her life: she was a maidenwife to a man she had not chosen. Even in that Elemia found comfort, for though it was shame to be rejected of her husband, at least, she was not coupling with someone not-Abbas. “Elemia?” Abbas's voice carried through the door. “Are you dressed? Are you ready for breakfast?” Elemia responded by opening the door and stepping into the antechamber. “I am here.” Abbas smiled at her, his teeth stark white against the rich olive of his face. “You look lovely.” Her cheeks burned, and she covered them with her hands. “It is the clothes, doubtless.” “You improve the clothes.” Abbas's words were a breath in her ear. Ahketh's unwelcome presence was, as ever, a bar to Elemia and Abbas's shared fellowship. “Are you taking your meals in your room, Elemia?” Akheth spoke in Ausir. Elemia saw the flash of Abbas's eyes at being so pointedly ignored, and she raised her chin. “The chieftain's brothers have left it to my choice, and I would dine below.” She used the tongue of the city, wishing only that she could speak in Rolador. Ahketh shrugged and followed her as she and Abbas went down to the dining hall. “You are courteous, Elemia.” Abbas's low voice was like honey to her. “You turned his intended rudeness around on him.” “Will you teach me your tongue?” asked Elemia. “I would like to be able to speak to you, not just understand you, in that speech.” “It is right that you should know your husband's tongue.” Abbas's face darkened as he spoke. “I cannot even speak the tongue of my birthright.” “Then I will teach that to you, even as you teach me.” Elemia could not bear the blackness in his eyes. She reached out and brushed

his hand with her fingertips. It was the first time she had touched him, rather than the other way. She did not think of her cradling his sleeping head in her lap, for then she had not known he loved her. She was unprepared for the burning that shot like lightning through her body, at the barest touch of his skin. Longings for which she had no name, no reference, swept over her, and Elemia caught her breath. “Thank you,” said Abbas, and Elemia knew he meant as much for the touch of her hand as for her offer. As they broke their fast together, Abbas said, “Volshaden will probably not come down today until he goes for his bath in the evening. It is his habit during his visits to Godswatch.” “I had never been out of the convent until five days ago.” Elemia smiled. “I had no idea the world held such wonders.” She fixed her blue eyes on Abbas's dark ones, and she knew he understood that he was the wonder of her world. “Yes.” Ahketh's voice shocked Elemia, for he spoke in the tongue of the city. His half-smile at Abbas was crueler than a scowl would have been. “She was kept safely out of sight for these past twelve years – we got her when she was six – and it is as well that you lot have her now. Otherwise, tomorrow she would have had to dance in public.” Ahketh gave a pronounced shudder. “I can only imagine the horrors of her clumsy splashings in the lake. It saves us all the shame of the spectacle. She should be grateful to you.” Elemia saw the rising fire in Abbas's face, and she spoke before he had a chance to draw the fury of Ahketh. “I am grateful, more than I can say.” Her words had the soothing effect she had hoped, and Abbas turned away from Ahketh. “What does he mean that you would have danced in public?” “Tomorrow I come of age,” said Elemia. “When a novice comes of age, she goes to Mirrorlake. There she adorns herself as an Ausir bride, in purest white with whatever flowers are blooming fastened in her hair. Then she dances upon the water, for the goddess's mother was a water-goddess. That is her last act as a novice, for thereafter, she prepares for her trip to Kartalon and her presentation to the King. For some, it is only a few weeks' wait, but I, whose birth was in the winter, would have had to wait nearly a year.” “You dance on the water?” Abbas seemed perplexed.

“Of course. We practice holding ourselves up with our telekinesis. I would practice every evening after my chores were through,” said Elemia. “And this coming-of-age dance, the Order watches it?” “Yes.” “So someone would finally have gotten to see you dance.” Abbas tilted his head to the left, fixing her with his gaze. “You want to dance, don't you?” Elemia looked down at her plate of half-eaten apple cakes. “Yes, but I know that I must not. I am no longer a novice, nor yet am I a sister. I am disgraced, and though you – and your chieftain – have covered my shame, it yet remains.” Abbas narrowed his eyes at Ahketh. “You ought to dance, Elemia. It is your coming-of-age, and you deserve to be seen as much as any sister of the Order.” “She shall not dance.” Ahketh half-rose from his chair. “She is right that she is a blot upon the Order.” “She's not a blot on the Order or on anything else!” Abbas did rise. “She's too good for your damned Order, and she's too good for you even to understand!” Elemia looked up into Abbas's face. She had, from years of habitual obedience, begun to hang her head in defeat, but as Abbas spoke of her, a crack of brightness broke across her mind. Abbas loved her. He found her worthy of respect, and he, so full of worth himself, ought to know. She would take his word over Ahketh's in any other thing, and thus she ought to in this thing as well. “I will not allow it!” Ahketh's voice carried over the sounds of the dining guests, and Elemia saw the proprietor Jhaleed begin to make his way over. “You have no say in it.” Abbas's voice was low. “Elemia shall do just as she chooses. Does it please you, chieftainess, to dance on Mirrorlake tomorrow?” “It does.” Elemia smiled. “It's not your lake,” said Abbas as he turned back to Ahketh. “And the chieftainess has spoken. Her wishes shall be carried out.” “It is an affront to the goddess herself.” Ahketh drew himself up. “I would have expected such impiety in these uncouth Rolador, but you were taught better, Elemia.”

“What is going on, sir?” Jhaleed spoke in a soothing simper that roused Elemia's suspicions at once. “Is this half-breed blackguard disturbing you?” “Yes, he is.” Ahketh sneered at Abbas, and Elemia rose to her feet as well. “Then I will have him turned out immediately.” Jhaleed clapped his hands twice. “For the love and affection I bear the High Mother, I would not see any insult to the Order of Yuilan go unanswered.” Elemia recognized the lingering effects of the Mother's meddling in Jhaleed's mind. His prejudice against Abbas as a halfblood, already present in his thoughts, had been inflamed into hatred by the Mother's command for Abbas's death. Though the command was gone, the rawness of the emotion remained. Elemia saw three guards coming in answer to Jhaleed's summons, and fury, white and hot, and unfamiliar, burned in her breast. “For the love and affection I bear the Rolador,” she said, “I shall not see any insult to my kin go unanswered.” She stood straight as one of Abbas's arrows. “Touch him at your peril.” Jhaleed blinked. “You would defy Master Ahketh's wishes? You would defy my wishes, as proprietor of the festhall? You would defy the wishes of the High Mother herself?” “I will defy anyone.” Elemia felt a surge of strength flow through her. She had never defied anyone in her life, until she had slipped out the festhall gate to save Abbas from his brothers' wrath. She stood up against two men, both with authority, and she was not only unafraid, she was glad to do it. They were wrong, and she knew it. Jhaleed hesitated, and Elemia smiled. You saw what I can do. She dropped the thought in his mind. Do not rouse me further. Jhaleed whirled around, leaving Ahketh and Abbas to stare at Elemia. Abbas pulled her back down into her seat, whispering in Rolador as he did so. “You are the strength come again of my father, the old Shanna chief who took me in against the protests of all his clan.” Elemia sensed the thought behind the words, the unexpressed wonder that touched him at anyone standing up for him, and tears

started to her eyes. Pity for his wrongs wrung her, and she pressed his fingers, which still held to her hand. “I cannot break bread with such an impious, arrogant wretch.” Ahketh stalked to a nearby table and sat down, attended at once by Jhaleed. Abbas started to go after Ahketh, but Elemia recalled him. “It is not worth your time, Abbas. I no longer care what he thinks of me.” She shook her head. “Until so recently his opinion mattered to me more than anyone's, saving only the High Mother's.” “I will have to be gone today, Elemia,” said Abbas. “I have some more errands.” “Can the chieftain's brother employ no one else in his business?” Elemia knew that she was unjust at that moment, but her sensitivity to any insult to Abbas was at its highest pitch. “You are his brother, not his servant.” Abbas laughed. “You'd have me treated like the chief himself.” His laughter vanished as the words left his lips, and Elemia saw that the comparison with her lawful husband had stung. “I will come back as soon as I can.” **** Elemia lay in her bed and looked at the purple moonslight as it fell across the floor. Abbas had not returned, and worry gnawed at her. She knew it ought not; he was a warrior. He had been to Godswatch before, but she could not sleep. Volshaden had been unconcerned at Abbas's continued absence, and Ahketh had been pleased; but Elemia could not think of anything except Abbas's safety. Then she heard it, the sound of the outer door opening. As Ahketh was already abed, and Volshaden and his harlots were already shut up in their room, it must be Abbas. She caught his whispered goodnight to her through the door, though he must have assumed she was sleeping. She smiled. She welcomed sleep. **** She could not tell when it had started, but Elemia heard again the unfathomable chanting. This time, though, she knew what it meant. Abbas suffered from his nightmares again, and that his

suffering should continue was unendurable, not if she could do aught to ease his pain. She slipped from her bed and crept into the antechamber. As the door opened, she lost sight of the room that ought to have been on the other side. Instead, she passed into the smoke-filled world of the dream. As on the previous occasion, Elemia felt herself to be a part of the dream, a participant, seeing through Abbas's eyes. But she knew both what was happening and that Abbas loved her. He would not mind her seeing this dream, not if she could help him, and she would keep away from any other portion of his thoughts. Elemia concentrated. She pulled herself out of the dream and into Abbas's mind. She saw him, as though distant and small, in the chamber of his mind allotted to dreaming. As a telepath, Elemia was familiar with the chambers of the mind, and she stood in the center of Abbas's thoughts, peering, as through doorways, into the various portions of his mind. She passed the chambers of hopes, of skills, of passions, of memories. She did not force herself into any of them; she instead returned to the nightmare. She saw again the confused jumble of snow and blood and ashes, smelled again the mustiness of the cave, the acrid odor of fire, and the revolting stench of burning flesh. As she watched again the falling arm, dripping blood, drop against the stone of the altar, she followed the thread of the image, followed it back into the chambers of Abbas's mind, seeking the origin of the nightmare, whether it be in passions, or plans, or– Elemia had feared it. It was memory. The thread led back into the past, but she stopped before she entered the chamber of Abbas's childhood. She was confident she could cut off the connection of this black memory to his dreaming mind without seeing any of the secrets he held, but a nameless fear washed over her, pouring from that chamber. She reached out a tentative mental hand, but it was blocked. Something barred her way, a dark and cold and unknown something, and it had been placed there by a telepath. Elemia rushed back to her body, and she was kneeling by Abbas's bedside. “Wake, Abbas!” she whispered in his ear. “Wake!” Abbas's eyes opened at once, and in them Elemia caught a glimpse of receding blackness. “I was dreaming,” he said. “I know.” Elemia brushed back his sweat-soaked hair from his brow. “Forgive me, but I could not help but see your dreams. I tried to

stop them – do not worry. I saw nothing of your thoughts. I would not so presume upon your trust or mind.” “I know you wouldn't.” Abbas turned on his side to face Elemia, and his gaze set a flame in Elemia's flesh. “So you stopped my dream?” “No.” Elemia continued to whisper, for she did not wish Ahketh to hear. “I could not. There is a telepathic block in your mind.” “A what?” Abbas's mouth was so close to Elemia's face that she could feel his breath on her cheeks. “How did I do that?” “You did not.” Elemia continued to stroke Abbas's hair. “Someone did it to you. It blocks the pathway to your chamber of memories.” “I could've told you that much. I have no memories of my life before the chief found me, naked, cold, and wandering the hillsides alone. I was, perhaps, ten-years-old. I don't know for sure.” “Your memory loss is intentional,” said Elemia. “Someone blocked it. Someone placed into your mind a wall, and to breach it would be difficult.” “Could you do it?” asked Abbas. “I could try, but–” Elemia broke off, ashamed. “But I do not know what effect that would have on your mind. It could be dangerous to open up a walled mind chamber without having the security of your mental self present.” Abbas shook his head. “You lost me. I don't have a 'mental self,' and I don't know enough about my mind chambers. I always get lost.” Elemia gasped. “You can sense your mind chambers?” Abbas nodded. “Can't everyone?” “No.” Elemia bit her lip. “It is the mark of a telepath, but humans have no telepathy. And in Ausir males, telepathy manifests differently.” “If he were not an abomination, a half-blood, he would likely have been a King's Squire.” Ahketh's voice broke into Elemia and Abbas's whispered conversation. “He would have been as immune to telepathy as we are.” “You shall not speak so to him again.” Elemia rose to her feet and whirled on her former novice master. “I cannot touch your mind, true, but I am a chieftainess now.”

“And I care for your barbaric tribe not at all.” Ahketh chuckled, and Elemia heard bitterness in the sound. “But I would be glad for you both to know just how close you both came to being honored, to being able to serve the goddess. Had the half-breed been a pure Ausir, he might even have served with me, guarding and protecting the novices. He would have been taught how to perfect his mind's walls, to keep out every thought not his own. He would have been–” “He is better off as he is!” Elemia knelt back beside Abbas, who was staring at Ahketh. “Abbas can do more than this.” “What do you mean?” asked Abbas. His gaze was still fixed on Ahketh. I mean that there is something in your thoughts, something I have never sensed in any thoughts saving those of the other novices. You have a mental self somewhere in your thoughts, or you would never have been able to see your mind chambers. Your mind is as beautiful as your body. Abbas did not speak, and Elemia searched his face. She hoped that she had not angered him by her presence in his mind. She doubted that she ought to have gone at all, and her fire, roused by Ahketh's insults, died away. I am sorry, Abbas. I will touch your mind no more. Abbas grabbed her hand then, even as she rose to return to her room. “Stay. I was only trying to speak into your thoughts.” Elemia gladly resumed her place kneeling at his bedside. I do not know if that is possible, but it cannot be done while that block is in your mind. “Then take it out, Elemia.” It is too dangerous. I cannot risk breaking your mind. “I've lived with nightmares this long. It's not important.” Then Abbas smiled. “You ought to go back to bed, Elemia. You need your rest. We're leaving early for Mirrorlake.” “Arrogant wench.” Ahketh's jab was in Ausir, and Elemia ignored it. I will be proud to dance for your eyes, Abbas. And she returned to her bed at last.

Chapter Eight Abbas looked out across Mirrorlake. The morning had dawned cold in Godswatch, and they had set out at once. Though it was afternoon and the sky was clear, still a frostiness blew over the northern plains. Far to the north rose snow-capped mountains, and across the clear lake stood the Convent of Yuilan. Elemia, bundled in her cloak, walked along the shore some distance away, and Ahketh, still farther off, stood like some silent sentinel on the rocky beach, staring off toward the convent. Abbas wished the knight were back among his own kind, back among the pompous and self-righteous. Ahketh had complained during the entire half-day journey, chastising Elemia for what he considered her presumption. On more than one occasion, Abbas wanted to ride over and knock the knight from his horse, but Elemia had prevented him with a kind word. Elemia was patient, a trait she must have developed from years of neglect and ridicule, but her kindness, Abbas realized, was something inborn, something indivisible from her, much like her beauty that no one but he saw. Abbas unsaddled the horses and smiled as he watched them roll around in the rough, yellow grass, cooling and scratching their sweaty backs. He threw his saddlebag over his left shoulder and walked down the slope toward Elemia. Abbas picked his way among the patches of snow clinging to the shoreline. “Beautiful country,”Abbas said. “Much like the Pettegsh.” Elemia turned. “So my new home will not be so different from the one I have always known.” Her blue eyes were clearer here, bright reflections of the sky and lake. Her black hair blew past her face, and Abbas tucked the wind-tossed locks behind her ears. “Happy birthday.” Abbas cradled her cheek in his hand. “Today you are accounted a woman.” Among the Rolador, coupling with one's husband was the only coming of age a woman knew, and he was relieved Cathal had left her a maid. He would thank the gods every morning for this mercy. Elemia reached up and touched Abbas's hand as she leaned in to his caress. “Thank you.” Abbas wanted to taste Elemia's mouth, but Ahketh was too near, so he nodded toward the lake. “I see why they call it

Mirrorlake.” The convent's high wall and soaring towers of grey stone were reflected in the glassy lake, and it was only at that moment Abbas realized the strong winds did not disturb the surface of the water. Elemia must have seen his surprise, for she answered before Abbas could give voice to it. “That is why many people consider it so, but the true history of the lake is known only to the sisters and the King's Squires.” She took Abbas's hand and turned back to look at the lake. “You see how the water does not move. It responds only to the dance of one graced by the goddess. In ages past, it was a lake like any other, but once, before her elevation to the heavens, Yuilan, the King's sister, stood upon this lake, and it loved her so that it stilled itself to be her mirror. It has not moved since. Some say they have seen the goddess's face shine in its depths, but I never have.” Elemia looked up into Abbas's eyes, and her grip on his hand tightened. “And so the convent was built here, instead of in Kartalon,” Abbas observed. Elemia nodded. “The journey to the capital is long, across the sea, but it is one I will not have to make.” Her broad smile showed she was not disappointed by her altered prospects. As Elemia stepped away from Abbas toward the waterline, she dropped her cloak and began to unlace her boots. She was dressed in her Rolador fashions, and Abbas knew that would simply not do. The bodice, designed to aid her posture while riding, was too rigid for dancing. Elemia had mentioned the white gowns the novices wore for their dance, and he rummaged through his saddlebag. “You can't wear those clothes.” Elemia turned and gasped. Abbas held out the long, white gown he had spent all the previous day combing Godswatch for. “I don't know the exact style of dress the novices wear, so I had to approximate.” Abbas smoothed down the wrinkles that had formed in the fabric from it being stuffed in the bag. “I think it's part of a wedding dress.” He tilted his head to the left as he inspected it. Elemia's hands covered her mouth as crimson shot up her neck and flushed her cheeks. Tears welled up and rolled down her face, and Abbas heard a smothered sob escape her lips. Abbas. The emotions attached to his name unbalanced Abbas's mind. He staggered at the onslaught of her love. He should have expected the capacity for a telepath to communicate such overwhelming

feelings, and for Elemia to possess such boundless love for him. But he was not prepared for the intensity of her passion. “Here, try it on.” Until Abbas heard his own trembling voice, he did not realize that he, too, was crying. He could not help himself. Elemia's love had struck his mind like a blow. Elemia took the proffered gown and turned her back as she began to undress. Abbas looked away down the shore, wondering if Ahketh was watching. The knight had been staring at the convent, but he must have felt Abbas's gaze, for he looked up and caught Abbas's eyes. Ahketh did not hide his revulsion for the scene, and he, too, turned away, but doubtless not for the same reason of modesty that kept Abbas from feeding his eyes with Elemia's naked beauty. “Abbas.” Elemia's voice recalled him. The gown fit Elemia as though made for her. How many hours had Abbas dwelt upon the shape of her body, traced every curve in his mind? The white dress was not as tight as the bodice or as loose as her novice gown. But it was thin, and the alluring contours of her soft hips and full breasts were scarcely veiled. “It is beautiful.” Elemia ran her hands down the dress. “Thank you, Abbas.” She was a bride, his bride, and Abbas longed to claim her. Cathal had marked Elemia with the Shanna ivy; Abbas wanted to mark Elemia with his kiss. “It is customary for a Rolador chieftainess, on her birthday, to receive a kiss from her family,” Abbas said. It was a stretching of the truth, and Elemia's wry smile showed she knew it. Indeed, Abbas intended no chaste, familial kiss. With measured steps, Abbas approached Elemia. He put his rough hands on her slender hips and licked his lips. Elemia did not move; she did not breathe. She stared straight ahead at the necklace that rested on his chest. As Abbas leaned down, Elemia tilted her face up and closed her eyes. Their mouths met, and he brushed her upper lip with his kiss, testing her willingness, tasting her sweetness. Elemia parted her lips to receive him, and as he plunged in, Elemia's hands slid up his back and into his mass of black braids. Abbas slipped his strong arms around her slim waist and caught her up in an embrace as fiery as her own. They melded, their bodies pressed against each other. Elemia was breathing again, sighing through locked lips, and Abbas's hunger for her increased. He searched her mouth for that love

he had felt in his mind. He let his flesh feel what his mind knew, and Elemia reciprocated, keeping nothing from him. Her lips were honey and wine, both mulling his own mouth and making him drunk with desire. Abbas's hands ran free over Elemia's body, tracing up and down her back and around her hips. He let them rest on her stomach for a moment before sending them to searchfor her breasts. His palms glided over her nipples, and Elemia's body shook. A whimper from her, and the kiss was broken. Elemia's arms dropped to her sides, and she stared up into Abbas's eyes. Her heart was laid bare to him; she set it in his hands. “I have tasted fire,” Elemia whispered, “and now I burn.” Elemia took one step back from Abbas onto the surface of the lake. She did not look away from him as a column of water formed behind her, snaking over her shoulder, and coming to rest suspended in the air before his face. Abbas could not help but look away from Elemia and marvel at the animated water that rose before him. His face appeared in the water. His eyes, mouth, horns, hair – everything reflected, even his expression of wonder. The face backed away, and the column formed into a perfect water-replica of his tall, muscled body. Elemia laid her hand in his watery double's hand, and she glided away with her dance partner onto the lake. What unfolded before Abbas's eyes was nothing less than a water ballet. Elemia raced across the lake with her water companion, twirling hand-in-hand. When she leapt up, it caught her in its steady yet flowing arms, soaking her dress. When it leaned her down in its arms, its watery hand ran through her hair. Then the water companion ran with her and threw her into the air once again. Elemia's moves were as liquid as the water companion's and as full of easy grace. Even when she came down after her leaps, her toes did not disturb the glassy surface of the lake. “What is this?” Ahketh's voice startled Abbas. The knight was at his elbow. Abbas did not respond but turned his attention back to the dance. Elemia's dress clung to each part of her body, and her dancing form aroused him. Though the water companion was himself, he envied it. It made free of her body, flowing around and over her, touching her in every place Abbas wanted to touch her.

“I have never seen a novice dance like this.” Ahketh's voice was like the annoying buzzing of a fly in Abbas's ear. He wanted to swat that fly away. “And to command the holy water of the lake to accompany her? This is unheard of.” There was something peculiar in the tone of the knight's voice, but Abbas did not care to discover what it could be. His love danced upon the lake, and he could attend to nothing else. The dance ended with the water companion holding Elemia in a low dip, balancing her over its watery knee. It placed a kiss upon her lips and then dissolved in a spray of water all over her. Still Elemia retained the impossible position, her body clearly supported by her telekinesis. Abbas could not speak. He wanted to run out on the lake to her, but that was impossible. He wanted to call out her name, but the sound of his voice would profane the holy silence. Elemia floated up and resumed her footing, gliding once again over to the edge of the lake where Abbas and Ahketh stood. Her dripping white dress hugged her flesh as she walked. She wore no undergarments, so Abbas saw her as if she were naked. Her breasts rose like towers from the plain of her body, the sparse, black hair of her mound pressed back by the sopping fabric of her clinging dress. White clouds of breath rose from her lips in the wintry air, but she did not shiver. Desire erupted in Abbas's loins. He wanted to do much more than the water companion had done. Elemia's beauty shone with her exertion, so Abbas knew just how lovely she would be in his bed, how much lovelier she would become as he lay between her legs, and she rocked against him. He could almost feel his arm cradling the small of her back as she arched, not in a dance, but in climax. Ahketh and Cathal be damned, Abbas would have reached out and taken Elemia into his hungry arms if the knight had not spoken. “Great goddess! Merciful Yuilan! Forgive me.” Ahketh dropped to his knees, his mailed legs smashing against the frozen earth. Ahketh's mockery had gone too far. Abbas would have his tongue for his jest. “Enough,” he growled as he reached for his crossbow. But Ahketh's expression stayed his hand. The knight was enraptured, and his hands were clasped before him in supplication. Abbas knew that Ahketh saw Elemia as he had always seen her. “You see her now, too?” Abbas wondered why the knight now recognized Elemia's beauty when he had been oblivious to it before.

He looked back at Elemia, and her eyes shone with love for him. That was it; her aroused love had overcome her image of herself as plain, an image Abbas had pierced the moment he met her. Would everyone now see her as he saw her? He turned to Ahketh and scowled. “What do you want from her?” “Forgiveness.” Ahketh drew his sword and placed it on the pebbles before him. “I have wronged my Queen, Elemia, true bride of the God-King, Kelvirith.” “What?” Abbas clenched his fists in fear. His heart raced, and helpless, he stared at Elemia. “You mock me, sir.” Elemia did not understand what Abbas knew, that the veils of diffidence that had hidden her beauty were gone. “No, my Lady!” Ahketh bowed his head and raised his hands over it as if he were fending off a blow. “I was blind. Forgive your servant for his arrogance, his impiety. Forgive his folly!” Elemia's brow furrowed, and her questioning gaze fell on Abbas. Do you know what mischief he means by this? Abbas shrugged. “I've always told you how beautiful you are, and you never believed me.” He half-smiled and nodded toward the kneeling Ahketh. “Now you have proof.” Elemia blinked and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She gasped then as she looked down at her effectively naked body. Abbas rushed to her and threw a cloak around her. “Don't worry, my soul,” Abbas whispered. “Look at him. Ahketh worships you as his Queen, no more.” Indeed, the cloak had not broken the knight's gaze. Still he gawked at Elemia's shining face. “Rise, sir,” Elemia said to Ahketh. “You should not kneel before me. I am a Rolador now, not your Queen.” Ahketh's face darkened and his lips became a thin line. He shot Abbas a pleading look. “I will dry myself off and re-dress.” Elemia withdrew, for Ahketh's sake, Abbas knew, and not his own. As soon as she was gone, Ahketh started pacing in front of Abbas. “I've made a terrible mistake.” He looked at the ground in front of him as he walked in circles. “You.” The knight, his eyes wild with regret and despair, came nose to nose with Abbas. “You like the Queen; that much is obvious, so you must be none too happy that she's married to the chief of the Rolador.”

“First of all, she's not the Queen–” “Hang what you think you know. Right now, that's irrelevant. You'd like to see her away from Cathal, and so would I. Your enemy is my enemy.” Abbas laughed. “Are you saying we work together somehow, that you, mighty and proud King's Squire, work with a half-breed?” Ahketh groaned. “This is what I've brought my Queen to, thrust her among savages, surrounded her with half-bloods and lechers. Look, what's good for me is good for you.” What the knight proposed made sense to Abbas, but he still did not fully understand this sudden change in Ahketh. “Why is it that you now see Elemia's worth?” “The lake does not lie. My goddess's beauty fills it, and it has been granted in part to Elemia.” Abbas snapped his fingers. “You're wrong there. She looks just like she always has. You were just too prejudiced to see it, blinded by the High Mother's envy.” “What do you mean?” Ahketh narrowed his gaze at Abbas. “I'm no telepath, and I don't know anything about your ways, but I know how the proud treat the humble who are stronger than they. You, like all of the Order itself, have called her plain, treated her as inferior all these years until she believed you. But now she doesn't think about your opinions. So, where did you learn to deride Elemia so? From the High Mother. I take it from your reaction that novices don't usually dance with watery partners?” “No.” Ahketh peered across the lake. “No novice has manipulated the holy waters so.” Abbas splayed his hands out before him in acquiescence. “It doesn't matter where her beauty has come from. She is what she has become, and my task is clear. She is the reason the Order exists, why the King's Squires exist. Only the God-King's bride would shine with Yuilan's beauty, and I must recover her for him.” Ahketh gasped. “That's it!” “What?” Abbas looked around, expecting some further revelation or arrival. “That's why the King is ill. I gave his destined bride to another man.” Abbas scoffed at the thought, but part of him feared it for truth. “And how could he have known, hundreds of leagues away?”

“It is destiny. Fate finds every Ausir.” “If it were fate, Elemia would not belong to my brother.” Ahketh waved away Abbas's words. “Regardless, I would kill Cathal when he arrives, but I know the King would not accept a bride stolen, a wife obtained by murder.” The thought of his brother's death shocked Abbas, and he started forward at the threat to Cathal's life, but something pulled him up short. Cathal's death would mean his separation from Elemia. It would mean her freedom to love Abbas. Ahketh smashed his mailed fist into his hand. “Had she not already lain with the chief, I would take her away now, for the marriage would not be binding. There would be no union between them.” Ahketh groaned and grasped at his horns. At that moment, Abbas resolved to tell Elemia, once they were alone, never to let anyone know that she had not lain with Cathal. If Ahketh kidnapped Elemia, Abbas would never see her again. He had a better chance of getting her away from Cathal than from the GodKing. He did not want Kelvirith as his rival. Abbas peered at Ahketh. How much could he trust the knight? How far could he string him along? “We must watch and wait. Some opportunity may present itself.” Ahketh nodded. He seemed willing to accept Abbas's help, nebulous though it was. As Abbas was saddling the horses, he wondered if everyone would react as strongly as Ahketh had to Elemia's beauty. He hoped her return to Godswatch would not cause a stir.

Chapter Nine Elemia folded the white gown, and even after the dance was over, after Ahketh's inexplicable behavior, she could think only that this thin cambric was the first gift anyone had ever given her. She raised the dress to her lips, and the remembrance of Abbas's mouth on hers took her breath. She sat down on the bed and leaned her cheek upon the cold cloth of the gown. The fire Abbas had kindled in her still blazed; she burned in her desire for him, ached in her longing for him. His kiss intoxicated her, and his mouth was the nectar of the heavens. To touch him and be touched by him – the goddess herself in paradise did not know such bliss. Nor would Elemia. As she pressed the fabric to her cheek, she tasted for the first time the despair she had seen in Abbas the day after her nuptials. For the first time she realized that Abbas was not a prince out of her star, not a distant and unattainable beauty like the moons; he wanted her, loved her. She had trusted his words of love before, but now she understood them. He did not consider her a lowly creature, as the Mother and the Order had done. No, to Abbas she was not merely beautiful; she was beauty itself. And she belonged to his brother. It was Cathal's mark she bore, Cathal's name. Yet despite the waves of sorrow which lapped around her, Elemia could not be drowned in them. Abbas loved her, and, though she was barred from giving herself to him, but she at least did not have to give herself to any other. “Chieftainess?” The voice belonged toVolshaden, and Elemia sighed as she laid the gown on her bed. “Yes?” Elemia opened the door to see Volshaden standing on her threshold. The ever-present harlots had vanished, and even Ahketh was gone. She saw the outline of his boots under the outer door, but in the antechamber there was no one, saving only Volshaden. “Goddess, he was right.” Elemia did not know who “he” was, nor did she care. She waited in silence for Volshaden to explain what was required of her. “Was it some kind of telepathic trick?” asked Volshaden. His eyes, hungry and blue, raked over her. “How did you keep your charms hidden? Or did you just change yourself into a beauty?”

“I have not changed,” said Elemia, but even as the words passed her lips, she realized they were untrue. She had changed; she had awoken to Abbas's love and only his thoughts of her – not those of the Mother, of the Order, of Ahketh, or of Volshaden – mattered. In Abbas's eyes, she was precious, and therefore she was in truth. “You have.” Volshaden strode forward and tilted her chin upward with a long, tattooed finger. “You have a beauty unlike any I have seen.” He shook his head, and his perplexity flowed out from him. Elemia retreated from Volshaden's thoughts, for even his confusion was tinged with something Elemia could not recognize. It was an emotion, akin to the desire she sensed in Abbas, but yet unlike. “My brother is a fortunate man,” said Volshaden. “And he is letting you go to waste.” Elemia stared. How could Volshaden know? Abbas would not have told him. Then, with a surge of indignation, she recalled how Abbas was neglected by his brothers. It was more than possible that Cathal might have confided his plans in Volshaden but not Abbas. “That is the chieftain's choice to make,” said Elemia. “Not really.” With a single step, Volshaden closed the short distance between them. He towered over her, as Cathal did, but not like Abbas. Though Abbas was as tall as the other two, and his horns reached up even higher than their heads, she did not feel overshadowed by him. Elemia backed away. “I do not understand you.” “Volshaden.” He smiled at her, a winsome grin. “You can say it. Volshaden.” Elemia shook her head. “It is late. I shall return to my bedchamber.” Volshaden winked. “That's the idea. I can warm the bed for you.” “No.” Suspicion gleamed in her eyes. Volshaden again flashed his white teeth at her. “I know why Cathal left you a maid, but such a body as yours deserves to be pleasured.” His eyes smoldering, he held out his hand to her. “I am willing to worship that body as it deserves.” Nausea turned Elemia's stomach. Worship her body? What insanity was in Volshaden's thoughts? She did not touch them to see. The very idea of touching his mind revolted her. “No,” said Elemia again.

“Ahketh?” Abbas's voice was raised, and Elemia heard the anger in it. “Why are you out here?” Volshaden smiled at the sounds. “I wanted a chance to speak to you privately, without Abbas fawning over you.” Only then did Elemia see that the bolt of the door was shot home. Neither Abbas nor Ahketh could enter. With a flick of her wrist, Elemia telekinetically unlocked the bolt. Abbas was at her side almost before the door had fully opened. “What happened?” Abbas fixed his adoptive brother with a glare that Elemia recognized for fury. “I just wanted a chance to get to know our new chieftainess better.” Volshaden shrugged. “And you're always in the way.” “Abbas is never in the way.” Elemia caught Volshaden's gaze with her own. “And I do not fear you.” “You shouldn't fear me, sister.” Volshaden laughed out loud then. “I've already eaten, but if you'd like me to accompany you down to the dining hall, chieftainess, I will.” “I shall not be going down.” Elemia set her jaw. “I am tired from my dance, and I will retire at once.” Only when Volshaden, still chuckling, had gone back to his room did Elemia trust herself to look at Abbas again. “Aren't you hungry, Elemia?” Abbas looked down into her face, with the same ardent affection he had shown before her dance, and Elemia swallowed a sob. I am too tired to eat, and I do not understand why everyone stares at me. Abbas slid one arm around her, leaned her head on his shoulder. “They can see your beauty now.” But if they did not care for me without it, then their interest or affection is worthless. Elemia closed her eyes. You are the only one I can trust. She felt the surge of pride in Abbas's thoughts as he whispered, “I have always seen your beauty, Elemia, because you have always loved me.” You saw it because of your own love for me. Elemia would have been content to stay forever in that antechamber, within the circle of Abbas's arms, but Ahketh's voice, unwelcome and discordant, broke into the silence. “My Queen, you must rest.”

Elemia knew at once that thoughts of her rest were not what motivated Ahketh; it was Abbas's nearness to her that disturbed the knight. “I am not your Queen. I am only tired.” It was no more than truth. Though she had danced often, she had never ridden a horse for more than a few snatched moments at a time. “I will retire now.” Abbas was as reluctant to release her as she was to step away from him, but with a murmured good night, at last he did. When the door closed behind Elemia, shutting Abbas out into the darkened room he shared with Ahketh, she darted back to the bed and crushed the white gown to her breast. Her gift from Abbas. The first and only gift she had ever received. She could not sleep without it. She held it to her and nestled into the bed with the white cambric still pressed to her cheek. **** Elemia had been half-expecting the chanting, and her desire to remain near to Abbas in thought disturbed her slumber. She was not sure how long the chanting had been going on, for it filled her ears as well as her mind. She sat up, panting. But the sounds were not only in her mind. There was real, audible chanting emanating from the antechamber. With terror-fueled speed, Elemia darted into Abbas's room, thrust the door open with her thoughts before she reached it. As the door crashed against the frame, Elemia's heart froze. Abbas stood over Ahketh, and in Abbas's tattooed hand she saw the gleam of his hunting knife. But Abbas was not attempting murder; his eyes were closed, and the chanting poured from his sleeping lips. He was in the midst of the ritual sacrifice Elemia had twice seen in his nightmares. In that instant, Elemia saw, too, that Ahketh's eyes were open and hate-filled. Ahketh's sword was at his bedside, and she had only an instant. She knew that Ahketh was impervious to her telepathy. Elemia did not hesitate. She threw herself bodily between Ahketh and Abbas. “No!” Her scream ended in a cry as, in the ensuing tumble of arms, legs, and blades, something hard and cold struck her cheek. “Elemia?” Abbas, sweat-drenched, was awake enough to recognize her. He helped her to her feet, enfolding her trembling form in his arms.

“I will have the half-breed's head!” Ahketh was standing, the naked sword still in his hand. “He tried to murder me in my bed because I name you Queen.” Elemia, still within the circle of Abbas's embrace, turned her blazing eyes on Ahketh. “You shall not so abuse Abbas's name as to call him murderer. You are the one who would take a man's life in cold blood for what he could not help.” Elemia did not care that her words would fall on deaf ears. She was glad to defend Abbas, and she hoped only that Volshaden would come out to join in the battle she was sure would come. “Goddess, no.” Ahketh's face lost all color, and he knelt before Elemia, his face on the floor at her feet. “Forgive me, my Queen.” What is going on? Elemia fixed her pleading gaze on Abbas. Why does he mock me so? Abbas ran his fingers over Elemia's cheek. “He hit you. Trying to strike me, he struck you.” The blackness still lingered in Abbas's eyes, and Elemia forgot Ahketh. “I should eat his heart.” “Abbas!” Elemia spoke, trying to jar him fully from the dream. “Wake. Return to me.” As the shadows began to fade from his face, Elemia pulled on Abbas's hand, leading back to his bed. Still she did not speak to Ahketh, who continued to grovel on the floor. “Sit.” Abbas obeyed her, but his eyes did not clear. Horror closed up Elemia's throat, and she wrapped Abbas's mind in her own for a brief moment. It was enough to rouse him, but she felt the struggle in his thoughts. “Abbas, I am afraid.” She could not look away from his eyes that they were fully his own again. Abbas closed both her hands in his. “It's just my dreams. What can you fear?” “You are being drawn further into your nightmares.” Abbas nodded. “I've noticed this over the past weeks, but these last nights the visions have been the worst of my life. They cling to me.” Elemia bit her lip. “It is a danger to you. Not only do you begin to reenact the horrors you see, but they are pulling on you, fighting you. I do not know why what is on the far side of that wall in your mental chambers is struggling, but it is the only explanation. The wall must be brought down, and we must face what is on the other side of it. Only then will you be able to sleep in safety.”

“We?” Abbas put his hands on either side of her face and leaned his brow down to Elemia's. “You would enter my mind?” “If you will allow it.” Elemia twisted her fingers together. “But it is dangerous unless –oh, please do not be angry if I suggest something…permanent.” Abbas's half-laugh reproached Elemia. “How can you think I would be angry with you for anything?” Elemia felt the blood in her cheeks burning against Abbas's hands. “I know that you trust me, but it is a difficult thing I ask.” “I will deny you nothing.” Abbas pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Not even yourself?” Elemia rushed on, unwilling to dwell on the fact that it was she who could not lawfully give herself away. “For I would attach your mind to mine forever.” “By the goddess, I beg you, my Queen, do not do this thing!” Ahketh, still prostrate, spoke in Ausir. “By all that is holy, I beg you.” Abbas glanced at Ahketh, though Elemia did not take her gaze from Abbas's face. “Does he know what you intend?” asked Abbas. “He does, for it is something that we are trained to do in the Order. It is usual to make this attachment one-way, that the telepath should have access to the bonded mind, but not the other way. That is not what I intend.” Elemia leaned her cheek into Abbas's palm. “You would be as free to enter my mind as I would be to enter yours.” Ahketh made a sound like one choking on vomit. “Why would you do this, Elemia? Why would you give me full freedom of your mind? You are a telepath. You would open your mind to the horrors locked in my memories, let those monstrous things contaminate your pristine thoughts?” Elemia laughed then, pulling Abbas's hands into her lap. “Now you ask me a foolish question. You fill my mind. No vow keeps my mind from you, and thus it is yours already.” Ahketh was sobbing. “Is there danger to you in this?” asked Abbas. Elemia furrowed her brow. “I do not know what is behind that wall, nor do I know who put it there. But whatever danger touches you already touches me.” “My Queen!” Ahketh's sobs were so loud that Elemia wondered how Volshaden could still be asleep.

“I want to have you in my mind,” whispered Abbas. “For already you dwell in my heart.” Elemia nodded. “I am not your Queen.” Though she did not take her eyes from Abbas, she addressed Ahketh. “I am a Rolador now, so be silent.” “You are my Queen, and though I know that I deserve nothing from you – for I have struck my Queen! – yet I beg of you, for His Grace's sake, that you not do this thing.” His weeping did not lessen. “I have wronged you and His Grace. Let me rectify my error!” Elemia ignored him. She pulled her legs up onto Abbas's bed and knelt, facing him. Their hands were still joined, and she smiled into Abbas's anxious face. “Now all shall be well.” Elemia withdrew into her mind, concentrating only on her own mental self. It did not usually take effort; it was natural in a telepath to be aware, always, of her mental self. This time she intended battle, and Elemia mustered her strength. Then she was in Abbas's mental chambers. They were dark, for his mental self was absent, but Elemia did not balk. She turned to face one blank wall, one that, were Abbas a novice of the Order, would have been the wall between his mind and the outside world, and it would have borne the burning sigil of a Command word. Elemia laid her hand on that wall and used her telekinesis as though it were telepathy. She blasted the wall open. Thus far it had been easy. This was something that she had been trained to do, for it was something any telepath might be commanded to do, breach the defenses of another mind. Elemia paused, however, to take stock of Abbas's state. Abbas? Can you hear me? A muffled cry from beyond the memory-barrier was the only response. Fear clutched at her. Whatever was beyond the barrier hated that she was here, and Abbas's mental self could be lost if she delayed. Elemia looked through the opening she had made, and she saw beyond it her own impregnable mind. With the supreme ease born of her years of telekinetic practice, Elemia used the broken bits of Abbas's mind-wall to build a bridge between his mind and hers. Each piece she picked up and laid down was a part of Abbas, and the bridge she was building, she crossed on her knees. When at last the solid surface of her new bridge touched the wall of her own mind,

Elemia knew the test had come. She dreaded this even more than the breaching of the memory-barrier, for, if she could succeed at this, she would have her full telepathic strength in Abbas's mind. Still on her knees, Elemia laid both her hands against her own wall. She knew, on the other side of it, pulsed her own word of Command, engraved there by the High Mother herself. Of course breaching this wall would not dislodge the word; it was part of the very stone of her mind. It gave Elemia a small surge of joy that she should, even symbolically, destroy that which divided her from Abbas. She pushed with her telekinesis; she pushed with her hands; she pushed with her mind. Over and over again, Elemia beat upon the wall. Her hands left bloody streaks behind them, and her knees were swollen and bruised from the stones beneath her; but she lacked the strength to rise to her feet. Worse yet, the blows she struck she felt in herself. Both her eyes were swollen, and dripping blood from a cut on her brow blinded her. How long she bludgeoned herself, she did not know, but were it for any other cause than Abbas's sake, she would not have been able to continue. Each strike was agony, both to her beating hands and thoughts, and to her bruised mind. She screamed and ringing filled her ears. Then light washed over her, not the painful whiteness of her Command word, but the soothing illumination of her own memories. She saw the recollection of Abbas's perfect kiss. She felt again that burning flame in all her flesh, and she knew that she had breached her own defense. After the anguish of her mental violation, the next bit was easy. She roofed over the bridge with masonry from her own wall. The mansion of Abbas's mind was connected to hers. Their mind was shared. Her walls were his; his were hers. Elemia laughed. She could not wait to bring Abbas into the mental chambers of her mind, to show him where he sat enthroned in the center of her thoughts. All that remained was to let his own mental self free, to breach the memory barrier. **** Elemia lay, panting and exhausted, in front of the memory barrier. It was thicker and stronger than anything she had ever seen. It

was as high as the convent ramparts, as wide as the city walls of Godswatch. She had never seen such telepathic ingenuity. This barrier had been, she realized from its connection to the mansion walls around it, placed in Abbas in his infancy, probably at his birth. No memory from his babyhood until his finding by the Shanna clan was visible. All were hidden by the barricade. Elemia's tears soaked her still-swollen face. She had not yet recovered from her assault upon herself, and she did not have the time to recuperate. The darkness behind the block was growing. She heard a faint, gurgling cry from the far side of the bulwark. This was what she had dreaded; this was why she was here. Abbas was losing himself to the nightmarish memories. That Elemia would never allow. Fresh strength flowed into her aching and wearied limbs. The pain of her head was nothing. She stood, light and easy, on her feet, and she raised both her hands. Abbas was on the far side of this evil thing, and he needed her. “I have tasted fire,” she cried out, “and now I burn!” Indeed, she did burn, glowing with a fire she had not known she possessed. The brilliance of her light obliterated the dark barrier. It was gone. But the memories remained, and they were angry. “Elemia!” Abbas called out to her. She ran to him, holding out her hands. They held each other then, as the memories swirled and howled. She understood everything, everything but who the Ausir was who had birthed him. Abbas, too, understood. They just had to wait until the memories subsided into their proper order. Then they could speak of it. She was content to rest in Abbas's arms, in the center of the single mind they shared between them.

Chapter Ten Abbas's eyes snapped open. He drew a long, ragged breath, as if he had been trapped underwater. Elemia yet sat on the bed, her eyes closed, and her body still as stone. Her hands gripped his with steady pressure. Her face bore no expression, though, after what they had just seen, Abbas knew the horror that had invaded her pristine mind. He had poisoned her. He feared her awakening, when she would look on him with derision, her love for him gone. “Elemia,” Abbas whispered. “Awake.” He dreaded her reproach, but he could not bear waiting. He needed to hear her voice, whether it came from her lips or sprang from her mind. Elemia did not stir. Abbas disengaged his hands and sought her face with them, cradling her cheeks. “Elemia.” The gentle force of his call caused Ahketh to look up from his prostrate position. The weeping knight stared at Abbas. “What have you done?” Ahketh regained his footing and moved over to the bedside. His hands trembled and his face contorted in what Abbas recognized as barely-checked fury. “Nothing.” Abbas swallowed hard and looked back at Elemia's expressionless face. He knew just what he had done, his former self, in that dark cave. How could Elemia not run in horror from him? How could she ever speak words of love to him again? He had seen himself as a child, naked and shivering, painted with blood, obscene sigils covering his body. On the slab lay a boy not much older than he, his cries muffled by the dirty rag shoved in his mouth. Abbas crouched near the cave wall and watched the familiar scene unfold. He had seen the sacrifices performed many times, and this was the last. The priest, cloaked in black, his face painted with bloody symbols matching Abbas's, stood before the altar chanting. He held a long, jagged knife that glowed in the dim firelight. The priest walked around the slab thrice, chanting, tracing the body of the sacrifice with the tip of his knife. He then took up his position at the boy's head. Abbas clamped his eyes shut; he knew what would happen next. Maybe if he squeezed his eyes shut hard enough, it would not happen this time. That is what he always hoped, but the kidnapped boys always died.

The boy on the slab struggled against his bonds but to no avail. The priest's cruel knife plunged into his chest, breaking bone and severing muscle. “Come, son,” the priest called as he always had. Abbas obeyed. He had learned long ago the penalty for disobedience. The priest, his forearms dripping hot blood, placed into Abbas's hands the still beating heart of the boy. “Eat.” Abbas did so, and it was made easier by the fact that he was starving. He was not allowed to eat for two days before a sacrifice. Still, consuming the human heart choked Abbas. He gagged on it, but the priest's baleful gaze told him how he would be punished if he failed. Abbas's stomach rebelled and contracted, and a dry heave wracked his body, but he did not dare expel the contents of his mouth. As Abbas ate, the priest slit the wrist of the sacrifice and drained the blood from the corpse into a chalice. All the while, he chanted his dark rite to his loathsome god. The priest then dropped to his knees, pulled back his dark cowl, and revealed his face. No horns. He was human, but his eyes were inhuman black. “Smoke-shrouded Veirakai, I strike the earth with my hand.” With his gloved hand, the priest beat three times on the cave floor. “Hear me, God of the Forge. I call upon you to witness this sacrifice and complete the curse you have promised us. I am your faithful servant, Garivonix. Curse, therefore, the King of the Ausir, Kelvirith. Let him find no wife. Let his mind darken and his divinity fade. Let his life fail. In payment I give to you my own flesh, as you have required it.” The priest drank the contents of the chalice and then turned to Abbas. “Come, child of the curse, conceived for this cause. Come and glorify Veirakai, and let your mother have her revenge.” Abbas stepped forward. He knew the knife in his father's hand was meant for him, but he could not flee. The fiendish ceremony compelled him to stay. The flesh of the heart sat in his belly like a stone. The priest put the knife against Abbas's throat. “I seal this curse with my own flesh. Accept, then, Murder and Strife, these words of mine. Let this sacrifice please you. I am Garivonix, your loyal and faithful servant.” But the priest did not strike. When he gripped the knife to slash Abbas's neck, he fell backward, choking and clawing at his own

throat as blood poured from an invisible wound. Abbas cried out and scrambled back to his hiding place against the cave wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and watched as his father died. The priest fell back upon the altar and expired, and his arm fell over the edge of the slab. Blood dripped off his fingertips, just as it always had in the nightmares. “Abbas!” Volshaden shoved Abbas, and Abbas's mind returned to the antechamber where he sat. The antechamber in the festhall. And there Elemia sat, unmoving. “Volshaden.” Abbas blinked and could scarcely believe where he was. The memory had been so strong. Volshaden snorted. He held a sheathed shortblade. “Yes?” With his sword, he indicated Elemia. “What happened? What did you do?” Ahketh was standing behind Volshaden, murdering Abbas with his eyes. “Nothing,” Abbas repeated. He was still that little boy trapped in the cave. Shame filled his breast. “Nothing?” Volshaden reached out and nudged Elemia. When she did not respond, he said, “You obviously did something to her. Is she asleep?” “No – I don't know.” Volshaden's jaw clenched and unclenched, and his face worked itself into a fury. He turned to Ahketh. “Do you know anything about this?” “The half-breed was having a nightmare. He tried to kill me. I would have destroyed him, but my Queen interposed herself.” Volshaden rolled his eyes, but Ahketh ignored him and continued. “She then entered his mind to repair what damage only the gods know lay there. I begged her not to do it, but she would not listen to me. After a few moments, the half-breed awoke, and here my Queen still sits.” Abbas stood and laid Elemia down upon his bed. There was nothing else he could do for her; he did not know if she would live or die. Was she trapped in the nightmare? Why had she not returned with him? “You've damaged Cathal's property, Abbas,” Volshaden said, and Abbas heard the draw of steel. “I've been waiting for a chance to be rid of you, now that father's gone, and you give me my golden opportunity.”

Abbas whirled around. Volshaden held his naked blade before him. He looked at Ahketh. The knight stood hard by, but he had not yet drawn his sword. They blocked his exit, but how could he run, anyway? What might happen to Elemia? Abbas knew how Volshaden lusted after her. “You would dishonor your father's memory?” Abbas hoped he might appeal to Volshaden's sense of familial duty, if he had any. “Father wasted his time on you, a foundling. It was the sentimentality of age. You were the same age as my baby brother, the one who died and took our mother's life with him. Now I will take your life and be rewarded by my brother for doing away with you.” Abbas raised his fist before him. Perhaps he could disarm one of them and get a weapon for himself. “Stay your hand, noble savage,” Ahketh said, placing a hand on Volshaden's shoulder. “Though I would love nothing more than to see the half-breed dead, we cannot kill him now.” “Why not?” Volshaden's fury broke and was replaced by obvious irritation. “Her Grace has temporarily linked her mind to his, so I cannot say what will happen to her if the bastard dies. It is too much of a risk, for you and for me. My Queen, your chieftainess.” Volshaden slowly let his sword drop. “Fine.” To Abbas, he said, “If she awakes, or when my brother returns, we shall settle this.” Abbas watched Volshaden return to his own chambers. He hated his adopted brothers now more than ever. One openly sought his death; the other would return to find his wife more beautiful than he had left her. Elemia would be irresistible to him. How would Cathal be able to keep his promise? And would Elemia even want to escape the chieftain's bed now that she knew what Abbas was? **** Abbas's back hurt. He raised his head off the bed and straightened himself out. For two days and nights, he had sat by Elemia's bedside and waited, but she had not stirred, not blinked, not twitched her mouth or wiggled her fingers. Her shallow breath alone testified to her continued life. Abbas wiped his sleep-laden eyes. “Won't she starve?” he asked Ahketh, who also waited nearby.

“No.” Ahketh did not speak to Abbas unless Abbas asked him a direct question. “She is a mighty telepath, and her body is in stasis. She can take care of herself.” The knight had been saying that over and over again to himself the past two days, as if he were trying to convince himself that his Queen would recover. “You love her,” Ahketh said. His eyes were scornful, his face haughty. “You shall not. She is meant for the King, and she is as far above you as the moons. Never flatter yourself to think that she would ever turn her affections to you, a tattooed halfbreed bastard foundling.” Abbas bristled, but everything Ahketh had said was true. He looked down at his arms that bore the markings of a people not his own. His father – the priest in the cave – was human, so his mother must have been Ausir. Who she was, Abbas did not know. He had been found cold and naked on the Pettegsh plains and taken in by a Rolador chieftain. This was all he could offer to Elemia. Abbas could not deny Ahketh's estimation of him. Elemia would awaken and turn away from him. Elemia's eyes fluttered open. She breathed in deeply through her nose, and once the clouds lifted from her eyes, she pulled herself up and wrapped her arms around Abbas's neck. She neither smiled nor spoke. Abbas. Abbas returned her embrace. She had not rejected him; she pitied him for the wrongs done to him, and he loved her more for the pity she showed. “My Queen!” Ahketh began. Elemia released Abbas and addressed the knight. “Leave us. I will speak with the chieftain's brother about that which concerns the Shanna alone.” Ahketh opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He looked from Abbas's face to Elemia's face and then back to Abbas's. The final glance he shot Abbas was one of measureless enmity. When the door closed behind Ahketh, Abbas kissed Elemia's lips. “You've come back to me.” He ran his hands through her hair, tucking her stray locks behind her high, pointed ears. He untangled the loose strands of hair from her horns and made such a general fuss that Elemia stopped his hands with hers. Her expression of pity and love broke and mended his heart all at once, and he felt the hot sting of tears fill his eyes.

“Do not think such things, my love.” Elemia must have read his thoughts. “You are not that boy. You had no choice. Your father was a man of unspeakable evil, and he held you in his dread sway. What could you have done? What could anyone have done against the dark power of a priest of Veirakai?” She kissed him again, his lips, his brow, his hands. “Where were you? I thought you might die.” Elemia looked around. “How long was I asleep?” “Two days.” Elemia shook her head and stared off into space for a moment. When she looked back full on Abbas's face, she smiled. “I left you only a few minutes ago. Time passes differently in the mind. I am glad you are finally free of the dreams, and though the knowledge is painful, it is best that you know yourself so that you might heal.” “My soul,” Abbas whispered as he kissed her again. “My salvation.” They fell into a deep kiss, exploring as they tasted each other's sweet lips. Elemia moved her arms around from Abbas's shoulders and let her hands run down his chest until they were resting on the sides of his waist. Abbas, likewise, traced Elemia's curves. His hands were rough, but his touch was light. He caressed her slim stomach and slid his hands over her round breasts, cupping her nipples in his palms. He felt her nipples harden under his loving strokes. Elemia moaned into his mouth. Abbas's phallus pushed against his breeches, and though he wanted to move Elemia's hand onto his erection, he did not. Instead, he broke the kiss. He could not take her here. “Elemia, do you know what happened to me?” Elemia blinked and wiped her mouth, and she did not speak for several moments. “What? Oh, yes. The wall.” She snuggled against Abbas's chest. “Your mother is most likely the one who placed it there. She did not want her identity known in connection with the cursing of the King.” “But I was supposed to die. My father said his flesh was to seal the curse.” “Yes.” Elemia stroked Abbas's chest. “His flesh, not yours. Your father assumed it was a figure of speech, but the god of the forge is a cruel, literal god.” “Who was my mother, then?”

“I do not know. Doubtless she was a rogue telepath from the Order, or–” Elemia broke off with a gasp. “Your father mentioned your mother's revenge against the King. Perhaps she was missed by the Order and thus was deprived of her opportunity to be presented to the King.” Elemia shook her head as she talked through the possibilities. “But a wall of that construction would take some training. I do not know, Abbas. I am only glad that you are safe.” “Elemia.” Abbas took her face in his hands and made her look at him. “That bastard Ahketh suspects us, though he thinks the presumption is all on my side. We must be careful.” Elemia nodded. I have left the door open between us. From now on, our minds are one. We can share thoughts directly without speech. Remember, you have latent telepathic ability. Move your mental self through the door and into my mind, and then you can speak to me as I do to you. Abbas furrowed his brow and grunted, but silence reigned. Elemia chuckled. Give it time, beloved. With practice, it will come. Do not think to force it as you would pull back your crossbow. It is not a matter of physical exertion. Abbas smiled and kissed her nose. “My soul. I had no life before I met you.” **** It had been a difficult week for Abbas. Word of Elemia's beauty had spread throughout the city, and those Ausir lords who had failed to obtain sisters of the Order as brides but still remained in Godswatch took up temporary residences in the festhall. Elemia sat in her room, surrounded by bolts of silk, small chests containing jewelry, and casks of wine, meant as a bribe for Volshaden to give over his brother's wife. Abbas stood in the doorway and calmed his mind. He looked at Elemia and focused himself, centering his thoughts on her. Moving his mental self into her mind was no easy task; it was very much like riding a horse, except that his mind was a rebellious, untrained stallion. He had been working on training his wild, skittish mind, but it was slow going. Sweat beaded on his brow, and though Elemia saw his effort, she did nothing but sit and wait. She had told him earlier in the week,

when his struggle seemed insurmountable, that if she helped his mental self step through the door that joined their minds, he would forever need her aid. Abbas understood and accepted her wisdom. He had broken horses before; he could certainly break his own mind. Elemia. He managed to whisper into her mind. This was the third time he had been able to call out to her from his mind, and he found it a bit easier to do so. Abbas's mental self was like a pair of leather gloves, stiff and blister-causing, but in time softening to become the most comfortable thing he wore. Elemia smiled. My heart. Some lord has brought yet another gift. Volshaden is coming up with it. Abbas's thoughts darkened at the thought of his adopted brother. Volshaden had propositioned Elemia on several occasions this past week. Abbas was certain he would use this opportunity to try again. Do not fear, beloved. I am safe from his advances. You know there is nothing he can offer me that would outshine you, and he cannot force himself upon me. Abbas was content. Elemia was correct; there was nothing Volshaden could do but beg. “Get out of the way, lapdog,” Volshaden grumbled, shouldering his way past Abbas. “Don't you have anything better to do?” Abbas did not reply, but he kept a wary eye on Volshaden. Ahketh was in the outer corridor, and he watched Abbas in much the same way Abbas watched Volshaden. Cathal would return to a tense situation in three days' time; Abbas was sure. Volshaden closed the door, and though Abbas was not so advanced in the manipulation of his mental self as to overhear what Volshaden was saying to Elemia, he was still inside her mind, so he felt her irritation and disgust. Volshaden considered Elemia Cathal's true wife, but he did not care. He wanted to bed Elemia. He would take his whores only in the baths downstairs. He slept alone in his room, hoping that his veneer of chastity would placate Elemia. All this Abbas sensed from Elemia's mind. The door swung open, and Volshaden stormed out. He had failed again, and he would always fail. Were she merely Cathal's maiden-wife, Elemia would have rejected Volshaden. That she was bound to Abbas through the union of their minds, a union that

superseded Cathal's incomplete joining, only served to add indignation to her rejection. Abbas felt the offense she took on his behalf. Abbas looked at her from the doorway. They kept their distance from each other, had all week, ever since Ahketh's suspicions were aroused, but they found they did not need physical contact to be intimate. Every day, Abbas's mental self grew stronger, more defined. He was confident that very soon he would be able to meet Elemia on equal footing in her mind. Ahketh stuck his head in the door to see what Volshaden had brought. A bundle of Ausir-style dresses, high-necked and sleeveless, lay on the bed. “I have to find a way to get her away from these savages,” he muttered under his breath in Ausir. Abbas understood. His connection to Elemia's mind lent him the knowledge of that tongue, and Elemia also had grown to understand the Rolador language. Abbas did not look at the knight, did not want to reveal to him that he understood him. Abbas had been distracted. Unlike Elemia, he could not maintain a mental connection while attending to other matters. Abbas's mind easily wandered, which was natural for a non-telepath, but he knew he had to focus his efforts if he ever wanted to improve. Elemia's beauty was the best hold on his attention, so he gazed into her lovely, blue eyes until he reestablished his mental self. Run away with me, Elemia. Elemia visibly shifted where she sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes grew sorrowful. You know I cannot. Cathal will return in three days. I can't stand to think of you with him. Abbas sensed Elemia's confusion. She did not exactly understand what he meant. I don't want him to take you into his bed. Elemia shook her head, and her mental self reached out and took his counterpart's hands. He has promised to leave me a maiden wife. In her mind, leaving her a maiden wife meant he would not put his hands on her the way Abbas did. But Abbas knew what sex was; he knew Cathal would do much more than caress her skin or kiss her lips. He won't. He'll take you away from me.

Never! He has promised me, just as I made a vow to the Order to obey. Abbas gritted his teeth. He will break that promise the moment he sees you. Elemia's eyes filled with tears. Even if I ran away with you, they would hunt us down and find us. In this, Ahketh would join with the Rolador, and we would be discovered. Then the chieftain would use my Command word and force me to leave you. Abbas sensed Elemia's desire to run to him. Instead, her mental self hugged his. And what of my vow to the Order? If I could break that, how could you trust me? Elemia was right; there was nothing Abbas could say. If she would break her word for him, how could she be trusted to keep her word to him? His mental self crushed hers against his chest, and he held her tight. His hope was futile; there was no escape. Godswatch, even this festhall, is full of slaves, and I envy them. Elemia's tears still fell from her eyes. Why? They are freer than I. They can do whatever they like, as long as they are willing to accept the consequences. They may choose death. I cannot. I am bound by my oath and the Word. Abbas's stomach churned. He felt sick. Like the Mother's commands to the novices. Yes, until they become sisters. Sisters are free. Abbas scowled. I thought the sisters wore the blue gowns, not the white ones. They do. The day I went in to petition for a bride on behalf of Cathal, I saw the Mother use a word against one of the sisters. Elemia stood up. Sweet Yuilan! That is why the Mother wanted to kill you. She is not supposed to have such control over a sister. A sister's word is removed her mind, but – oh, the Mother is keeping the words for herself, breaking faith with the King, who has ordered all such Command words abolished in every novice after her presentation. Abbas shrugged. She is out of our lives. I do not fear her. He wanted to say more, but he could not even think it. The touch of Elemia's mental self, however, told Abbas that she understood. He did

not want Cathal to return, and he could not bear to dwell on the inevitable.

Chapter Eleven Elemia looked down at the full plate before her, at the apple cakes, the honeyed ham, the stuffed chestnuts. The sight of the food turned her stomach. Cathal was to return today, and Abbas's dread mingled with hers in her mind. “You can't eat, either?” Abbas pushed his ham into the pile of chestnuts on his own plate. I cannot. Elemia darted a glance at Ahketh, who appeared to share the gloom. I wish that we could continue as we are. A smile, crooked, bittersweet, and perfect, played over Abbas's lips. I wish only for a yet greater union between us. But already we're as close as any man and wife. Elemia continued to gaze at Abbas's unmoving mouth. Beloved, were I my own, I would have given myself to you the day I met you. My heart flew to you then, and it has nestled in your breast ever since. “Elemia, I have arranged for a special bath for you.” Volshaden, who had not been dining with them, now came to stand behind her. “It is only right that you prepare yourself for your husband's return.” He patted her shoulder, but Elemia rose at once, disengaging his hand. “Then I shall go now.” She fled the dining hall, unable to endure the heavy sorrow in Abbas's eyes. As she darted out, she heard Volshaden's laughter following her. Bath-slaves were waiting at the entryway, and Elemia allowed herself to be escorted through the hallways and into the steaming bath-chamber. She unlaced her bodice, and she saw in her mind Abbas's lean, dark hands lacing it. She unhooked her skirts, and she felt again Abbas's nearness as he tied them on her. She handed over her garments to a slim young girl who smiled up at her. “You will enjoy the bath, chieftainess. Everyone does.” Elemia did not reply. In silence, she followed the girl into the bath. The bathing pool itself was magnificent. It was full of blue, steaming water, clear enough to see through, hot enough to relax the tightest muscles, and Elemia paid it no heed at all. She stepped in, not even looking at where she walked, instead feeling her way with the soles of her feet. One stair, two, three. She stood on the smooth floor

of the bath. The water hit her upper thigh, lapping against her privates. Elemia lowered herself into the liquid and drew her knees up to her chin. This was her bridal bath, and there was some meaning to it, doubtless. She was to be clean for Cathal to kiss her, for what if he should kiss her neck? She must smell fresh. Elemia hung her head, letting the water cover her face. She dreaded the thought of Cathal's kiss, and she clung to the hope of his keeping his vow. But Abbas did not trust to Cathal's word, and he knew his brother better. Elemia exhaled into the water, sending bubbles up around the sides of her face. Then she heard the splash of someone entering the bathing pool. She sat up. A long, thick thing was not what she had expected to see, but there it was, not two hands' breadths from her face. The mysterious thing sprouted from its nest of brilliant red pubic hair, and she knew even before she looked up at the face that this belonged to Volshaden. Volshaden's hand, that blue-and-green tattooed hand, ran the length of his penis, stroking it as he spoke. “Elemia, you don't know what Cathal's denied you. You're being wasted.” His eyes traced her curves, and Elemia wished the water were not so clear. “Let me show you why the girls here at the festhall sneak to my room at night.” Elemia understood at once. Volshaden wished to urinate on her. Terror overcame her desire to keep her body beneath the water, and she ran, fleeing into the changing room. There the same giggling girl who had helped with her clothes waited with a towel. “Your bath has ended quickly, chieftainess.” The girl's eyes glittered, and Elemia realized that this girl had known Volshaden was coming. Elemia choked in horror. She redressed as quickly as her trembling hands would allow, and she fled to the sanctuary of her own chambers. Abbas met her halfway down the hallway. “What is wrong, Elemia?” Ahketh stood behind Abbas, and Elemia shook her head. It was Volshaden. I have learned that he urinates on the bathhouse girls. They creep to his chambers at night for him to urinate on them! Abbas's eyes closed. That is not why they creep into his room. But I saw him. He came naked to my bath, with a stiff thing in his hand! What could he have been doing but urinating?

Abbas shot a glance at Ahketh. “You look tired, Elemia. You ought to lie down.” As he took her arm to lead her back to her room, he touched her thoughts. Go to your room, close your door, and lie down. I will explain. Elemia, her flesh singing at the touch of Abbas's hand on her arm, obeyed without a word. As she closed her door, she saw Abbas seating himself on his bed. Ahketh had not followed them into the antechamber, instead remaining outside. She went to her own bed and lay down, closing her eyes. She waited. She knew that Abbas was trying to place his mental self in her mind, and this was the first time he had attempted to do so without seeing her. After several minutes, she saw his mental image flicker into her thoughts, but the image was not steady. He was about to fade, so Elemia clasped his hands. She anchored him into her thoughts. Now we can communicate freely. Abbas looked from side to side at the empty marble hall of Elemia's mind. Is there some way we can sit down? This is going to take some time. Elemia obliged with the image of the bed on which her physical form lay. Abbas, it was horrible. Volshaden, with the connivance of one of the bathhouse girls, came to me in my bath. I fled before he could relieve himself on me, but why would he do this? Abbas covered his eyes with his hands, dragging them down over his face. I'd assumed that your modesty was what kept you from speaking more openly, but you really don't know. Volshaden wanted to put his penis inside you. Elemia's hands flew to her throat. Goddess. Abbas disengaged her hands from her neck and clasped them. Your Order does you wrong to keep you so ignorant of coupling. They do it that, whatever the husbands they may sell us to might require, we would have no qualms. Abbas shook his head. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. How can a woman who doesn't know what she's supposed to do.... Damn the Order. Damn Ahketh. And damn Cathal. Elemia leaned her head on Abbas's shoulder. I was better off when you alone thought me beautiful. I will always think you so. Abbas tilted her face up to his. You are more beautiful to me than anything. He pressed his lips to hers, and Elemia thrust her hands into his braids. She had not expected the

burning hunger that possessed her, for they had never kissed in their minds before. The fire on his lips filled her, and she wanted him to hold her forever. Abbas pulled his mouth from hers long enough to speak. Elemia, you are mine more than you are Cathal's. All that is my own, I give you. Elemia traced his lips with her forefinger. Abbas appeared to take that as an invitation, for he pulled her into his lap, facing him. Elemia's mental self always appeared in the thin white gown of Abbas's gift, and she felt the hardness of his phallus against her nymphae. Elemia. Abbas grasped the edges of her dress and lifted it up over her head. She was naked before him, and her breasts, so close to his face, ached. In her turn, Elemia tugged on Abbas's clothing, grabbing hold of the rough, grey wool of his shirt and slipping it off. His chest, traced over with the blue-and-green Shanna inks, was bare, and Elemia sighed. Abbas looked into her eyes, and the black flames there sent a rush of longing all through her body. He pressed his mouth against the aching nipple before his face. Elemia gasped. Her hands moved as though without her, and she grasped his horns, pushing his head harder against her breast. Abbas opened his mouth then, and she felt her stiff nipple slip past his lips into the soft warmth of his mouth. He sucked on her breast, running his tongue over the tip of her nipple and then dragging the edge of his teeth along her tender skin. Elemia moaned. Abbas's hand darted up to her other bare breast, and the pressure of his rough hand brought an unfamiliar dampness to her now aching nymphae. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing herself against him. As Elemia thought she could not endure the pleasure of his touch for an instant longer, Abbas lifted her off his lap and threw her on her back onto the bed. She lay flat, her breath coming in gasps, her breast heaving, and watched as Abbas stood up. He faced her, and she saw on his straining leather breeches a wet place where she had been sitting. Abbas slid off his breeches, letting his phallus spring out. It was even larger than Volshaden's, and Elemia drew a ragged breath. Abbas slid up between Elemia's legs, and she opened them to allow his passage.

As he reached her nymphae, he stopped. He looked down into her flushed face, and he waited. His look was enough. Elemia understood, and she nodded. Abbas grasped his phallus then and touched the head of it to her soaking nymphae. Elemia bit her lip. She longed for Abbas, wanted to feel him inside her, and she moaned again. Abbas eased himself in. Elemia held her breath. She had never felt anything like this. An emptiness she had not known she had was filled, her aching need satisfied. She grasped his horns again and drew his face toward hers. Abbas. She kissed his mouth. Abbas. She had awoken a tiger. A growl passed Abbas's lips, and he thrust forward. Stars burst before Elemia's eyes. She slipped her hands down to Abbas's shoulders, clinging to him lest she be swept away in this sea of fire. Still Abbas thrust, back and forward, each stroke filling her, each motion delving deeper within her. It was as though he sought her secret place. And he found it. Elemia shuddered from head to foot, and she cried out. She was lost, gone in this white-hot blaze. The unbearably pleasurable thrusts continued, and she felt the secret place begin once again to burn. She could not breathe. She could not endure for him to continue, but she did not want him ever to stop. Then, as Elemia burst into fiery stars and tears at once, a thick, hot stream of something filled her. Abbas had given her everything, and, as he shuddered over her, he grasped her shoulders, clinging to her as she had to him. Abbas. Guilt pulled at Elemia. Was this not the office of a wife she had just performed for Abbas? Your mind at least is your own. Abbas kissed her lips. And did you not promise to give me all that was yours? Your marriage to Cathal is a sham. You were sold in marriage; you did not give yourself. It is to me that you give, and I give to you in return. Elemia smiled. I had no idea that it was like this. The sound of an opening door brought Elemia back to herself, and she released Abbas's mental self from the anchor that held him in her thoughts. Abbas was gone, and she heard Ahketh's unwelcome voice speaking to him, to her Abbas.

“You've shamed yourself, soaking your bed.” Ahketh's words shocked Elemia. She sat up. Her legs were weak, and she saw, with a blush in her cheek, that her sheets and her dress were wet as well. She had responded in her body to Abbas in her mind. She remembered Cathal, and the thought of his hands touching, his phallus penetrating her as Abbas's had done in her mind brought the bile to her throat. “Abbas.” The whispered word was a prayer to the goddess. “Only Abbas.” **** The sunlight was orange and red. The winter days were short, and Cathal would soon come. Elemia sat in the dining hall, for Volshaden was busy in the bedchambers, gathering their belongings. Ahketh stood by the entryway, gazing out into the city streets. And Abbas sat next to her, silent and stony, with his gaze fixed on the wine pitcher. I am afraid, Abbas. Elemia repeated now the thought she had shared on her wedding day. This time, however, Abbas could offer her no comfort. If it would do any good, I'd carry you off right now. I don't want him to sleep with you. What a cruel euphemism to use. Elemia put her face in her hands. To be taken by a man I do not love? Sleep? If only I could! Abbas slid his hand across the table and enclosed hers in it. Elemia knew that it was dangerous for them to be seen, but she was beyond caring. Maybe there is a way to…dull your pain. What is it? Elemia interlaced her fingers with Abbas. I will do anything honorable. Wine. Abbas reached with his free hand for the wine-pitcher. It will dull your mind and dull your pain. Elemia watched him pour a mug of wine. He slid it over to her. Drink, my soul. And I will, too. She nodded and raised the mug to her lips. Though she did not share the thought with Abbas, she wished only that the mug contained poison. Death was preferable to Cathal's touch, but that would be to break her oath in another way. No matter the Order had wronged her;

she would not dishonor herself. How could she wish for Abbas to be yoked to an honorless wretch? She drained the mug. More. Abbas was already deep into his own cup, but he poured out for her as often as she asked. After perhaps half a dozen mugs, Abbas touched her thoughts again. It's going to hurt, Elemia, when Cathal takes you. Abbas was nearly choking. Elemia looked into her mug. It did not hurt when you…. He will touch your body, Elemia! Not just your mind. When he takes your maidenhead, it will hurt you. It is not “just” my mind, beloved. To a telepath, the mind is as real as the body. What I have given you is more than the chieftain can take from me. “Cathal is coming.” Ahketh whirled to face Abbas and Elemia. “I see him!” Elemia's hands trembled, and the mug slipped to the table. “Abbas.” Abbas picked it up. He filled it a last time, along with his own. “Let's drink, Elemia.” He fixed her with his gaze. To our own love. Elemia grasped the cup with both hands and raised it to her lips. To you, beloved. She closed her eyes as she drank, and she did not open them again until Abbas's barely-breathed Rolador curse told her that Cathal had come. Elemia rose from her bench and faced the door. The light from the festhall lanterns illuminated her husband's face. She saw the astonishment that washed over Cathal at seeing her, at seeing the one he had left plain now revealed as beautiful. She saw the burning in his eyes the astonishment left behind, the same expression she had seen in Volshaden's face. Elemia twisted her fingers together. How would she be able to keep her oath?

Chapter Twelve Abbas stared at Cathal through bleary, drunken eyes. The chieftain stood tall, his long, red hair disheveled by the wind, his cheeks flushed with exertion, his eyes brightened by the brisk ride. As the chieftain's son, he had been given the most attractive tattoos of all the Shanna youths. His wide shoulders filled the doorway in which he paused, and the sword strapped across his back testified to his battle prowess. Cathal ruled his people and took what he wanted from his enemies. He was the paragon of the Rolador, glorious huntsman, feared warrior – just the kind of man to make a woman melt in his arms. Abbas drowned in jealousy; he could not breathe. Tearing his eyes from his rival, Abbas glanced over at Elemia. Cathal had the perfect bride, beautiful, kind, patient, honorable. Honorable, to a fault. No, Abbas upbraided himself for imagining any fault in Elemia. But what he could do? Cathal approached, and Abbas swallowed his heart. “Welcome back, brother,” Abbas said, choking out the words. Elemia still sat, and she did not appear inclined to greet her husband. Cathal grasped Abbas by both shoulders and grinned, still looking at Elemia. “Well, Father must've seen you were good for something, watchdog. I see you've taken care of my little wife.” He gestured to the empty wine pitcher. When Cathal released him to make the gesture, Abbas almost fell over, the chieftain's words having struck him harder than any sword. “Elemia.” Cathal approached her, took her hand, and kissed it. “I've been gone too long, so long that your beauty has daily increased in my absence. Forgive my rough handling of you; I come from a rough people, but you will soften me.” Elemia flinched under the praise and risked a glance at Abbas. Cathal followed the look. “Ah, yes, Abbas. My kinsmen wait outside the city with the bride price: forty horses.” Cathal scanned the room, and when he saw Ahketh, he nodded. “You will take the Ausir knight with you and see that he receives the gift. Can you handle it in your state?” The chieftain did not wait for a response but turned his amorous attentions back toward Elemia.

Abbas's scalp prickled in his anger, his blood boiling away much of the alcohol. Cathal was holding Elemia's hand. He was running his hand up her forearm. It was the beginning of what Abbas feared, and he was being sent out, away from Elemia. What if she needed him? What if she called for him? Or worse, what if she did not? Despair trampled him down. He stood paralyzed; he could neither go nor stay. He could neither speak nor hear, for the blood rushed in his ears. His palms stung with anxiety; he wanted to draw his shortblade and run Cathal through the back. Now, while he fawned over Elemia. Now, while his kinsmen were not around to protect him, while Volshaden was still up in his room. Abbas went for his sword. “Let us go, then.” Ahketh was standing in front of him, swimming in the midst of his reddened vision. The pounding in Abbas's head eased as he locked his gaze on the knight's horns. Ahketh. The King's Squire. Knight of the Order of Yuilan. He was here to fetch the bride price. Abbas blinked and returned to himself, and as sanity regained its foothold, his grip on his sword loosened. “Yes.” Abbas could manage nothing more. Abbas stumbled away as Ahketh half-shoved him out the door. Once they were past the festhall's outer gate, the knight turned and stopped Abbas in the street. His eyes were wild, his breath quick. “Look, I know we have had our differences. I do not particularly care for you.” Abbas ground his teeth. “Next you will tell me that snow is cold.” He reached out his hand and caught falling snowflakes. We do not have to like each other, but we need each other.” “How so?” Abbas looked back at the festhall. He could hardly follow the conversation. Ahketh took Abbas by the elbow. “I will explain as we go.” Loudly, he added, “Show me the bride price.” When they were some distance from the festhall, the knight continued. “You harbor some passion for the Queen. Do not deny it.” Some passion. Abbas was relieved the knight suspected nothing more. Ahketh peered at Abbas. “But she is my Queen, and she is yoked to a Rolador chieftain. It is a situation that shall not be borne.”

“So, what? You will murder her lawful husband?” Abbas gave voice to his own dark thoughts. Ahketh shook his head. “That would accomplish nothing. The King would never accept a bride – even a destined one – that he had obtained through murder. It is unlawful.” Abbas exhaled. He had almost slain Cathal there in the festhall dining room, an act Elemia would never have approved of. Ahketh had unwittingly prevented it and had thereby saved him and Elemia. “So, what's your plan?” “I do not know, but I will not abandon my Queen. You, doubtless, want her separated from the chieftain, perhaps not as much as I, and–” Ahketh started at Abbas's toes and looked upward, like a man appraising a horse. “Your intentions are not pure and lofty as mine are, but that is no reason why we cannot work together for our common goal.” “Your goal is to give Elemia to some distant, foreign King. That is not my goal.” “But, insofar as we might lawfully separate her from an undeserving husband, we are allied.” Abbas nodded, and jealousy burned in him. He could not deny that he wanted Elemia away from Cathal more than he wanted anything in the world. “But you will be returning to the convent, and we to the Pettegsh.” Ahketh smiled, but Abbas sensed no friendship in the knight's countenance. “Though you are Ausir, you were raised Rolador.” He traced with his gaze the tattoos on Abbas's forearms. Ahketh's honeyed words did not deceive Abbas. “Surely you can mark your journey, some way that I might follow the clan.” “I might be able to do that. The grass is tall, and I can hide the trail signs in it. Are your eyes keen enough to find tufts of twisted grass?” “Of course.” Abbas narrowed his eyes as he considered the knight walking beside him. If Ahketh found a way to separate Elemia from Cathal, he would, being impervious to telepathy, carry Elemia off to Kartalon. But Abbas needed help. He had not one friend among the Rolador. Those in his own clan esteemed him only slightly higher than Ahketh did. The knight was shifty; he had plans that he was not sharing, but

what could Abbas do? He would have to use what came to hand; he had no other allies. “So, how shall we proceed?” Ahketh paused before answering, no doubt weighing his words. “We must watch and wait. Elemia is the destined bride of the God-King. A way will present itself.” Abbas wondered if that way involved him lying dead in the tall Pettegsh grass. “Fine.” In time, Abbas and Ahketh passed beyond the city wall. Abbas saw the herd of horses grazing in a field to the north, nibbling at the snow-covered grass. They were beautiful creatures, the wealth of the Shanna, and they were nothing compared to Elemia's worth. Nothing and no man could buy her. Abbas's rage returned, and it only increased when he saw Cathal and Volshaden's kinsmen, atop their own horses, laughing and pointing at the two Ausir. They made the figures of horns with their fingers placed on their heads, and after some guffawing, they agreed that Ahketh was uglier, being more alien in feature. What would they say about Elemia, another pureblood Ausir? Surely they would not mock her to her face, for she was not only a frightening telepath but a chieftainess. The Rolador were a superstitious lot, but even if they constructed their charms in vain hopes of shielding their minds from Elemia, they would fear Cathal's wrath. But with the chieftain away, they derided the Ausir. “Will you take these horses, then, to the convent?” Abbas asked. “No.” Although Ahketh could not understand the Rolador tongue, he grasped the blatant mockery, and his mood grew sullen. “How does it feel?” Ahketh shot him an inquiring look, so Abbas jerked his head in the direction of the jeering Rolador. The knight's eyes darkened further. “I pay no heed to the opinion of men, much less savages.” Abbas could see plainly that Ahketh did indeed pay heed. He could attend to nothing else. Abbas crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What do you want to do with one-hundred and sixty legs of horseflesh?” “Sell them.” Ahketh turned back toward the city walls. “Surely we can barter some equitable trade in portable wealth?” Some witty retort about Ahketh tramping through the city to sell off Rolador horses formed in Abbas' mind, but he was prevented

from voicing it. Elemia's mental scream echoed through the connecting door of their thoughts and filled the chambers of his mind, wiping away the vestiges of his drunkenness. Elemia! Abbas did not know if she could even hear him, but he dashed back for the walls. He had half the city to traverse, and as his long legs carried him bounding past surprised townsfolk, he called her name again and again in his thoughts.

Chapter Thirteen “So, I've gotten everything ready.” Volshaden stood in the doorway of the festhall dining chamber. “I'd assumed you'd want to be going at once.” Cathal shook his head without looking away from Elemia. “No, we will stay the night here.” He ran his fingers along Elemia's jaw, and she twisted her own fingers together. “If you say so.” Volshaden's obvious perplexity drew Elemia's gaze to his face for an instant. She could not understand Volshaden's puzzlement. It was clear to her Cathal had no intention of keeping his word; he intended to take her. She saw in Cathal's eyes the same emotion that she saw daily in Volshaden, that emotion like and yet so unlike Abbas's desire for her. “Wife, come.” Cathal took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. He spoke to her in the tongue of the city. Elemia said nothing as she allowed herself to be led. She had not spoken since Cathal's return; she doubted she could speak if she tried. “Wait here.” Cathal stopped in the middle of the festhall corridor. Elemia watched as he went on a few steps. Cathal grabbed a passing bathhouse slave and bent his head down to the youth's ear. Elemia could not even try to listen. She did not dare to relax her hold on her mind. If she relaxed, she might run out of the festhall and into the wintry night, seeking Abbas and the shelter of his arms. Dread of what lay ahead of her crushed her, and it took all her will to put one foot before the other, to follow Cathal, who was once more heading toward the chambers where she had spent the past fortnight. “Trip was long, wife.” Cathal furrowed his brow and switched to his native Rolador speech. “That tongue is tedious. You may touch my thoughts now, that you might understand when I speak.” Elemia nodded. If she opened her mouth to speak, she would sob, she knew it. As Cathal pushed open the door to the antechamber, the same youth Cathal had earlier spoken to now arrived, breathless, with a satin bag. He handed the bag to Cathal, who nodded his dismissal. The boy left; not a word had been spoken.

Elemia entered the antechamber. She permitted herself the indulgence of looking at Abbas's cot as they passed it. There he had lain when his nightmare overwhelmed him. There she had taken his hands and joined their minds. There she had awoken from her two days of stasis. There he had kissed her mouth. Cathal closed the door to the antechamber. Elemia started at the sound. It was her prison door, closing out all her life, closing in her husband. “You've changed.” Cathal's glance brought the blood to Elemia's cheeks. “You please me greatly.” He stepped toward her, and he was there, towering over her, his hands on her shoulders. “I approve the clothes. Rolador fashions suit you.” “Abbas chose them.” Elemia trembled in her fear. She wanted to fall on her knees and beg Cathal to keep his word, but she knew that she had no right to ask. She was Cathal's to do with as he would, and the knowledge choked her. Cathal laid aside the satin bag. He unlaced her bodice, his hands lingering near her breasts. Elemia bit her lip. She could not forget Abbas lacing her, dressing her. Abbas's brother undressed her. Her bodice fell to the floor, and Cathal paid it no further heed. Her skirts followed, and she was clad only in her shift. Elemia closed her eyes, but she did not resist as he pulled the white cotton over her head. She could not, however, prevent the tears that slid out from beneath her lashes. “You're afraid.” It was not a question. Cathal tilted her face up to look into his eyes. “What did your Order teach you of coupling?” “Nothing, chieftain.” Elemia wished again that the wine she had drunk had been poison. “Nothing at all?” Elemia could not understand why Cathal pressed the question, but she answered it, though she looked down as she spoke. “They told us nothing, for they said we ought to learn at our husbands' hands.” Cathal's face glowed. “That is perfect.” He bent his head to her throat and pressed his lips to it. Elemia whimpered. “Hush,” said Cathal. “I'm not going to hurt you.” “Please, chieftain, do not–” Terror closed her throat. She could not say the words, not to him.

Cathal laughed. “It's not so bad, wife. My first wife was afraid, too, but she got used to it. She even enjoyed it after a while.” He stripped off his grey woolen shirt, and Elemia could not help herself. She backed away from Cathal until her legs bumped against the edge of the bed. Cathal stalked forward, matching her movements. When she reached the bed, he stopped and pulled off his boots. Still he did not yet remove his breeches, and Elemia bit her lip. Cathal stepped forward once more, and Elemia retreated onto the bed, darting to the head of it, where she wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her knees. Her trembling shook the bed beneath her. Her husband, half-reclined on the bed behind her, leaned on his left elbow. He hooked his left arm around her, slid it beneath her arm, and cupped her breast in his hand. As he stroked and pressed her breast, he slipped his other arm over her thigh, pushing forward to her blossom. Elemia could not help it; she covered herself with her hands. “Please, chieftain–” Cathal chuckled. “Relax, wife.” Elemia continued to tremble, continued to block the access to her blossom, continued to plead. “No, please!” “Ral-nau-thal!” Cathal said. “I stand ready to obey.” Elemia prayed inwardly for the wine she had drunk to wash her memories away, but it did not. “Relax.” Elemia at once relaxed her muscles, and Cathal smiled at her. “Good.” He moved her hands away from her blossom and inserted his second and third fingers. He stroked her, fondling her breast and nibbling at her neck. She felt the pressure of his fingers; a tingling filled her blossom, spreading to her sheath, but it was not a pleasant sensation. It stung. Tears welled up in Elemia's eyes. Abbas had warned her it would hurt when Cathal took her maidenhead. Low, moaning murmurs passed the chieftain's lips, timed with the strokes of his fingers. After some minutes, Elemia became aware that he was, also in rhythm with his caresses, pressing his pelvis against her buttocks. But, though she expected to feel his rising phallus press against her, she did not. Elemia recalled when Abbas

had first kissed her, how his erection had strained his breeches. She did not feel Cathal's erection. “Now, wife.” Cathal moved in front of her. He pulled on her legs, dragging her to a supine position. Elemia braced herself, but Cathal did not move up between her legs. Instead, he reached down off the edge of the bed. She saw him pick up the satin bag and fumble through its contents. He took out a large piece of dark, polished wood. It was shaped like a penis, and Elemia's heart thudded against her breast. As she saw her husband with this wooden penis in his hand, she looked down at the breeches he had yet to remove. She saw no bulge of an erection there; she saw no hard thing straining to be free of the leather. She could make out the shape of his member, but it lay in a soft coil. Elemia thought she would be sick. She understood that, if he were soft, he could not penetrate her, but that wooden penis – he would use that. Cathal pushed her legs apart and pushed the smooth wood against the edge of her blossom. Her petals did not open, and Cathal reached into the bag once more. Elemia saw him take out a small vial and pour a few drops from it onto the hard wood. She watched in horror as he rubbed the wooden thing with the oil. She could smell it; it was olive oil. When the wooden penis glistened, he put it down near her opening again. This time the oil smoothed its entrance. Elemia felt the wood slide into her, felt it push her sheath apart. Only her Command word kept her from shuddering; her secret place, which she had, in her thoughts, consecrated to Abbas, was being invaded. Cathal moaned, a low sound of pleasure, which was belied by his unaroused phallus. “You are so very lovely, Elemia. Marriage agrees with you.” He pushed harder on the wooden penis. “I can't believe I didn't see it before.” He exhaled slowly, and he pulled the wooden toy out of her. He lifted it up, holding it near his face, examining it for some cause unknown to Elemia. “Lean up, wife, on your elbows.” Cathal did not wait for her hesitation or refusal. “Ral-nau-thal. Lean up on your elbows, and pull up your knees.” Elemia obeyed, but she screamed. ****

Elemia, released at last from Cathal's command, now lay on her side, weeping into the pillow. She hid the sound as best she could from the chieftain. The sheet that she had pulled up to her chin was bloodied, and icy horror gripped her. To what further degradations might the chieftain subject her? How could she look Abbas in the face again? From beneath her tear-weighted lashes, Elemia looked up at Cathal, who reclined on a settee, the only chair the room afforded. He was watching her, and fear prompted Elemia to brush his thoughts, to learn what he intended. The thoughts she touched were tumultuous and dark, thoughts of herself, of her beauty, and of many wooden toys. Too, she sensed his perplexity. Cathal was not convinced within himself concerning her; he wondered what he ought to do with her. Elemia recoiled from the images Cathal held, images of him topping her over and over again. She closed her eyes and wished for death. A knock startled her eyes open, and Cathal rose to admit Volshaden. “Forgive me, brother.” Volshaden glanced at the satin bag. “I know it's not right for me to come in like this, but we need to talk. And you know it.” He gestured toward Elemia then. “But I doubt you want your wife to hear.” Cathal nodded. “Speak in Rolador.” To Elemia he said, “Ralnau-thal. Do not touch our thoughts.” He smiled at Volshaden. “She does not speak Rolador, and without touching our minds, she cannot understand.” Elemia clutched the sheets more tightly about her, trying to hide the curves of her body from Volshaden's hungry gaze. “Brother,” said Volshaden, and Elemia understood the words. Her mind was one with Abbas's, and his speech was hers. “What are you going to do with her?” Cathal raked Elemia with his gaze, and she buried her face in the pillow to escape. “I don't know for certain.” Volshaden's voice held more sympathy than Elemia had ever heard in it before. “It's the first time you've had to deal with anything like this since the accident.” Elemia, feeling no one lookt at her, peeped out from the pillow that absorbed her still-flowing tears.

Cathal was nodding. “And she's so beautiful, too. And it's not just beauty.There's sensuality in the very way she moves. Even in the space of time we took to pass from the dining hall to this bedchamber, the sway of her hips, the fall of her foot – I've never wanted to fuck someone so much in my life.” Cathal laughed then, a harsh and bitter sound. Volshaden clapped his hand on his brother's shoulder. “It would've been easier if she'd stayed plain, but at least this way you can enjoy something of her.” He glanced toward the satin bag. “That's wonderful, while we're in Godswatch.” Cathal sat on the end of the bed, opposite from Elemia and stared at the wall. “Yes, wonderful. It was something anyway. It satisfied part of the ache.” Again he laughed without mirth. “A eunuch would have an easier time of it. At least his desire would have died, too.” Volshaden seated himself near Cathal, but near, too, to Elemia. “You want to see her properly topped, don't you?” Cathal's eyes narrowed to blue slits. “I want to fuck her senseless, which isn't quite the same thing.” Volshaden, though he doubtless assumed that Elemia could not understand him, still lowered his voice, dropping almost to a whisper. “But you can't do it yourself.” “No.” “But–” “No.” Cathal rose. “I could give her children for you,” said Volshaden, not yet leaving his place on the edge of the bed. He smoothed the sheets as he spoke, and with each brush of the sheet, his hands drew nearer to Elemia. “I already have a son and heir.” Cathal opened the door. “Good night, Volshaden. We leave tomorrow at dawn.” Elemia swallowed a sob. Volshaden wanted to take her, and only Cathal's pride prevented it. “Abbas, you're in the way.” Volshaden, as he passed out the door, nearly tripped over Abbas. “I just wanted to let Cathal know I've done as he said.” Abbas shifted from one foot to the other, looking over Cathal's shoulder to where Elemia lay, wrapped in her bloody sheet, weeping.

“Good.” Cathal's demeanor altered the moment he saw Abbas. Gone was the bitterness, gone the frustration. Instead, he radiated the glow of a satisfied man. “You did well, Abbas. Not just in the delivery of the horses, but in getting Elemia for me. I'm grateful to you, brother.” Elemia sat up, heedless of the sheets, uncaring who might see her. She wanted to look at Abbas's eyes. Abbas. She reached out to his mind. Speak to me, I beg you. “Good night, Elemia.” Abbas took a step nearer, looking beyond Cathal, fixing his gaze on Elemia. “I will be here in the antechamber.” Cathal closed the door in Abbas's face.

Chapter Fourteen Abbas knelt beside his horse in the tall grass. The road stretched out behind him, Godswatch barely visible on the horizon. Cathal and Volshaden rode at the vanguard of their company, and, taking their cue from the brothers, the other Rolador riders paid Abbas no heed. They never did. Horses thundered off the road and into the grasslands as the Rolador turned north. Abbas let them get some way ahead before he took a tuft of grass in his hand, twisted it, and bent its top northward. He hoped Ahketh would find the trail marker and know they had left the road. When Abbas remounted his horse, he looked for Elemia. She was flanked by the brothers. Are you all right? Elemia's mind touched his. She did not turn around on her horse; she did not even look in his direction. Abbas, too, understood the need for discretion. I am well. Elemia's mental self took form in Abbas's mind, and she reached out and smoothed his mental self's hair back from his brow. I am a telepath, Abbas. It is difficult to keep things from me. Abbas crushed Elemia to his chest. I can't stop thinking about Cathal taking you. It's killing me. Is this why you have been silent since we left the city? Elemia looked up into his face, her eyes searching his. Abbas nodded. I saw the bloodied sheets. I can see nothing else now. Beloved. You have nothing to fear. Yuilan has had mercy on us. The chieftain did not take me, cannot take me. Abbas released Elemia from his embrace. What do you mean? His heart raced as hope rekindled within him. Elemia smiled, and she stood upon the tips of her toes to place a light kiss on Abbas's nose. You and I have shared something that only a man and wife could, but the chieftain could not take me the way you did. She ducked her head as she blushed. I do not know how to explain it, being so unschooled in the ways of coupling, but the chieftain did not grow long or stiff. He never removed his breeches, but I could see that he was not aroused. No, he was aroused, that was certain, but he could not perform.

Are you saying Cathal is impotent? Elemia shook her head. I do not know enough to say. Perhaps. His brother came in after and they discussed the chieftain's inability to couple due to an injury he had sustained some years before. Abbas knew what injury Elemia was referring to. While the old chieftain still lived, Volshaden and Cathal had gone out hunting, and Cathal had been thrown from his horse. The clan feared he would never walk again, and it was six months before he could once more sit a horse. As far as Abbas knew, Cathal had made a full recovery. Now, it seemed, that was not the case. They talked about this in front of you? Abbas could not believe that the brothers would include Elemia in information so private. Yes, but they spoke in the Rolador tongue. The chieftain, not knowing I could understand the tongue, commanded me to close my mind to their conversation. Abbas could have jumped up and applauded. His real self straightened in his saddle in pride at Elemia's accomplishments. Then the remembrance of the bloodied sheet dragged him back down into the mire of his despair. If Cathal did not take you, why were the bedclothes bloody? Elemia backed away from Abbas and sat down in the silvery space within Abbas's mind. When she sat, a floor appeared under her, and Abbas found his footing. He went to her and knelt before her. Don't speak of it if it's too painful. But he wanted her to speak of it. He wanted to know, no matter what pain it might bring. He could not help his feelings, and shame filled him knowing that Elemia knew his weakness. My love. Elemia took his hands in hers, and though her eyes filled with tears, Abbas saw courage shining through her. The chieftain used a wooden object shaped like a penis to penetrate me. He shoved it inside me until I bled. Abbas could not breathe. He clenched Elemia's hands and used her to steady himself, to keep him from returning to the real world to kill Cathal. Relief flooded him, relief that Cathal had not coupled with her, and though Elemia's pain and embarrassment crowded in his mind, Abbas rejoiced. Forgive me, my soul. I am a monster to feel this way. No, my beloved. Elemia rose to her knees and took his face in her hands, peering into his eyes. It is the natural possessiveness of

true love. The chieftain has humiliated me,but I thank the goddess that he did not take from me what I wish to give only to you. I love you, Elemia. Abbas leaned closer to her. And I shall love no one more than I love you. Elemia's lips met Abbas's, and a thrill of pleasure rushed through Abbas' body, inviting him to lay his lover down in their secret sanctum. With the difficulty of breaking an iron chain, Abbas broke the kiss. We would be discovered. Neither you nor I could contain ourselves in our saddles. Elemia nodded and laid her head on his chest. Where are we now, and where are we going? The chieftain tells me nothing but rubs my thigh and makes eyes at me. Veirakai eat his heart! Soon we will be on the Pettegsh, those northern plains that the roaming Rolador claim as their home. Our destination is the bani stone. What is a bani stone? A place sacred to the Rolador, a place dedicated to Elendrie Earthmother. There the clans stop their ceaseless feuds for three days every five years. Cathal is taking you there. For what purpose? Elemia did not look up but continued to nestle. Cathal must present himself to the other chieftains. Our father died last year, so Cathal must make himself known as the head of the Shanna. He's told me nothing, but I suspect he's going to use you to get the upper hand over his rivals. Elemia broke the cradle of Abbas's arms. How? What will he have me do? I don't know, but you're his weapon. What simple Rolador chieftain can stand against your mind? Cathal bought you for this purpose. Will he abuse my telepathic powers? Abbas had no idea what would constitute abuse, for though Elemia was helping to awaken his dormant, limited telepathy, still matters of the mind were largely a mystery to him. He will use you as he would any tool. You are useful to him, so he will not break you. Does that answer your question, my soul? Elemia shook her head. Not really. Do not trouble yourself, beloved. All will be well.

As she sank back into his arms, the silvery void of Abbas's mind turned to clouds of impenetrable black. Elemia slept at Cathal's side each night, and he molested her. All was not well and would not be well until Abbas found a way to divide her forever from Cathal. Elemia looked out into the growing darkness. There is this much of comfort: the chieftain cannot take me, and I am assured that he will keep his lustful brother away from me. Does Cathal know how Volshaden wants to bed you? The brute did not have even the grace of shame to hide his desires for me. After the chieftain was through with me, his brother strode into our room and proposed that he take me in his brother's stead. What? Abbas sprang to his feet, and the black tendrils of his mind curled around his feet and began snaking up his legs. The void howled in response to his fury, and Elemia, too, stood and searched the encroaching darkness. Abbas, peace. Elemia did not look at him but kept her attention fixed on the gathering storm. Your distress has stretched your telepathic ability. You are about to have a telepathic leap, the first having been the making of your telepathic self. Do not allow your father's curses to dictate the direction of your leap. Volshaden had the gall to offer to bed you? Abbas screamed as the roiling darkness approached him. Elemia held out her hands. But the chieftain denied him most vehemently. He banished him from the room for such a preposterous offer! The sound of her voice was snatched away on the shrieking winds of Abbas's rage. Elemia, alone, had any form left in Abbas' mind. He felt even his mental self losing cohesion as he surrendered himself to his own wrath. Stop me, Elemia! Bring me back to you. Then Elemia's voice, the loudest whisper Abbas had ever heard, cut through the din of the maelstrom. I shall not alter your mind. I have removed a block placed there by another, but this darkness you have made and so you must banish it, that you might complete your leap. I can't! You must. Your father's curse crouches at the door of your mind, desiring to have you, but you must master it. Elemia strode up to Abbas and took his face, the only part of his mental self that still

had shape, in her hands and kissed his mouth. Our minds are one forever. What you allow into your mind, you allow into mine. At once the storm ceased, and the silvery void of his untrained mind returned. Elemia had been banished from her Order for his sake; she had allowed herself to be yoked to a man she did not love, also for Abbas's sake. How could Abbas then fail her? How could he pollute her with impure thoughts? How could he corrupt her with the taint his father had left in him? My soul. As Abbas approached Elemia, he stamped his feet as if shaking off snow from his boots. The last of the misty black tendrils receded into the deeper part of his mind from whence they had been born. Thank you. Elemia smiled and put her arms around Abbas's neck. No, beloved, you did that yourself. I know. Thank you for believing in me. You are the first person to ever do so. Elemia's lips brushed his. And you are the first ever to love me. You loved me before any man turned his eye toward me. And now all men do. Abbas half-expected the boiling darkness to return, but his mind remained a calm silver. But even if they do, they do not do so out of love. They lust after my flesh, nothing more. They merely want a pleasure for which I have the proper parts. Abbas's laugh echoed through the empty, private space they inhabited. I want you, inside and out. A disturbance rippled through the silvery walls of his mind, and Abbas knew something was amiss in the outside world. We are turning even more northward, Elemia explained. Abbas was unaware, for he could not be in both his mind and the real world at once. Then I must return to myself. With a kiss, he was gone. Elemia still rode ahead with the brothers, and the other Rolador riders trotted here and there between him and the leaders. Abbas slipped from his horse and twisted together another trail marker. As he looked to the reddening western sky, he wondered how long it would take Ahketh to catch up. ****

Volshaden leered at Elemia for over two days, and as Abbas watched him, a stratagem formed in his mind. The chieftain's brother wanted Elemia as much as Abbas did, but his purpose was different: he wanted to use her as he used Jhaleed's bath slaves. Abbas had considered Elemia his from the moment he saw her, well before Cathal married her in their sham ceremony. But Volshaden, despite looking on Elemia as his brother's lawful wife, wanted her to perform like a common whore. Upon this desire, Abbas resolved to work. The company was still a day out of the bani stone when they set camp for the night. Cathal assigned watchmen to patrol the nearby plains as the rest of the riders prepared the tents and the evening meal. As the chieftain's wife, Elemia oversaw all the cooking. Volshaden and Abbas rode out to hunt their dinner, and it was not long before they picked up the trail of a large elk. “Elemia fits right in with us, doesn't she?” Abbas asked as he directed his horse alongside Volshaden's. “Did you see how the men admired her as she laid the fire?” Volshaden grunted and spared Abbas but a glance. “You admire her, too.” Abbas saw that Volshaden opened his mouth to object, so he rushed on. “Don't deny it. I've seen you. How can anyone blame you? I'd be lying if I said I didn't want her.” Volshaden furrowed his brow and hunkered down in his saddle. Abbas could see that it was not going to be easy to get his adopted brother to talk. “You should have seen her the day we went to the lake.” The remembrance of Elemia's beauty that day – the dance she had performed with his watery double, their first kiss – Abbas's arousal was plain, and he hoped his expression would pique Volshaden's interest. He was not disappointed. “Yes?” Impatient irritation harshened Volshaden's voice, but Abbas could see he wanted to hear the description. Abbas whistled and drew up his breath, pausing long enough for dramatic effect. “She wore a long, white gown. It was thin, and I knew that once it got wet, I'd be able to see every part of her.” A war raged inside Abbas. He needed to hook Volshaden into his plan, but he did not want to impart to the lecher intimate details about Elemia's body. He trod a precarious line between temptation and modesty. “Elemia danced so long and hard, I couldn't tell if the wetness which clung to her every curve was sweat, lake water, or something else.”

Volshaden chuckled. “I can't get her young, round breasts out of my mind. I saw her naked in the bath, and I thought she was going to let me take her.” A pounding of hooves nearby arrested their conversation. A family of elks drank from a stream up ahead. Abbas dropped his voice to a whisper. “What happened?” “I was hard as the war-god's spear, and when she saw me, she gasped.” Volshaden shifted in his saddle. “She ran, but before she did, I saw that glint in her eye, that look every coy girl gives me. She wanted me.” “I've seen her give you that look, too.” Volshaden shot a suspicious look at Abbas, and Abbas wondered if he had gone too far too fast. “I mean since we've been on the plains,” Abbas added. “I know what you're thinking. There was a time that I favored the chieftainess, but I think that was mostly gratitude for her saving my life.” Volshaden snorted. “You always find a way to get into trouble.” “But then when she married Cathal and turned into a little vixen, I realized that I didn't have a chance.” Volshaden held up a hand to silence Abbas. He pointed to the elk as he dismounted his horse. Abbas, too, dismounted. Volshaden strung his bow as Abbas readied his crossbow. With ease borne of practice, the hunters brought down the biggest elk, scattering the rest. Abbas wanted to continue his conversation, for he felt he had made some progress with Volshaden, but he knew any talk would have to wait until the animal was gutted and prepared for the return to camp. Once the bloody business was done, Volshaden and Abbas were back in their saddles, riding back toward the distant fires of the camp. Abbas said nothing, hoping Volshaden would pick up where he had left off, hoping the silence had given Volshaden time to consider all he had said. In time, Volshaden spoke. “Why don't you think you have a chance with Elemia?” Abbas forced out a light laugh. “Do you think she'd have anything to do with a half-breed like me, well, at least in the way I'd like her to? Besides, she's Cathal's wife.”

Volshaden mumbled to himself a string of curses. “A terrible waste.” Abbas knew to what Volshaden referred, but he feigned ignorance. “Why do you say that?” Volshaden shook his head but did not reply at once. He scratched at his forearms and fidgeted with the reins of his horse. “Cathal plans on keeping her a maid. He doesn't want a half-breed child to be a threat to Cailean.” Abbas nodded. “That is a waste. Her lips were made for kissing and so much more. I could find a place for her hips to rest.” He slapped his thighs, and Volshaden laughed again. “And those horns,” Volshaden added. “You don't want to know what I would do if I could get a hold of those in bed.” Abbas's fury broiled in his head, but he showed Volshaden only an easy smile. He felt as if he were betraying Elemia somehow, and he wanted nothing more than to strike Volshaden's head from his shoulders for talking about his soul-wife that way. “Well, maybe if the time comes, I can give you some pointers on that.” And he touched the tips of his horns. Volshaden fell into guffaws. “Lightening up, are you? Maybe you're not quite as dull as I thought you were.” Abbas shrugged. “No, it's just that bath-house slaves aren't my type. But now I know where I'd sheathe my dagger.” “You keep your dagger, little one. She'd be my sword scabbard!” Volshaden kicked the flanks of his horse, spurring his mount forward. Abbas let him go ahead, and he wondered if he had sufficiently allayed Volshaden's suspicions. Now that Abbas had planted the seed, Volshaden's own lust would water it.

Chapter Fifteen The bani stone was, Elemia knew, far shorter than the convent towers, but it seemed larger. There was nothing around the stone, nothing but the waist-high holly hedge. For leagues in every direction the plains rolled, snow-covered, to the horizon. The bani stone was twice the height of Abbas, even including his horns. Elemia chanced a look in Abbas's direction. He sat easily on his horse, and she admired his furred cloak. He no longer wore the thinner leather breeches he had worn in Godswatch; his legs were covered in thick elk-hide, lined with wool. She had washed Abbas's clothes, as well as the chieftain's, at the last stream. She knew every stitch, and she imagined where each article would touch him as he wore it. His riding gloves had had a hole, which she had mended, and she had kissed the fabric when she sewed it. She knew, too, that amongst Abbas's clothes he kept her own white dress, the one he had given her. She had secreted it away with his belongings, lest Cathal see it and command her to wear it. She saw Abbas's breath, heavy and white, in the air as he spoke with Volshaden. She longed to feel Abbas's breath on her skin, to feel his hands on her flesh. In these past days, she had not been able even to speak with him, to get within arm's reach of him. She had not realized how precious to her Abbas's physical presence was until it was gone. As a telepath, Elemia had always valued mental contact over the physical. To touch the mind of a non-telepath was a chore, an unpleasant duty, but Abbas's mind was different. It was beautiful, more comfortable to touch than the mind of any telepath, and yet even still she was not satisfied. She wanted to have him, all of him, to give herself, all of herself. “Look, wife.” Cathal's hand on her bridle pulled Elemia back to the bani stone. “This is our most sacred place, the only place where the Rolador meet in perfect peace. No blood may be shed here. All feuds are put aside, at least while we are here.” Cathal laughed. “Outside the hallows, of course, it is a different matter. We are a passionate people, wife. But you know that already.” Elemia bowed her head, and her cheeks burned. She knew what the chief meant by passion, and it revolted her. “Yes, chieftain.” She belonged to Cathal, and he could do with her as he chose,

regardless of her feelings about the matter. “May I look at the stone? Or is that not permitted?” “No, no. Go. It is permitted. It is encouraged in young wives!” Cathal laughed again, and Elemia heard the chuckles of the nearby riders. She dismounted, and Cathal kept her reins. Elemia pulled her cloak, a thick, furred one that had belonged to Cathal's first wife, about her and slipped between the holly hedge and a stone, the same height as the hedge. That's the Shanna stone. Abbas's mental self was in Elemia's mind, and she smiled at him. Are you joining me? I can't. Volshaden's with me. Elemia turned to look at the stone she had just brushed past. She saw there the same ivy that twined around her ankle. Thick, rich, and flowering, the ivy twisted around an arrow. She looked down at her tattoo, and she saw the barren stalk, lacking blossoms. She breathed out a prayer of gratitude to Yuilan. At least there was this crumb of comfort. She paced over the unbroken snow from the Shanna stone to the high obelisk in the center of the circle. The rock was crowned with snow, but the sides were clear. She could make out no sign of artifice; the stone was a natural thing. She walked around it, touching its strange smoothness. But then she saw the carving, a long, unbroken line, of the outline of a naked, heavily-pregnant woman. The oak leaf she held in her hand identified the carving as Elendrie Earthmother, and Elemia pulled her hand away before she touched the carving. Even a novice of the Order of Yuilan knew that Elendrie Earthmother was the goddess of fertility. Doubtless touching her image was an act of worship, one petitioning a child of the goddess. Elemia shuddered. She hoped that the Earthmother would not be angry, but she wanted no child unless Abbas were the father. **** “Wife, this is your new son, Cailean.” Cathal, surrounded by the tall figures of his clan warriors, now pushed forward a tall youth. Elemia recalled that Cailean was fourteen-years-old, and she was

surprised to learn that she had to look up to see his eyes. He would be taller even than Cathal when mature. “I am Elemia,” she said. “Welcome, my mother, to the Shanna clan.” Cailean embraced her, and Elemia inhaled the scent of elk-hide, horseflesh, and woodsmoke. “We've been here since yesterday. And, Father, there's a chief who wants to speak to you.” “About?” Cathal's easy smile vanished. His blue eyes hardened, and Elemia saw the muscles in his shoulders tense. “Don't worry.” Cailean clearly read his father's reactions as well as Elemia had. “It's the chief of the Esta clan. He wants to negotiate a marriage.” “Bring him here, then.” Cathal relaxed and took Elemia's hand. He led her to the roaring Shanna campfire. “We're settled in. The meal is already prepared.” “I apologize, chieftain.” Elemia ducked her head. “I ought to have gotten your supper.” “Not tonight, wife.” Cathal slapped her across the buttocks, a playful act which made her skin crawl. “Tonight you're welcomed into the clan. You're to relax tonight, to be made much of, wife.” Veirakai eat his heart! Abbas touched her thoughts then. Elemia searched the crowd for Abbas, but she could not find him. Still, that he was near enough to her to see her was comfort. “Greeting, chieftain.” A weathered man, his red hair streaked with yellow-white, trudged through the snow to the circle of Shanna. “I am Shil of the Esta clan. And this….” Here he pushed forward a girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen summers. “…Is my daughter.” “Sit, and break bread with us.” Cailean gestured to a place at his side. “We feast my new bride.” Elemia did not speak to Shil of the Esta clan, but she sensed that his gaze rested on her with a peculiar appraisal, one she had never felt before. “So you will be having more sons, then.” It was not a question, and Cathal did not respond to Shil's assumption. “I want to make an offer to you, chieftain.” “I am listening.” Cathal was the consummate chief, proud without being haughty, and Elemia sensed Abbas's distress in her thoughts.

“I would wed my daughter to your son.” Shil took a deep breath. “I would require no bride price. I would give instead a dozen horses with her as a dowry.” Cathal shifted in his place, and he laid his hand on Elemia's thigh. “Why?” “Because I would want to have your son join my clan.” Shil gestured to Cailean's strapping figure. “I would want him to be tattooed with the Esta bow, to bear the Esta name.” Cathal's hand on Elemia's thigh clenched. “Why would you take my son?” “My own son, the only one I have or can have now, died of the sweating sickness in the summer. I have no heir but my daughter, and her husband will become my son. Cailean is strong, can already use a bow and hunt as a man. And you would not need him to be your heir any longer, for you have taken a new young bride.” Shil's words opened up a world of horror for Elemia. “I will think on this offer.” Cathal rose from the fire. “Stay, and partake of the Shanna hospitality. As for me….” He laughed. “I will partake of other delights.” He took Elemia by the hand and disappeared with her into his tent. Elemia heard outside the sounds of revelry, but she could not hear Abbas's voice, though she strained her ears. Cathal did not speak as he stripped Elemia, first of her cloak, then of her bodice, skirts, and shift. Only when she was naked before him did he break his silence. “Ral-nau-thal. Lie back and open your legs.” Elemia murmured, “I stand ready to obey.” As the power of her Command word moved her body, she shuddered in her thoughts. That Cathal should use her Command word for this, this foul substitute for the marital embrace, sickened her. Her word was herself, more of her even than her name, and when Cathal used it, used her, she felt that, somehow, she was traitor to Abbas. She could not fight the word, but she felt she was complicit in this act. She choked back the rising tide of nausea. She would not let Cathal see that he affected her, even negatively. As Cathal assumed his favored position, half-reclining behind her, with one hand on her breast and the other shoved into her blossom, he spoke. “It is a good offer. Cailean would be chief of a strong clan.” Cathal removed his fingers and brought them to his

nose, inhaling Elemia's scent. “He would, too, have the alliance of his mother's Ulo clan, as well as the Shanna. And the girl is pretty enough. Not like Elemia, of course.” He rammed his fingers into her with such force that Elemia caught her breath. She noticed, too, that he spoke of her, not to her. To Cathal, she was a toy or a tool, never a woman. “But I would need another heir, another son, then.” Cathal rubbed her blossom with vigor, but Elemia's petals did not open. They never did. “And I can't, at least not on my own.” Cathal pulled Elemia around, kneeling in front of her supine form. As he continued to thrust with his fingers, he leaned forward and licked her bare breast. “Volshaden looks like me. There would never be a doubt about any son's paternity.” Elemia's tears flowed down the sides of her face, disappearing into the mass of her black hair. “And could I have it said that I could not give my new wife children?” Cathal pulled away from her then. “Sleep well, wife. Ralnau-thal. You may move freely.” Elemia wished that Cathal had forgotten to release her, wished that she could have been left to freeze in his tent. **** The sun rose bloody over the snow, spreading crimson over the whiteness that blanketed the ground. Elemia was not cold, but she shivered nonetheless. She could not see Abbas anywhere, but Cathal was present, striding amongst the Shanna like the chief he was. She saw the admiration in the faces of his people, and she could not share it. “This is the gathering of the chiefs,” said Cathal, and it startled Elemia to realize that he was addressing her. “I will be presented as the head of the Shanna clan. When last I was here, my father was yet the head of the Shanna. He was a strong chief, but I have a greater plan.” Elemia did not ask what that plan might be; she feared that, all too soon, she would know. “Do not stray from Volshaden's side,” said Cathal. “When I call for you, I shall want you to be ready at once.”

The Rolador clans numbered twelve. Elemia, from her place next to Volshaden, counted eleven other chiefs, apart from Cathal, and one by one they strode up to the foot of the bani stone. One by one they gave their names. Cathal, chieftain of the Shanna. Shil, chieftain of the Esta. The only other clan name Elemia recognized was that of Ulo, that of Cathal's first wife. There was another new chieftain who, like Cathal, had come to his place since the last clan-meet, and he stood side-by-side with Cathal while the other chiefs repeated their names. As this ritual acceptance of the new chieftains was performed, Elemia searched the throng for Abbas. Still she had no sight of him, and, in her longing, she reached out to his mind. Beloved. Elemia's mental self formed in Abbas's mind. Where have they hidden you from me? Abbas took her in his arms at once. Hidden is right. Volshaden's got me guarding the chieftain's tent. It's a pointless task, but he doesn't like for me to see much of you. Fear for Abbas rippled through Elemia. Does he suspect us? Are you in danger? No, my soul. Abbas pressed his lips to her brow. But I miss seeing you. And I you. At that moment, Cathal resumed his place at Elemia's side. “Did you mark the other chiefs, wife?” “Yes, chieftain.” Elemia did not leave Abbas's mind. She did not leave the circle of his arms. “I want you to make the Ulo chief stand before the rest and move that I should be declared King. Can you do this?” Elemia had never been so tempted to lie. “Yes.” “Then do it. When you have, make each other chief accept the motion.” Cathal dropped his already low voice and whispered in Elemia's ear. “Ral-nau-thal. Make the Ulo chief declare me King and the others agree.” “I stand ready to obey.” The brilliant light, which washed away her will, pulled Elemia from Abbas's mind back into her own, but she rejoiced to see that Abbas did not abandon her. He followed her from the unformed silver of his mental chambers to the white marble of her mind.

How can I help you, Elemia? Abbas no doubt read her distress in the pulsing blue veins of the marble. What is he doing to you? I must command a mind, break another's will. Elemia's mental self gestured in the air, and the face of the Ulo chief appeared. She spun the face around, and behind it, she showed Abbas a variegated mass of blues, greens, and violets, shot through with fiery red. Elemia pulled on a red strand of the mass, and a tiny mind appeared, with illdefined mental chambers and no mental self. Elemia touched a spot. It seemed to harden beneath her finger. “Fellow Rolador!” The Ulo chief's voice rang in the clear, cold air. “I have a matter to propose. We need a King. Too long we have been wild and scattered, running in herds like the elk themselves. We must unite, form a truly single people, to become great. And I see only one man fit to lead us – Cathal of the Shanna!” The cry of outrage that rose up at these words began to die almost as soon as it burst forth. Elemia brought in the minds of the chiefs, one by one, and with a desperate ease sliced into them. One by one, the voices of protest became voices of acclamation. Each mind took but the space of half a breath. Elemia, what are you doing? Abbas stood at her side, watching each touch she gave the minds before her, tracing her movements. I touch their hatred for the chieftain, hatred which is inflamed by his outrageous ambition, and I switch it to abject acceptance. They will bow their necks beneath his yoke and kiss his feet for the privilege. Elemia's mental self sobbed, but even her outward face was tear-stained. And despite her weeping, she moved with ruthless efficiency. Behind her, the rear wall of her mind shone with her Command. Eleven minds were crushed beneath her heel, and Elemia clung to Abbas's mental self. Yuilan have mercy on me. Elemia looked up at Abbas, and when he saw her eyes, he covered them with his hand. Stop, my soul. Abbas kissed her mouth even while he hid her eyes. I'm losing you. There's blackness in your eyes. Don't go. Don't let the darkness I fought off come to you. I hate him now, beloved. I have not hated anyone before, but I hate the chieftain now. Her voice trembled. The Command had passed, and she was her own again, but what she had done could not

be undone. I have broken noble minds, brought low proud warriors, and they will not be the same. I can't be in your mind and aware at the same time. What's happening? Abbas smoothed back her hair and kissed her still-closed eyes. They declare the chieftain King. Gods, he's mad! Abbas released Elemia. And what then? What when he dies? Does he expect Cailean to hold together a union only a telepath could bring about? I do not know. Elemia sat down upon a marble outcropping that rose up to meet her, taking the shape of a bench. I do not touch the chieftain's mind unless I must. To touch a non-telepath's mind is unpleasant at best. You've never disliked touching my mind. Abbas sat beside her. Your mind is beautiful. Elemia leaned her head on his shoulder. But you have a mind which had latent telepathy in it. To touch another mind, it is like sticking my hands into slimy mud. She broke off, burying her head on his breast. Abbas, beloved, I am tainted now. I have broken minds; I am no different from the High Mother! Fresh sobs racked her mental self, and Abbas cradled her in his arms. It's not you, Elemia. Not you. It's Cathal. It's his fault, not yours. Elemia tried to take comfort in Abbas's words, but she could not. She had broken proud men, and they had been as dust before her, more helpless than infants. Who knew what the chieftain would have her do now that he would be King of a puissant people? Would he have her make him King of Godswatch? Would he turn the Rolador against Stormhaven or Norivea? Who there could stand against her? Abbas, do not let him do this. Elemia bent her head lower on Abbas's chest and pulled his hands up to her lips. Destroy me first, beloved. I must defend his life, for my Command makes me. But do not let him use me to make himself great beyond the Pettegsh. I won't let it happen, Elemia. Abbas tilted her face up to his. I have to go back now. Are you all right to be alone for a little while, my soul? Yes. And he was gone. Elemia forced herself to leave her mind, to come back to the waking world. She found herself surrounded by Shanna clansmen, jostling her, pushing her. Cathal had one arm around her, and his other hand lofted a naked blade.

“Listen, my brothers!” Cathal cried out from among his kin. “You each and all are bound by blood to follow your chiefs! They have spoken, and I will not deny them. If it is the will of the chiefs that I be made King, then King I shall be. But not without their will.” Elemia bit her tongue. The salty sweetness of blood filled her mouth. It was better than the alternative of vomiting on Cathal's feet. Not without the chiefs' wills? They had no wills, thanks to her. The eleven chiefs were shouting, too. Elemia did not have to touch their minds to understand their Rolador speech, but she hated to hear the words. Each chief praised Cathal to his clan, holding him up as the paragon of men. “If you will not follow me,” Elemia heard Shil of the Esta crying out above the rest. “Then I will not have you! If I am your chief, then we will follow Cathal of the Shanna. If you will not, then I am your chief no more. For I am Cathal's man until I die!” Elemia dropped her gaze to her feet. She could not bear to look at the faces of her victims. Yes, Shil of the Esta would be Cathal's man until he died. There was no recourse for him, no help, no hope. His mind held the glowing order Elemia had placed there, and it dominated everything else. At their chief's threat, the Esta ceased their discordant cries. Elemia brushed across their thoughts, feeling their confusion, their struggles, their acceptance. Such was their reliance on their chief that they would follow him even in this. Elemia's tears choked her. “Ral-nau-thal.” Cathal hissed in her ear. “Do not weep before my new people.” “I stand ready to obey.” Elemia's body was subject to her mind, and her tears dried. She stood, a proud chieftainess, and smiled her heartbreak at the gathered Rolador. By midday, Elemia was dismissed to Cathal's tent. He had been declared King by general voice, but his official reception of the chiefs' oaths of fealty would come at moonsrise. A great feast would precede the coronation, and until that time, the camps would remain abuzz with wonder and work and wildness. ****

Elemia sat in Cathal's tent and hated him. As the soon-to-be Queen, she was excused from meal preparations, but she wished she were not. If she were out and among the Rolador women, she might catch a glimpse of Abbas, of his real, breathing body. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth. She dreaded moonsrise, dreaded having to step before the men whose minds she had broken and stand at Cathal's side as he accepted their forced fealty. “Well done, wife.” Cathal's voice broke into Elemia's pained reverie. “I bring a gift for you, for the little Queen.” Elemia rose, her native courtesy and her respect for Cathal's position as her lawful owner – even in thought she could not name him husband – forced her to speak. “What is it, chieftain?” “A coronation robe.” Cathal thrust out to her a thick gown of white velvet. “It is the tribute of the Esta clan to your beauty.” Elemia took the gown, but she could not meet Cathal's eyes, lest he read there her hate. “Take off your clothes and put this on instead.” Cathal sat down to watch her disrobe. Elemia swallowed a sigh. It was Cathal's habit to watch her dress or undress, and it usually ended with a slap across the buttocks or a nibble at her breast. She hoped for no more. She was disappointed. “Stop.” Cathal raised his hand as Elemia's shift slipped from her bare shoulders. “Turn, and let me look at you.” Elemia revolved slowly, and she heard his low exhalation as he feasted upon her nakedness. Cathal rose to his feet and crushed her against his chest. “My little Queen, so sensual and sweet.” He whispered in her hair. “Get on your hand and knees.” Elemia did not hesitate. She could not bear to hear her Command even once more today. She dropped to her hands and knees, facing away from Cathal. “Good.” Cathal knelt beside her, caressing the soft curve of her buttocks. “You see, I told you you'd learn to like it.” He put two fingers in his mouth, wetting them with his spittle then rammed them into Elemia's dry blossom. Disgust shook Elemia.

“Look at that.” Cathal was almost purring. “I've brought her almost to climax already.” He continued to push his fingers deeper inside Elemia. “What an acquisition for the Shanna.” Elemia recoiled from touching Cathal's mind, but even without doing so, she sensed the disconnect between his words and the emotion which poured from him. He spoke of the clan; he felt only lust. “How can I let such perfect curves go to the grave uncopied? And how can I not have a telepathic son to follow after me?” By this point Cathal was kneeling behind her, thrusting forward with his pelvis, his fingers held in front of his useless phallus, taking its place in penetrating Elemia. “The gods know I've worked long enough for this day.” He pulled out of her. “I'll be right back, wife. Ral-nau-thal. Do not dress yourself until I return.” “I stand ready to obey.” Elemia spoke the words into an empty tent. Cathal had not waited even to hear. “Abbas, beloved.” Elemia covered her face with her hands. “Goddess, save me.” She knelt down, her face to the earth. “All my days I have served you, mighty Yuilan. For the sake of the oath I swore to your Order, I am divided from all that is precious to me in the world. Save me, Yuilan, for Abbas's sake.” But the darkening sky mocked Elemia's prayer with silence. Elemia had no hope.

Chapter Sixteen As the assembled Rolador host cried out its acclaim for their new King, Abbas looked with disgust at the tiny figure of Cathal standing on the elevated plain near the bani stone on the other side of the camp. Cathal had not disgraced Elemia enough by merely molesting her body; now he had abused her mind, the one part of her Abbas had prided himself on having exclusive access to. Abbas flexed his hands against the cold and brushed the pommel of his shortblade with his frozen fingers. He wanted Cathal's head. Elemia's humiliation stabbed his mind as Abbas paced in front of Cathal's tent. Abbas did not know what to do. He felt trapped, caught between Elemia's vow and Cathal's lechery. But he would not dishonor Elemia by forcing her away from her sham-husband. Elemia still had the honor of her unbroken word. Abbas grumbled against the cold, against the unjust gods, against the impossible situation he and Elemia found themselves in. Everything was wrong with the world. And then the faintest glint of light broke into his darkness. A man, hooded, hugging his heavy cloak around him, passed before Abbas's eyes. The stranger paused for only a moment, long enough to adjust his furs against the cold and reveal to Abbas the Ausir armor he wore underneath, the silver and blue of the royal house. Ahketh! The knight had followed the trail markers. Abbas's throat burned with all the things he wanted to say to his hated ally, but he knew better than to blow Ahketh's cover. The knight only wanted to make his presence known. Abbas watched as Ahketh turned and made a deliberate march out of camp. Hope bloomed like crocuses in the snow in early spring; there was at least one other man in camp who wanted Elemia divided from Cathal. It was easy for Abbas to slip away, and with a short ride down the sloping plain, he found Ahketh pacing in front of his horse. The day was clear, and the blinding snow camouflaged the knight's shining armor. “The Rolador are a lusty, wild lot,” Ahketh said in the common tongue of Godswatch. “What were they making a fuss about?” “Elemia has made Cathal King,” Abbas answered in the Ausir tongue.

Ahketh's eyes widened, but Abbas made no apologies. He would lay what claim he could to Elemia, even one so oblique as having learned her language through their mental discourse. Abbas did not dismount. “So, what will you do?” Ahketh's face twisted in barely-contained irritation. Abbas knew the knight still loathed him and had no respect for him, but Ahketh had to work with him if he wanted to find a way to whisk away his would-be Queen. “This is your land. What do you propose?” Abbas had no plan. His hands were tied, and he had never felt so helpless. Cathal touched and fondled Elemia constantly, and though she hated his touch, she never complained about it. Abbas saw the chief's advances as an egregious assault, but Elemia bore the lustful invasions like an impassive statue, her oath alone her bulwark against his maltreatment. But Abbas needed Ahketh here with him, near the bani stone, in case he could move against Cathal in a way that would not do violence to Elemia's oath. “Cathal is over-reaching,” Abbas explained, hoping that Ahketh would be satisfied with such nebulous reassurances. “If he continues to use Elemia the way he has, he'll slip up. He'll make a mistake, and then we'll have him.” Ahketh narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. “And what should I do until the time the chief does something wrong to someone and something happens?” The knight's eyes shone with derision for Abbas's apparent lack of initiative. “I propose you sound the chief out to see if he might be amenable to re-selling Elemia to me. She has made him King. What other use could he have for her?” Abbas could think of several, and they all involved Elemia naked and prone before her lecherous master-husband. He forced such thoughts from his mind; he would not show weakness before the haughty Ausir. “I'll see if Cathal is agreeable to this.” His eyes scanned the horizon of unbroken snow in all directions. “In the meantime, wait here. Make what camp you can, but don't let the Rolador outriders see you. I'll contact you and let you know what the chief thinks about your proposal.” Abbas would die before he would turn Elemia over to Ahketh. Ahketh, too, looked to the horizon. “A desolate place. Perfect for people like you.” When Abbas did not rise to take the bait, the knight added, “Very well, I will cool my heels here.”

**** Abbas wanted to scream to the darkening sky; he wanted to strike the cold, unfeeling moons for mocking him with their solemn beauty. Elemia was secreted away in Cathal's tent, but Abbas could sense the chief's paddling fingers on her flesh; he could taste her salttears. It was a disconcerting feeling for Abbas, sensing one thing but seeing another. Volshaden laughed and tore with his teeth a hunk of burned meat from the bone. He and Abbas were sitting near a fire, waiting for the coronation. Volshaden had been ecstatic all evening, delighted that his brother had, with such ease, united the clans under the Shanna. “Everything's changed,” Volshaden was saying, but Abbas could attend to nothing but the outrage that was taking place in Cathal's tent. How many more nights would Abbas be able to endure these sessions? “Abbas, be of good cheer!” He slapped Abbas on the back, but Abbas hardly felt it. “Even you might come into some good fortune.” Abbas grunted and stared into the fire. He wished he could lay his heart upon the open blaze and be transformed into some avenging avatar, that he might sew Volshaden's lips shut and sever Cathal's flaccid penis. In his mind's eye, he saw himself rising out of the flame like a cloud of ash cloaking the sky, blotting out the moons, giving the brothers no room to run. He devoured the Shanna clan in reprisal for spawning a man who would nightly force himself upon a woman so perfect as Elemia, for creating a salacious wretch who would couple with his brother's wife. Cathal's sudden arrival shattered Abbas's black reverie. “Brother, I will speak with you alone.” Cathal addressed Volshaden but glared at Abbas. Abbas rose and walked away, wondering what Cathal wanted to speak to Volshaden about. He slipped behind a nearby tent and listened. His Ausir ears were keener than the brothers knew. “I can't stand it anymore,” Cathal whispered. “I want you to come to my tent.” “Truly?” Volshaden's voice shook. “Brother, you will not regret this. I will give you a son and heir, so that you might yet increase the Shanna's fortunes further by giving Cailean to the Esta clan.”

“Yes, yes, that's all well and good. When you take Elemia, I want you do do it nice and slow.” Volshaden was long in replying. “Of course, Your Grace. I will take her as you would your Queen.” Cathal purred. “Yes, and then when her cunt has soaked your lap, you will fuck her like a bath-house whore. Ram your cock into her until she cries out in delight despite herself.” “Yes, brother.” Volshaden's voice croaked and trembled. “I will be there, touching her, kissing her. You will tell me when your cock releases its stream of seed into her so that I might embrace her and feel her shudder in ecstasy at your warmth filling her.” Abbas chanced a peek. The brothers' heads were close together as they planned out their secret violation of Elemia. They were thick as thieves, ready to steal the jewel most precious to Abbas. Abbas's body was on fire with apprehension; he wanted to leap from his hiding place and kill them, but he knew if he did that, the Shanna would cut him down before he could ever get to Elemia. But he could not let the brothers topple Elemia's virginity. Abbas gritted his teeth as he watched Cathal walk away. Volshaden stood before the fire and shifted from one foot to the other, stopped, then rubbed his sweaty palms on his breeches. Abbas would work upon Volshaden's fever-pitch lust. “You are the most fortunate of men.” Abbas sauntered over, putting an easy face over his anxiety. “What are you – did you hear us?” Volshaden's hand shot toward his sword hilt. Abbas raised his hands. “The chieftain's accident took a greater toll than anyone in the clan knows, but you, brother, benefit from his misfortune.” Volshaden did not at once loose his grip on his weapon, but he glared at Abbas and turned away. “I understand the necessity for Cathal to have telepathic children. It's your duty, and it's a burden easily borne.” Abbas chuckled. “Don't forget what I told you about how she looked in that wet dress when it clung to her every curve after her dance.” Volshaden whirled on him but then relaxed, releasing his sword at last. “Yes, I won't.” He rubbed his hands together. “So what are you waiting for?”

Volshaden peered out across the camp and nodded. “I have to wait until Cathal gets back to his tent. He doesn't want us to be seen going in at the same time. He's making a circle of the camp first.” Abbas nodded in feigned approval of their scheme. “No woman of Godswatch can compare with our chieftainess. She's going to fuck you like a priestess of Elendrie at spring festival, except there won't be a line. It'll just be you and her.” Volshaden grinned. “Cathal's finally come to his senses.” Abbas had to turn Volshaden's inflamed desire to his advantage. He furrowed his brow and made little worrying noises with his mouth and breathed heavily through his nose until he had made such a dramatic fuss that Volshaden asked him what was the matter. “Oh, it's probably nothing.” Abbas waved away his mock worry. “You should just enjoy yourself.” Volshaden scowled. He was no longer leaping about like a gangly lad about to top his first conquest. “No, you've got something brewing under those horns. Out with it.” Abbas shrugged and fiddled with the handle of his crossbow. He avoided looking at Volshaden's face, a move he knew would only increase his curiosity. “What?” Volshaden roared. “All right,” Abbas whispered back and bade Volshaden sit. “You're only going to get this one shot, you know.” Volshaden blinked. “What do you mean?” “She's the chieftainess, and after tonight, she'll be Queen of the Rolador. Do you think, once you've gotten her with child, that Cathal will ever let you touch her again?” Volshaden turned his face toward the fire. “But I'll have her tonight.” “Yes, but what about after that? What about tomorrow, when you see her standing at dawn, as beautiful as the brightening sky, her eyes as brilliant as the glowworm? And what happens when summer comes and you see her belly swelling with your child, a child Cathal will claim as his own? What then?” Volshaden sank down farther into the rock upon which he sat but said nothing. Abbas sensed Volshaden was dancing around the spreading darkness in his mind, skirting the edge of an abyss he could not step into. Elemia had taught Abbas much in the short time they

had been together, and Abbas had been a quick and apt pupil. The time had come to test what he had learned. Abbas reached into Volshaden's mind and was almost swept away by the torrent of emotions. A maelstrom raged, and Abbas knew that if he dared let his mental self materialize there, he would disintegrate. He did not possess Elemia's cohesive prowess. He focused on Volshaden's driving emotion and called it to him. Volshaden's lust sprang up like a red ribbon flowing through the storm. Having isolated the thing upon which he would work, Abbas dove deeper into the storm and shaped the unshaped thoughts of Volshaden's desire to eliminate his brother as he would any rival. Abbas wove this desire into a thread of such blackness that it howled through the chambers of Volshaden's mind. Once the black ribbon was complete, Abbas snatched it from the vortex and wove it together with Volshaden's lust for Elemia. Volshaden stood, and Abbas stood, too. His hand crept toward his sword, for he was not sure if Volshaden had realized that Abbas was meddling in his mind. He would have to strike down Volshaden and run. Or just run. He studied Volshaden's emotionless face, waiting for a hint. Volshaden turned his dead gaze upon Abbas. “I know what I have to do.” Abbas feigned ignorance. “What?” “Cathal doesn't deserve to have her, so I'll make her mine.” Abbas stepped nearer Volshaden. “How?” He wanted details. He wanted to make sure his tampering in Volshaden's mind had worked. But Volshaden only smiled, a cruel smile made ghastly by his dead eyes. “Just go, and sneak Elemia out of Cathal's tent. I can't have her there as Cathal's pet telepath. My brother is making a circle of the camp. I'll be waiting in his tent when he returns.” It was the best Abbas could hope for. “And when Elemia is free, you can use the Command word to make her yours. I expect to be rewarded for this.” “You will be.” Volshaden straightened his shoulders. “You will have the gratitude of a King.” ****

Abbas unpegged one side of the tent and crawled under the loosened flap of elkskin. Elemia was sitting naked in the middle of the rug, and when she saw Abbas, she jumped up, ran to him, and threw her arms around his neck. Though naked, Elemia's body did not shoot pulses of desire through Abbas as it normally would have. Instead, he stood confused, and Elemia wept into his chest. “Why are you naked, my soul?” Abbas held her and looked around the tent for some clue. He saw her clothes discarded in a pile, a white velvet robe tossed over a log. “The chieftain commanded me to remain so until his return.” Abbas' anger sprang up as it often did these days. “He would leave you thus? Your nakedness is lovely, rivaling the gods' own beauty, but Cathal degrades it. He is blessed with the most exquisite woman a man could ask for, and he uses her like a boy pulling his first bow, a poor, weak marksman.” He was talking more to himself than to Elemia. “I hate him.” Though Elemia's voice was thick with sorrow, Abbas's heart soared. He had never heard her speak with such vitriol toward the man she considered her husband. “Come, and dress yourself. We must be away, for I fear some mischief.” Abbas prevented any questions. “Don't ask. Trust me.” He could not let her be privy to his and Volshaden's plans, or she would doubtless stay to defend Cathal's life. “I cannot.” Elemia buried her face in Abbas's chest once more. “He commanded me to stay this way.” Abbas released Elemia and strode across the tent, scooping up her clothes and the velvet gown. He draped the dress around Elemia, bundled her up, and grabbed her boots. Then he reached down and picked her up, lifting her tiny form in his strong arms as he might lift a child. He had carried full-grown elk with his brothers after a hunt; Elemia was nothing more than a whisper compared to that. “I will take you someplace safe and hide you for a while.” Elemia encircled Abbas's neck in her arms and pulled his head down to hers. The kiss she gave him told him everything he wanted to know and already knew: she trusted him, she loved him, and she would go with him anywhere she could.

Chapter Seventeen Elemia stood, wrapped in the cloak Abbas had draped around her shoulders, hiding in the shadow of a tent. She did not know whose. She saw only that Abbas was fetching his horse, and her heart fell. If he were taking his horse, then he had in mind to run away with her. She could not leave Cathal, for her oath held her, bound her with chains as strong as the Command itself. She would not break her oath, not even for Abbas, for if she did, she would not deserve his love. Abbas, mounted, rode by her and scooped her up before him. “Just wait, my soul.” “I cannot leave, Abbas. No matter how I hate the chieftain, I cannot leave.” Even to speak the words lacerated Elemia, but she would not succumb to weakness. Cathal might be able to degrade her, but he could not make her dishonor herself. “I know.” Abbas kept his arms around her, cradling her, directing the horse with his knees. “Just trust me. I won't ask you to be less than you are.” Elemia nestled against Abbas's chest then. “I do trust you.” She closed her eyes, shutting out the camp, shutting out the Rolador, shutting out everything except the beat of Abbas's heart beneath her ear. The horse did not carry them far before Abbas reined it in, but Elemia treasured each hoofbeat. Each stride of the horse brought her closer to the freedom she could never taste. She did not open her eyes when they stopped. Abbas kept her pressed to his heart, almost as though shielding her from the world. If only she could let him truly shield her. But she could not. Then the sounds of shouting broke the wintry silence. The Rolador camp erupted into screams. Elemia opened her eyes to see fire leap across from one tent to another. Abbas spurred the horse into a sudden gallop. “Cathal's dead.” Elemia's mouth worked. She strained her ears to make out the words of the distant cries. She could hear Cathal's name called, and she heard, too, Abbas's name. “They say you killed him.” Elemia turned her tear-filled eyes on Abbas. She could not blame him if he had. Her love for Abbas could never alter, but could she ever lawfully belong to the one who had killed her husband?

“I didn't.” Abbas shook his head. “It was Volshaden. His lust for you drove him to murder.” Elemia could not grasp her liberty. She concentrated on details, hoping to make sense of everything enough to feel free. “And you knew. That is why you came to fetch me away.” “I couldn't stop Volshaden, and I wouldn't have even if I could.” Abbas kept his gaze fixed on the snowy plain before them. “So I took you away so that he could succeed.” “Abbas, do we have time to stop for a moment?” Elemia did not want to reach out for Cathal's mind to determine if Volshaden truly had succeeded. “Yes, of course.” Abbas reined in his horse. “What's wrong?” His dark eyes held a fear that Elemia wished to assuage at once. “I do not want to go back, beloved.” Elemia kissed his mouth. She slid down from the horse. The cloak dropped off with the motion, and she stood naked in the snow. “Please give me my clothes.” Abbas dismounted. Without speaking, he handed her the white velvet coronation gown. Equally silent, Elemia took it from him. She hesitated. Liberty was possible, and she almost did not wish to try, lest her hopes be broken. She slipped it over her head. As the gown fell into its place on her shoulders, she wept. It was not possible for her to break a Command; therefore, the Command was no longer in force. Cathal was dead. Freedom, sweeter than wine, washed over Elemia. Never, in all her life, had she felt this way. Never had she been her own. There was no one anywhere to whom she owed anything. No oath held her. No word could command her. She wanted to cry, to dance, to shout, to run. She did none of those things. She looked up into Abbas's black eyes and drowned in their brilliant depths. Here was the author of her liberty, here the holder of her heart. “Abbas.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his lips, his cheeks, his eyes, his ears, his hands. Abbas touched her thoughts, not forming his mental self in her mind, but opening the connection between them, letting his love flow over her. “Words, beloved. I want your words. I want to hear your sweet lips make the sounds.” The days of enforced distance had filled Elemia with a hunger for the sheer physicality of her love.

“Elemia, my soul.” Abbas crushed her against his chest. “I love you, always.” Distant hoofbeats thundered, and Abbas whirled to look behind them. “We're pursued.” He leapt back into his saddle, reaching down to hoist Elemia up before him. She grasped his hand, and they were off. She looked behind them. It would not be enough. Several parties of horsemen had set out in diverse directions, but one was bearing down upon them. One trio of riders would overtake them. Her time with the Rolador had given Elemia some skill in determining speed and distance, in figuring how long it would take a rider to reach a given point. She judged that she and Abbas had less than ten minutes before they were overtaken. Abbas's horse, though swift, carried two. The other horses had but a single rider each. Abbas glanced back, too. “I'm sorry, Elemia. I'd hoped to escape, not to die together.” “We shall die together, beloved, someday. But not today.” Elemia brushed the riders' minds, one after the other. “It is Volshaden and two of his cousins.” She did not wish to implant any thoughts, alter any emotions that the three Rolador possessed, but she could deceive their eyes, keeping their minds from accepting the sight of her, of Abbas, of their trail. The three stopped their headlong chase. Elemia watched her handiwork's effect without pride and without remorse. Abbas looked back. “Someone will pick up the trail in the morning. Someone will tell Volshaden. We can't stop tonight. We'll ride until the horse can't carry us. We'll be riding all night.” Elemia nodded. She was cold, and her cloak was in her hand, not around her. She put it back on. The silence, broken only by the hoofbeats beneath her, was comfortable to her. “I'm sorry, Elemia.” Abbas did not look at her as he spoke, but his voice broke. “I couldn't stop Cathal from doing what he did. I should have! I should've found some way before this. I'm so sorry.” “No, beloved.” Elemia, still nestled in front of Abbas, reached up and caressed his cheek. She felt dampness there. “You could not have killed Cathal, and that would have been the only way. I know that it hurt you to see me so–” “See you abused and molested and degraded!” Abbas's words shook in his passion. “Forgive me, Elemia. Please.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Elemia felt the triteness of her words, and she reached into Abbas's mind, forming her mental self, clad as always in the white gown of his gift. In the formless silver of his mind, she lifted up her hands, letting light flow from them, illuminating every corner and crevice of his thoughts with the unshaped love she sent. “When there is love such as we share, there is nothing to forgive, for we are each part of the other. Any wrongs the chieftain did to me – and though I hated his touch, it was his right to do with me as he would –were shared equally by you. Even in my darkest hours, I was not alone because you love me.” “He wasn't your husband!” The words seemed to burst from Abbas unbidden. “Surely you see that. You don't think that that pitiful sham he had with you was marriage?” Elemia shook her head. “Whether the vow I made to the chieftain was truly binding was irrelevant. It was my oath to the Order, to be ruled by them, sold or kept by them, that put me in the chieftain's power.” “That's the only thing that kept me from killing Cathal the first time he put his hand on you. Now you are your own woman.” “I am unique then.” Elemia smiled at Abbas's hands grasping the reins. “For even the sisters whose words are purged are yet bound to the Order.” “The sisters' words are not purged any longer,” Abbas reminded Elemia. “And the fact I know that is what brought us together.” “Had you never been endangered, had you never spoken a word to me,” said Elemia. “Still I would have loved you until my last breath, merely for the sight of you riding through Godswatch.” Abbas dropped a kiss on the top of her head, centered between her horns. “I can't be sorry for anything that brought me to you, Elemia, not anything.” **** Pink and orange, the sun crested a small hill of snow. Abbas staked the horse and stroked its nose. “You did well, Elkchaser.” Elemia watched him, feeding her eyes with the movements of his body. His black hair, his curving horns, his broad chest, his

tattooed hands – each element held her in turn. She was gazing up the blunted points of his ears when he spoke. “Elemia, we can have no fire today.” He cleared a space in the snow. “We'll need to sleep, though.” She went to him then and put her arms around his neck, resting against his heart. “And if we do not see the sunset?” Abbas tilted her face up to his. “Will you be my wife, Elemia? I know it's not proper to ask you so soon, but if we don't wake up, if the Rolador kill us in our sleep, I want to know that you were my wife when I died.” Elemia's throat tightened. To be Abbas's wife, to belong to him only, was the height and summit of her ambition, the only thing she could desire, but the words would not come past the lump in her throat. Instead she nodded, pressing her lips to his. “So that's a yes?” Abbas's smile delighted Elemia. “Yes, and yes, and yes!” She found her voice. “I want to be your wife. I want you – you only, beloved – to be my husband, to teach me what a husband really ought to be.” Abbas sat down with her, wrapping the both of them in his thick, woolen blanket. “We've only got the one. I couldn't get any of your things without the chieftain noticing.” “But do you have my white dress, my dancing dress?” asked Elemia. “Of course.” Abbas pulled her around to sit on his lap, keeping the blanket closed. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. “I am glad. I want to wear it when I become your wife.” Speaking the word “wife,” which until now had been a stab of pain every time she heard it, gave her a warm glow of pleasure. To be Abbas's wife would be delight beyond imagination. “How do Ausir marry?” asked Abbas, and Elemia felt his rush of shame at not knowing this of his own people. “I'm not a real Rolador, and I don't want anything like Cathal.” Elemia bent her head to kiss Abbas's wrist in front of her. “An Ausir male is given a bracelet when he comes of age. It is engraved with his name, and he wears it on his left wrist until he weds. Then his bride wears it on her left wrist. A bare-wristed Ausir man is married, and a bare-wristed female is not.”

Abbas shifted behind Elemia, and she twisted around to look at his face. “I don't have such a thing. I'm only half Ausir anyway. I don't have anything to give you.” “Except yourself, which is all I have ever wanted.” Elemia traced his lips with the tip of her finger. “We are unlike any others, so our bridal oath ought to be unlike any others.'” “What is the Ausir oath?” asked Abbas, catching Elemia's wrist in his hand. His clasp on her was uncomfortably tight, and she knew how much effort it was for him to keep his hands from trembling. “'I am yours.'” Elemia pulled away from Abbas then. “Give me my bridal gown.” Abbas rose. Without speaking, he dug through the satchel that contained all their worldly goods. He handed her the gown, and she turned her back to him. She felt Abbas's eyes resting on her as she slipped the velvet coronation gown from her shoulders. She felt his gaze tracing her curves, and when her thin, white dancing dress was her only covering, she faced him. “Goddess.” Abbas took her face in his hands. He bent to kiss her, but then he drew back, his face full of an anguish for which Elemia had no explanation. “What is wrong?” “I pushed Volshaden into killing Cathal.” Abbas dropped his hands to his sides. “Before we pledge our lives to each other, you need to know. I couldn't join my life to yours while keeping something from you.” Elemia clasped Abbas's neck. “How?” “He was burning with lust for you.” Abbas put his arms around Elemia's waist. “Cathal had come to fetch Volshaden, that he might sire a child on you.” Elemia shuddered, but she did not interrupt as Abbas went on. “Volshaden agreed. Cathal gave him the sanction to take you, and he was not about to miss the chance. But I – forgive me, Elemia, but I wanted to keep him from you – told him that he would have you just the once. Cathal wouldn't have allowed it a second time, not once Volshaden had gotten you with child.”

“You misjudge the chieftain there.” Elemia buried her face in Abbas's chest. “I would not put any evil past him. He might have had Volshaden in nightly to do his office.” “Still, that's what I told Volshaden, and the thought infuriated him. But it was not enough, not yet. It would've taken him weeks or months to overcome his reluctance to kill his brother. I…couldn't wait that long. I didn't want you to be….” “Used as a common whore.” Elemia supplied the words Abbas did not speak. “How could I ever blame you for doing this for me?” She kissed him then, slowly tasting his mouth. When at last he pulled away, Abbas asked, “Will you let me mark your face? I have no symbol like Cathal's–” “I know that it is the Rolador way to adorn their women with tattoos.” Elemia turned her face and kissed Abbas's palm cradling her cheek. “And I would be happy to wear yours.” “Can you mark my face, too?” asked Abbas. “That isn't the Rolador way, but it is our way, yours and mine.” “I can borrow your knowledge to do it,” said Elemia. “You go first, so that I can see what I need to do.” “Oaths first.” Abbas pulled her to him. “Then tattoos.” Elemia took his hand then and placed it over her heart. “I am yours.” She charged the spoken words with unspoken emotion, flooding Abbas with her love as she had not done since that day on the lakeshore. Abbas could not speak for many moments, but Elemia did not mind. She studied his black eyes, traced each eyelash with her gaze. She had moved from his eyes to his cheekbones before he found his voice. “I am yours, forever.” It was done. Elemia belonged to Abbas and he to her. Whatever happened afterward could not, Elemia knew, counterbalance the joy of this moment. Were she to be unmade in her next breath, her life would have been worth living, just for this instant of perfect delight. Abbas's mouth found hers, and she returned his kiss with infinite hunger. But then she trembled. The cold bit through her, and Abbas swept her up into his arms and huddled her beneath the blanket again. Sheltered under that woolen covering, Elemia put the coronation gown on over the thin one she wore. There was no need

for words. Their passion would have to wait until such time as they could build a fire besides the one that burned in their flesh. “You should rest, my soul.” Abbas still held her, still kept her within the circle of his arms. “I will,” said Elemia. “I shall rest in my husband's embrace, safe from any ill.” Abbas kissed her nose. “I will prepare the inks before I sleep. Tomorrow when we camp, we can show to the world the sign of our oath.” “That oath is the first I have ever taken which does not chafe me.” Elemia smiled. “It was easy. It was merely the expression of the reality which my soul already acknowledges. I am yours, body and mind, blood and bone, soul and heart. From the moment I saw you, it was so. This oath which declares to the world that I am your wife is, therefore, joy.”

Chapter Eighteen Abbas rocked in his saddle. Elemia sat behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head against his back. He leaned back into her, aware of the press of her soft, full breasts upon him. She was his wife, but he had not yet taken her. Though they had coupled in their minds, he could not claim any rights of marriage from Elemia. How could he? She had been almost nightly abused by her shamhusband. What kind of husband would Abbas be if he demanded coupling from a woman victimized in such horrific ways? Abbas's horse plodded through the snow-patched wild grass, taking the hunted couple west. Abbas knew they would have to stop soon; they needed to make a camp so that Abbas could hunt, smoke and cure some meat, and refill their water skins. He turned his head and peered back east across the untamed plains and hills of the Pettegsh. He saw no pursuit, but that gave him little comfort. The Rolador rode swiftly; outriders could descend on them with surprising speed. Abbas and Elemia were all alone for as far as the eye could see, yet he was uneasy. Abbas drew breath to speak, but Elemia spoke first. “I know, beloved.” Abbas laughed, and the sound was merrier than he felt. “It will take some time for me to get used to that.” Elemia clinched Abbas's waist and rose up behind him to place a kiss on his cheek. “Do not worry. You, too, will in time learn to use your mind as I do.” Abbas shook his head. “Never with your level of skill.” Elemia's only reply was a tight hug against Abbas's back. Abbas scanned the area for an appropriate place to make camp, some place sheltered from the wind, ideally a place where they might spot Rolador before the Rolador spotted them. A range of hills rose up before him, and he took his horse down into a deep valley. A large grey stone, weathered and speckled white by ages of cold, harsh rains jutted out of the coarse grasses on the side of the hill across the valley. Memories, now freed from the mental block, flooded in on Abbas. He was a boy again, hiding under that rock as his father butchered a family of passing traders and took captive a squealing

youth about Abbas's age. That child his father slew, removing his heart and forcing Abbas to eat it. “The Dark Shelter,” Abbas whispered, dread closing his throat. “Hm?” Elemia looked around, following Abbas's gaze to the stone. “That's what my father called it. The Dark Shelter.” Elemia's grip on Abbas's flanks tightened. “The cave?” Abbas nodded and pointed. “I remember that rock. The cave is nearby.” Other memories, all unpleasant, assaulted Abbas, and the images took his breath. He knew exactly where the cave was, though it could not be discerned by casual observation. Abbas dug his heels into the sides of his horse, intent on exploring his father's cave. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Elemia asked. He was not sure, but it was something he needed to do. “You removed the block, so the nightmares are gone. But the memories remain. I need to see what has made me as I am.” “You are not the child of any curse. Your father died in that cave, taking his evil with him.” Abbas dismounted and then helped Elemia down. He kissed her before he said anything else, determination burning in his eyes. “I know. I have you now, so how could I ever think myself cursed.” Abbas pointed to the hill behind him, to the place that revealed no cave entrance. “But the Dark Shelter may hold answers to questions about my past. Who put the block in my mind? Who is my mother?” Elemia drew herself up. “Then I am going with you.” Abbas chuckled inwardly at the sight of his little wife trying to make herself look big. Elemia had a mind unmatched by anyone he knew, and her mental prowess was impressive, but her physical stature did not compare to what lay within her. “Yes, my soul. I would not leave you out here in the snow with the horse.” Abbas had no trouble finding the entrance to the cave. His father had been a priest of Veirakai, a student of mechanical crafts, both devious and useful, and Abbas knew where to locate the mechanism under a false rock, twist it, and reveal a door of iron and wood, masked in long grass from strips of earth covering it. A hole of blackness yawned before Abbas and Elemia. “Welcome home, Abbas,” Abbas said.

Elemia took his hand in hers. “Never say such a thing, beloved. This is not your home.” Bitterness poisoned his next words. “Then where is?” “Here.” Elemia turned him to face her. “With me. Wherever I go, that is your home. Wherever you go, there I am content. What more do we need?” Elemia's kind words and patience melted away Abbas's trepidation and anger. “My soul, you are too good for me.” He kissed her brow before turning to enter the cave where he had been held captive in fear all those years. It took a moment for the Ausir's eyes to adjust from the brilliance of the snow to utter blackness. Abbas could see here with no light at all to guide his eyes. Elemia followed easily behind. Abbas remembered the cave always bathed in candlelight, but that was because his father had been human, unable to see underground. The Dark Shelter stretched thirty paces from the door to the back wall wherein was etched a vile mural depicting disemboweling, murders, dismemberment, and lewd sex acts. Over all these sigils hovered the broken sword of Veirakai. In the middle of the cave stood the sacrificial slab, dark with hardened gore and years of bloodstains. Elemia gasped and pointed, and Abbas followed her eyes until he, too, saw the skeletal remains of his father, still gripping the knife. To Abbas, it seemed the skull grinned at him, deriding him for his helplessness both as a child and when Elemia had been in danger. Abbas had had nowhere to run. He had lived his life huddled in fear against the cave wall,; jumped at his father's terrible summons, and done every obscene thing he was told to do, because he knew that if he did not, and even sometimes when he had, simply because it gave his father cruel pleasure, he would be flogged. Where was the whip now? What strength lay in a hand of crumbling bones to wield the sacrificial knife? Abbas had Elemia. He needed nothing from his past. No answers, no explanations. He wanted to leave, but before he left the cave forever, Abbas strode over and crushed his father's skull beneath his boot. “We did not live here,” Abbas explained to Elemia when they were back out in the sunlight, the wholesome sky once more over their heads. “This was just for rituals. There is another cave nearby. Let's go there.”

They reached the dwelling within a quarter of an hour. Insects and spiders scurried away at the light of day. Abbas was surprised to find salt, spices, and honey still usable in containers on the shelf. “No one's been in here, not since I fled.” There was no furniture save a table and a single, three-legged stool. Abbas remembered eating what scraps he could that fell to the floor from his father's plate. What remained of his father's bed was a pile of dingy, moth-eaten fabric. Abbas turned as his mind's eye relived the past. He had slept near the fire-grate to keep warm, for he had never been given any blankets. He had gone to bed most nights with hunger gnawing at his insides. Abbas turned again and stared at one spot on the floor. There his father had flogged him for not collecting enough firewood in winter. Abbas winced as he remembered his flesh being ripped away in searing ribbons of pain. He had had to sleep on his stomach for weeks. “Beloved.” Elemia's voice broke through Abbas's remembrance, rising above his father's screaming rage like the sound of birds' wings at dawn. Abbas returned to himself to see that Elemia had unpacked the saddlebags, laid out food for them, and prepared their bedroll. “My mind is full of such darkness, Elemia!” Elemia ran to Abbas and hugged him. “I know, beloved. I know.” Her voice shook with her tears. “I know everything. How may I do you ease?” Abbas clung to his wife. She was real; the memories were not. The love she offered him was right before him; his tortures were all behind him. All he had to do was reach out his hand and take what Elemia gave. Her heart beat against his lower ribs, and he let his hands wander down the curve of her back until they stroked her hips. A rush of desire filled his phallus, and he pressed his pelvis into her. Elemia responded with a soft moan, and her wordless whisper only inflamed him further. Abbas's rough hands grabbed her buttocks and slammed her into him. He hungered to taste every part of her, but the face of Cathal darted through his mind, and Abbas released Elemia. “I don't want to push you, not after what–” But Abbas could not bring himself to say Cathal's name, not while passion for Elemia ruled him. Elemia's wide eyes emphasized her measured words. “You are not pushing me. I want you, no matter what has happened. I have

wanted nothing more than to give myself to you since the moment I knew I loved you. I gave myself to you in my mind once before, for that was all I had to give. Now, I can give everything.” She stepped back and pulled both her white dresses off over her head. Abbas did not dare breathe. When she at last stood before him naked, Elemia said, “Prove now the words of our oath. Make me yours in truth, just as I may make you mine.” Abbas needed no other prodding; Elemia's invitation was unequivocal. His tunic was gone in a moment, and he tore off his belt and threw it gods-knew-where. He reached Elemia by hopping over to her on one leg, desperate to be rid of his leather breeches. Elemia laughed and bade him sit while she removed his boots. Only then was she arrested, clearly by the sight of Abbas's erection. Abbas felt Elemia's hands tremble, though her eyes held no fear. He sensed her desire for him, a passion that matched his own need for her touch. He lifted Elemia onto his knees and kissed her, one hand in her hair, cradling her head, the other hand on her cheek. He felt the heat of his phallus pressed against his stomach, crushed between himself and Elemia's slim waist. Elemia reached around his back, smoothing his skin. She broke their kiss and jerked her hand away. She had touched his scars, the rough, raised skin that stood as a grisly testimony to his father's wanton cruelty. Elemia searched his face, but his own eyes darkened in shame. Elemia only kissed him again, her fingers tracing each long scar, healing his stripes of hateful memories. When Abbas pulled back for breath, Elemia grabbed him by the horns and directed his mouth to her breasts. Abbas took a nipple into his mouth, sucking deeply before releasing it and letting his teeth scrape it on its way out. He nibbled again and again, left and right, repeating the pattern until Elemia squirmed in his lap, rubbing her soaking nymphae against him. Abbas knew he had brought Elemia to the height of anticipation, so he half-stood, keeping his lover balanced on his knees, as he cradled her head in both hands, pivoted, and laid her down on the pallet. He already hovered over her, poised above her blossom. Abbas kissed her again, a long, sweet kiss, and he brushed back her hair as he soothed her anxiety and prepared her for his entrance.

Elemia looked into Abbas's eyes and nodded. Abbas took her left leg in his right hand and held it steady as he positioned his tip against Elemia's petals. Elemia opened to him. Abbas bathed the head in wetness and then slipped himself into his wife. He did not take his gaze from her face as he searched out the secret sanctum of her desire. Elemia shuddered and moaned, and she pressed up against him, guiding him deeper inside her. She hooked her legs around the back of his, locking him in her love embrace. Abbas dropped down to his elbows and took Elemia's head in his hands, gripping the back of her hair while devouring her mouth with his kisses. His tongue worked within her just as his phallus did. Elemia bucked against him, raising her legs higher, sending Abbas deeper. Abbas jerked Elemia's head to one side as his teeth ranged down her chin, across to her earlobe, and down to her neck. He kissed her there, taking her flesh into his mouth and not letting it go until he had grazed it with his teeth. Elemia cried out in pleasure at his amorous biting. Her nails dug into his back as she continued to writhe beneath his pounding of her blossom. As Abbas switched to the other side of Elemia's neck, Elemia moved as if she wished to sit up. Without removing himself, Abbas flipped his and Elemia's joined bodies to opposite positions, with her on top. Elemia traced Abbas's chest, face, neck, and shoulders with her fingertips, and Abbas reached up to cup her white breasts in his tanned, tattooed hands. This sent another shiver through Elemia, and her voice dropped into a low growl. She started slow, rocking against his pelvis, working the phallus deeper. As she increased speed, she braced herself by planting her hands on the expanse of Abbas's chest. Elemia bucked harder and faster until her growl became a highpitched cry of his name that did not end until she froze, her sheath gripping him, sending wet warmth down his shaft. She collapsed on his chest, and, as she hugged his neck, she wept. Abbas did not move. This was Elemia's moment, and he was not going to spoil it by thrusting into her, no matter how badly he wanted to. He waited for her to recover, for her to move again. Elemia rose halfway up and kissed Abbas's lips as she slowly gyrated on him again. Abbas knew she was ready. He flipped himself and her over so that he was on top again. Holding both her legs in both his hands, he

pressed her knees against her breasts as he drove himself as deep as he could. Elemia cried out, and at first Abbas thought he was hurting her. She disabused him of that notion by grabbing him and pulling him down to her. Elemia was fully parted, her body open to him in every way, her mouth seeking his. Abbas put his hands under Elemia's head and cradled her against his chest as he thrust into her again and again, as she thrust back against him. Elemia licked at Abbas's nipple, and a shock of pleasure shot through him. He stopped his furious motion and started once more, this time slowly. The moment Elemia had touched his nipple, he was close, but he wanted to postpone his final release as long as possible. He kissed Elemia's horns as he crushed her body against his and moved his hips in a deliberate swiveling rhythm. Elemia switched to his other nipple and licked it. Abbas held her head there as his in-and-out motions continued, his ejaculation building. Just as Abbas had begun, Elemia imitated the way he had nibbled at her breast. That sent him over. Fire erupted along the length of Abbas's hard shaft as he shot thick, hot streams into her. As his phallus spasmed, Abbas clutched Elemia to himself as if she were an extension of him, and he did not release her until his last drop was spent. Abbas's body shook all over as he arched his back at the last and nestled his head on Elemia's shoulder. He did not pull out of her for a long while, instead resting between her legs, exhausted. Elemia stroked his hair and his horns until he found the strength to rise just long enough to collapse beside her. **** Two days passed as Abbas and Elemia smoked and cured the meat Abbas had brought back from his hunt. Though they stayed in Abbas's father's hidden dwelling in the hillside, the bad memories were gone, unable to compete with a living, breathing, loving wife. Working side by side, they did not miss opportunities to steal kisses, caress one another, or altogether abandon their work in favor of partaking of one another's delights. They laughed at night as they lay together, worn-out and sweat-drenched, both embarrassed at how often they coupled. They could not keep their hands off each other, and they did not care to try. In that place of dark dreams, Abbas made new memories, perfect and pure. He knew he would never return to

the Pettegsh, to his adopted father's people, and he was certain Elemia would never see the walls of her convent home again. They had no home. But they were content in each other's company and realized they needed nothing else to be happy. Abbas was buried deep inside Elemia, working toward his climax, when he heard the hoofbeats on the frozen ground outside. Elemia froze; she heard it, too. They waited for the sound of the riders to pass, but instead the horses slowed, and the whinnies were right outside their door. “They're around here somewhere,” Voldshaden's voice said in the Godswatch tongue. He was not riding with fellow Rolador. “Here an elk was butchered.” “We Ausir excel at crafts, especially engineering and artifice,” Ahketh's voice responded. “The Dark Shelter has to be nearby. That is where they are staying.” Abbas, shocked by how much Ahketh knew, looked at Elemia. He quickly pulled out and jumped to his feet, pulling on his leather breeches and grabbing his crossbow. When you had your worst nightmare, you were acting out a ritual sacrifice. Elemia, too, rose and hastily dressed, throwing on her thin bridal gown and then covering herself with Abbas's furred cloak. Ahketh saw you, so he must have pieced together the link to Veirakai in your past. We have nowhere else to go, nowhere to run. Abbas checked the ammunition in the handle of his crossbow, making sure the bolts were well-oiled and aligned properly. The weapon was of unique design; he had created it years before, dissatisfied with the time it took to fire a normal bow. This crossbow could fire a barrage of bolts in the time it took a bowman to let fly one arrow. You cannot go out and face them alone. And I know Ahketh will not harm me. Abbas kissed Elemia's brow. Volshaden believes he can command you. That is our greatest advantage. Ahketh? Well, I'll think of something. Abbas turned back the door and waited for the clicking sound of the gear that would reveal the entrance. He knew Ahketh, being Ausir, would find it given time. In the silence, Abbas slipped into his boots. If he was obliged to run out in the snow, he was going to be

ready. He eyed his shirt hanging on the stool, but as he went for it, the gear ground. Abbas's attention snapped back to the door. Wait or run out? Anticipation of battle electrified his limbs. He took a deep breath and lunged for the door. But it swung open first to reveal Volshaden standing in its frame. “Why did you betray me?” Abbas asked. “You told the Rolador I murdered Cathal.” Volshaden's eyes danced like a child's when he plays with a new gift. He spared Abbas only a glance, instead turning his appraisal to Elemia. As he stared at her, open lust clearly burning in his eyes, he answered Abbas. “I will be King now, with this little beauty as my bride. I will show her what it means to be taken by a real man.” Then Volshaden glared at Abbas. “So, what did you expect? Me to take the blame? Cathal didn't deserve her. I'll treat her right.” “You shall not lay a hand on her.” Abbas aimed his crossbow. “Idiot.” Volshaden rolled his eyes. “Ral-nau-thal! Defend me from this half-breed!” Three bolts flew from Abbas's crossbow in quick succession. They struck Volshaden in the neck, ripping through muscle and puncturing arteries. Volshaden fell back into the door with a crash as blood poured down his chest from the missiles sticking out of his windpipe. As he slipped and collapsed in his own blood, his face purpled and distorted in his death throes. Volshaden clawed at the bolts, sputtering up blood, his last breaths rattling out of his open mouth. Abbas came to stand over him. “Oh, I forgot to mention that Elemia's Command word was attuned only to Cathal.” Volshaden's eyes bulged at the revelation, but he could not give voice to the hate that shone in his dying eyes. He expired quickly, Abbas's aim too true. “Ahketh!” Elemia cried out. Abbas wanted to rejoice over Volshaden's dead body; he wanted to spit on his corpse for daring to use his wife, but he had no time. The knight lurked somewhere, though up until this point invisible. Abbas peered out into the daylight. He saw two horses nearby, both without riders. Ahketh must have dismounted and hidden himself. Abbas checked his crossbow: three bolts remained.

“Don't come near,” Abbas called out. “Or I'll send you down the same path I just sent that lecher Volshaden!” No answer. One horse pawed the ground; another nibbled at half-frozen grass. Thin clouds flitted across the blue sky. A light wind blew. “Don't test me!” Abbas inched toward the door. He knew Elemia could do nothing against Ahketh, so he planned to shut and bar the door. As he reached out to pull the door to, Ahketh sprang at him. The knight wore a chain hauberk, metal gauntlets, greaves, and a fullfaced helm. In his right hand, his longsword flashed. Abbas unloaded his crossbow, but the bolts bounced off the Ausir-forged steel in which Ahketh had encased himself. Ahketh rushed forward like silent death. Abbas dropped his crossbow and went for his shortblade, but he knew he would be too late. Ahketh would cleave him in two with that longsword before he ever brought his weapon to bear. Abbas felt Elemia's presence in his mind, as if she had drawn close to him inside. At least he would die with his wife within him, nearer than Ahketh could ever know. “Kill him, and you fail,” Elemia said, interposing herself between the two combatants. “My Queen.” Ahketh broke off his assault. His voice was muffled by the helm. “This savage has carried you off and worked his vile charms on you. I will end his life and take you to Kartalon where you belong. You are the bride for the God-King.” “I am not.” “Forgive me, but you will thank me when you have come into your throne.” And Ahketh shoved Elemia aside. Abbas was prepared, sword waving before him, but he was not confident about his chances to defeat Ahketh. He was bare-chested, wearing only leather breeches and boots. The knight was armored head to toe, and he was, doubtless, better trained in melee than Abbas, who had spent his youth hunting from horseback. “I say again, kill him, and you fail, for I, too, shall die.” Ahketh paced around Abbas the way Abbas had seen mountain lions circle wounded prey. The knight was looking for a one-hit kill, something clean and effortless, something that would not distress Elemia too much to see.

“What do you mean by that, my Queen?” Ahketh did not relent. “I have linked my life to Abbas's,” Elemia explained. “If he dies, I die.” Ahketh dropped his sword, and Abbas marveled at his wife, that she would do such a thing, put her life so completely in his hands. Abbas and Elemia had shared their minds and their bodies. They had given freely to each other again and again, finding more joy in each exchange. But now Elemia gave her very life, and Abbas loved her for it. He could not match her love; he could never repay it. He could only accept it, and for that, he worshipped her. “It is a ruse,” Ahketh said as he flipped his visor up. “A ploy for you to keep hold of your indecent, illicit love affair.” “No, there you are wrong, sir. For Abbas and I have wed, and he has taken me to his bed, something the Shanna chieftain never did.” Ahketh wailed. “I have failed again!” “Get used to it,” Abbas said as he moved to stand by Elemia. He cared nothing for Ahketh's thwarted purpose. “No,” Ahketh growled, raising his longsword once more. “I will not believe it.” “Then kill him,” Elemia said lightly, “and see if I am lying. Take the chance that you might deliver to your King a corpse-bride.” Ahketh's face worked from rage to sorrow and back again, but Elemia had not done with him. “You have known me almost all my life, sir. I ask you to recall even a single time that I ever lied.” Abbas could not predict what the knight, mad with grief, might do next, so he kept his shortblade poised in front of him, ready for a sudden, wild strike. Elemia, however, stood calmly, her eyes serene. Ahketh sheathed his longsword, his face drained of all emotion. “My Queen,” he began, his voice echoing his emotional exhaustion, “you are not meant to be here. Bright Yuilan, before her ascension to the heavens, told her brother that his bride would come from the Order. You are that one. Your beauty, how the lake rose up to dance with you. These are all the signs of your destiny. Why can you not see it? Why would you–” The knight broke off as he eyed Abbas with disgust.

“All my life I have obeyed the dictates of the Order. I obeyed when you and the High Mother put me into the hands of the Shanna chieftain. You gave me over, and now you speak to me of destiny?” She took Abbas's arm in hers. “I am not meant to be a Queen. There is no destiny for me away from my husband's side.” Ahketh nodded once, his face like cold stone. “Very well.” He turned and stepped past the door and into the sunlight. Without turning back, he added, “What one telepath has done, another can undo.” With that, he mounted his horse and rode north along the valley floor. Abbas's attention turned back to Volshaden's body. “We can't stay here, my soul. The Rolador will never stop looking for us. We must leave the Pettegsh or be forever hunted.” What he did not say but knew that Elemia could read in his thoughts was that he did not want a life of rough wandering for her. He loved her, so he wanted to provide for her a comfortable life, not the nomadic existence of the Rolador, and certainly not to be hunted like dogs. “Beloved,” Elemia said, turning him to face her. She traced his horns with her fingers, an examination that fell to his brow, then his cheeks, and finally stopping at his lips. “You are my home, and I am content in you. But if you think it best to flee further, then let us do so.” “To Godswatch, then. I know the city a little, and the Rolador will not pursue us there.” “And mayhap we will avoid whatever mischief Ahketh has planned.” Abbas looked back toward the door, where Ahketh had last stood and uttered his cryptic threat. “What will he do?” “Enlist aid from the convent, no doubt,” Elemia answered. “Can they undo what you have done, this linking?” Elemia smiled and gave Abbas a light kiss. “Probably not. I made it up, so they would not know where to begin.” Abbas snatched up his wife in a hug that took her from her feet. He spun her around the small, dark room. “Is there no end to your wonders?” He brought her to rest and parted her lips with his own. “Is there no end to your beauty?” Abbas's phallus strained against its prison, eager to resume where it had left off. Elemia raised her hand while she returned Abbas's kisses and sent Volshaden's body flying out the door. Then, with a flick of her

wrist, she shut and barred the door again. Abbas had been undressing himself and her the whole time. “Come, my soul,” Abbas said, throwing Elemia onto their bed, “and let us explore new ways of joining ourselves.”

Chapter Nineteen It was dusk as she rode into the city of Godswatch, and Elemia, her hood drawn up, her head lowered, smiled in the purple twilight. Five weeks ago she had walked into this city, a novice of the Order of Yuilan, the plainest and most useless of them all. Now she rode at the side of her husband; she was his wife and his lover, and there was nothing in the world she could desire more. “We shouldn't go to the festhall,” said Abbas, his voice a low murmur in Elemia's ear. He pulled back to where she rode Volshaden's horse. “They'd recognize us there, and Jhaleed probably still hates me.” “He does, I am sure.” Elemia smiled then. “Do you know where I first saw you, beloved?” “No.” Abbas cocked his head to the left. “Unless it was in the fountain courtyard of the festhall.” “It was not.” She pointed to a street corner, two blocks away. “It was there. That street is visible from the festhall wall, and it was there that you burst into my sight like a vision of the gods.” Abbas shook his head, but he smiled. “Then let us stay there. There looks to be an inn of some sort there.” He was correct, and soon Elemia was spirited away into the room he had taken. She did not let the innkeeper see her, for she dreaded being exposed to the citizens who had thronged the festhall before, seeking her favors. She closed the door, surveying the tiny place. Aside from the bed, there was only a single stool, a small table, and a low sofa at right angles to the bed. “We don't have much money, my soul.” Abbas sat on the edge of the narrow bed. “And even though this isn't a particularly expensive place, we won't be able to stay here forever. I'm a hunter. What can I do in the city?” Elemia sensed his frustration, his distress at his inability to provide for her, and she went to him. “You are all that I want, Abbas. As for where we live, we can stay here for a few days, yes?” Abbas nodded, his eyes still dark. “Then in that time, let us find a ship, one that will carry us to the farthest place they sail. There we can live in a new place, a foreign land where we are not known. We will find a place where you can ride

and hunt, and I will make your home.” She lifted his hand and pressed it to her lips. As she continued, she traced over the blue-and-green swirls on the back of his hand. “The passage we can pay for by selling Volshaden's horse. Any balance we can work off during the voyage.” “You know how to sail?” “No.” Elemia laughed. “But I have telekinetic power. They would not be becalmed so long as I am aboard.” “You don't mind leaving everything.” Abbas turned his hand over in hers to press her fingers. “I leave nothing.” Elemia turned his face toward hers. “I go with you, and therefore there is nothing left behind.” She brushed his lips with hers, a touch butterfly-light. “Surely you do not mean to say that I ought to sorrow at leaving behind the Order? Or the Rolador?” Abbas laughed at last and traced Elemia's cheekbones with his finger. “Then tomorrow I will seek out a ship. We will sail as soon as we find a ship that can take us. But tonight, tonight is for tattoos.” “I saw that you had been preparing inks over these past days.” Elemia took his face in her hands. “But where shall I mark your face? For mine is an empty canvas for you, but your face is already inked so beautifully.” “No other Ausir – or even anyone not Rolador – likes them.” Abbas pulled Elemia onto his lap. “Only you, my soul.” “You did not answer me.” Elemia slid forward, wrapping her legs around Abbas's waist. “Where shall I put my marks?” She studied his face, so close to her own, and he waited, motionless, though she felt his growing arousal beneath her. “Here,” she said, marking out a pattern of dots on his cheekbones, just below his eyes. “All the way up to here.” She ended the line above his eyebrows. “Now show me how by making your own marks on my face.” She slid off his lap, and she saw, with a flying blush, that she had left a damp spot on his breeches from her own aching need. Abbas laughed at her discomfiture, kissing her nose. “I promise I will give you everything you want. But first I'll give you what you asked for.” Elemia had not been tattooed since Cathal had held her motionless and traced the Shanna ivy on her ankle. Then fear had gripped her. She was not only unafraid, she was overflowing with joy. As Abbas pricked her face with his needle, she held herself utterly still.

“I'm not hurting you, am I?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the curve of her cheek. No, beloved. Elemia did not speak, for that would have spoilt his design. “I hope you like what I've done.” Abbas's doubt was not, Elemia knew, about the aesthetic merit of his design. You forget, Abbas, that your love awoke any beauty I might have. No design of yours could mar it. She understood his difficulty, but she knew it was a groundless fear. Abbas continued his work, and it took much longer than Elemia had expected. When at last he had finished he stopped still, staring at her. “Wait here,” he said at last. Elemia waited as he disappeared downstairs, returning, after ten minutes, with a white bowl of water. “There are no mirrors in this house,” said Abbas. “I asked.” Elemia looked into the water at her reflection, and she gasped. “You have made me beautiful!” A flowering vine crept up from her temple to the center of her brow, and down from its origin along her cheek and jaw to her chin. Only one side of her face was tattooed, and the asymmetry of it heightened its loveliness. “You like it.” Abbas's earlier diffidence seemed to vanish at her pleasure. “Thank you, beloved.” Elemia kissed his cheek. “I cannot do anything so complicated. I have never done this at all, and I will be borrowing your knowledge to do it. But at least there is no room for more.” Abbas took her place on the stool, and she stood over him, his needle in her hand. As she plotted out her dotted pattern once again, she felt a rush of power. There was something astonishing in knowing that what she did would be permanent, irremovable. But not as permanent as the touch you have left in my heart and in my mind. Abbas's gaze followed her movements. “You have become quite skilled at that.” Elemia kissed his nose. And you have bound my life to yours, too. “No, beloved. My life to yours, not yours to mine.” Elemia pricked out the first of the blue dots along Abbas's left cheekbone.

What do you mean? Elemia felt the full force of Abbas's shock. What's the difference? You haven't damaged yourself, have you? “No.” Elemia switched to green for the next three dots. “But you do not think, surely, that I would do anything which could cause danger to you? I have bound up my life with yours, that if you were to die, so would I.” And if you, gods forbid, were to die, then so would I? Abbas did not speak, but his gaze fixed Elemia with a glowing black light. “No.” Elemia dotted along Abbas's temple, once more using blue. “Then tell me how!” The words seemed to burst forth from Abbas. “Tell me how to fix my life to yours, my soul.” “Sit still, Abbas.” Elemia took his face in her hands and held it motionless. “You will spoil my dots.” Please, Elemia. Abbas closed his eyes. You know that I love you. I want to share your danger as much as you share mine. Elemia froze, the needle poised above Abbas's skin. “Beloved, how could I put you in any danger, for any cause?” Are you going to deny me what you keep for yourself, my soul? Will you prevent me from giving to you what you have given to me? Abbas did not smile, but his mental self appeared in Elemia's marble mind; and there he wore a smile as broad as day. I have you there, Elemia, and you know I do. “I cannot teach you,” said Elemia. “It is not something that you could do. Not that you lack ability!” She snatched up his hand and kissed it. “It is not something any other telepath at the Order could do.” Elemia fixed her gaze on the floor, not willing to look into Abbas's face. “But if I were to connect our minds further, even more than I have already done, you would be able to do anything that I can.” “What do you mean, connect our minds more? That's possible? We can get even closer?” Abbas did not even refer to the second half of Elemia's sentence, to her offer of telepathic power, and she felt a rush of tears come to her eyes. “You are unspeakably perfect,” she said. “Please, Elemia, explain.” Abbas caught both her hands. “You have connected our minds already. There is a bridge between us, and

on my side there is no door. On yours, the door is never shut. What could be more than this?” “I could blast away the bridge, break down the walls altogether. The silver of your mind would join with the marble of mine. There would be but one mind between us, and thus you could touch my life's breath as I touched yours.” Elemia leaned her head on Abbas's shoulder. “But you could never again have a thought which I could not see.” “No more could you.” Abbas murmured his next words in her ear. “If there is more of you that I can have, I want it. If there is more of myself that I can give you, I want to.” “Then I will, beloved, as soon as I have finished your tattoos.” When Abbas took his turn looking into the water, he smiled. “You have a talent for this, my soul. I've never seen a first tattoo so perfectly balanced. You even got the curves over my temples.” “So you like it?” Elemia did not doubt her skill; it was Abbas's skills she had used. She was uncertain of her taste. “It's perfect, and I love it.” Abbas pulled Elemia over to their bed. “But you promised me a single mind, and that's what I want the most.” Elemia kissed Abbas's lips. “Do you remember how, when I knocked down the wall in your mind, I was unconscious?” “How could I forget?” “This is more complicated, and it may take even longer.” She kissed him again, a lingering, open-mouthed kiss, searching out the sweetness in his lips. When she backed away from him, Abbas's eyes had flamed with the desire she so loved to see. “Point taken.” He wrapped Elemia in his arms, and his tongue parted her lips. His hungry kisses roused Elemia's own ravenous longing, and she twined her fingers in his hair, moaning into his kiss. Abbas stood up, Elemia still entwined in his embrace, but with one hand he unhooked his belt. His breeches dropped to the floor, and he released Elemia only long enough to throw up her dress. She was back in his arms again before her dress fell back into place, and he thrust into her. Her back was against the wall; she could not recall which wall it was, or where it was in relation to the bed. She knew only that it pushed against her back, giving Abbas the ability to push into her more deeply. Elemia's feet could not touch the floor, and she

wrapped her legs around Abbas's waist. She pulled him in deeper, grasping his horns and rocking forward with her hips. She moaned his name as the first wave of fiery stars blossomed up from her sheath. “Give me, give me, give me!” “Not yet, Elemia.” Abbas's low growl in her ear told her had not done with her yet. Without pulling out of her, he carried her to the sofa. He half-dropped her onto it, and she slid off his phallus. She whimpered at the emptiness left behind. She ached to feel him within her again. “Abbas, more.” She could not speak clearly; her mind was still dazzled by the not-yet-faded stars. “More then!” Abbas pushed her legs apart, grasping them just below the knees. He was half-kneeling in front of her, and with each thrust forward, she felt him penetrate to her very core. It was a commingling of pain and pleasure that brought the white stars back in force. She could not speak at all. She grasped his horns and held on, clinging to him, lest the stars obliterate her. Then tears flowed down her cheeks. He had touched the innermost place in her, and she shuddered. Wetness poured out of her, soaking him even on his abdomen. Still Abbas did not relent in his ramming. He continued to delve into her until she had drenched him yet again. Only then did he flip her over. Her head hung off the edge of the sofa, nearly touching the flood. Her buttocks were raised up before him, exposing her drenched nymphae, and Abbas climbed up behind her. He lowered himself into her, and Elemia cried out in sheer delight. He drove nearly straight down into her, and she could hear him grunting her name with each thrust. Abbas gave a sudden cry, and he grabbed her hips, clinging to them as tightly as she had to his horns. Streams of white heat flowed down from his throbbing phallus, straight into her. The sensation brought yet another rush of wetness in Elemia. She could not see; she could not breathe. How long they kept to that position, Abbas buried deep within her, herself hanging over the sofa's edge, she did not know. She knew only that, when Abbas could again move, he helped her to sit up, but even then, they did not leave the sofa. Elemia's legs were like rubber, and she did not risk standing. Abbas leaned her head on his shoulder and kissed her hair. The moonslight was rich and bright on the floor.

“We ought to bathe,” said Elemia at last. “And dress again. We should be prepared for stasis.” “Yes.” Abbas rose gingerly, and he helped pull her to her feet. “There aren't large baths here like at the festhall, but we should be able to get tubs of hot water.” It was while she was sitting in the cast-iron tub, her knees drawn up to her chin in order to fit, that Elemia knew. Abbas was bathing in the next chamber, but she did not touch his mind. She wanted to see his eyes when she told him. She hurried through the rest of the bath, washing as quickly as she could. When Abbas returned from his bath, his long hair wet and loosed from its braids, she was sitting on the edge of their bed, dressed and dry, except for her own still-wet hair. “What's the hurry?” Abbas sat beside her. “We won't get such baths aboard ship.” “I wanted to tell you as soon as possible.” Elemia took his hands in hers. “But I wanted to speak the words.” “What is it?” Abbas's perplexity showed on his face. Elemia was sending out no emotions of dread or fear, but her hands trembled. “You have got me with child.” “Elendrie Earthmother! How can you know?” He stared at her. “I am a telepath.” Elemia squeezed his fingers. “I know everything about my body, and I can feel the tiny mind of our child. There is nascent telepathy there,” she added. Abbas's pulled his hands from hers to grasp her shoulders. “You'll be all right, won't you? I'm half human. What if having me is what killed my mother?” “I doubt that.” Elemia cradled Abbas's face in her hands. “You have telepathic power. You did not get it from your human father, and it would have taken a telepath to place the block in your mind. I am certain it was done by your mother.” “So you'll be all right?” “Yes.” Abbas crushed Elemia to his chest. “My soul, my wife, the mother of my child.” “All that remains is for me to become even more one with you.” Elemia kissed Abbas's lips. “Lie by my side, and I shall give to you and take from you until we neither of us have anything left.”

**** Elemia sat up. The moonslight had become the pale white of a winter sun, and Abbas was sitting beside her in the hard, wooden chair. “It's been three days.” Abbas helped her to sit up. “At least, it's been two days since I woke up, but I was unconscious for a day, apparently.” Elemia nodded. “You were afraid for me, but, beloved, there was no need.” Abbas cradled her head against his shoulder. “I know there wasn't. I could feel you, even in stasis. It's just that I can't help being afraid of losing you.” “How could you lose me?” Elemia stroked his cheek. “You have everything of me.” “And you have everything of me.” Abbas nuzzled her neck. “I've been hesitant to wander around in your mental chambers. It's still strange to me. When I retreat into my mind, it's not the same place as it was. I mean, it's still all there. I can still go to my memories, or examine my emotions, or – anything, really. But my mind is larger. There are two of every kind of room. I can remember your life.” “I told you that it would be so. Never again can you have a thought which is hidden from me, for, even were I not withdrawn into our shared mind when you had it, I could remember your doing it.” Elemia kissed his lips. “Soon you will be able to be both within our mind and still aware of what is happening around your body.” “Maybe we can practice aboard ship.” Abbas rose, though he did not disengage Elemia's clasp from his neck. Instead, he swept her up into his arms, spinning her half off her feet. “Let's go. Let's leave Godswatch. I want to go somewhere we can be openly alone.” Elemia understood, of course, what he meant, that his desire was to be with her and her only, but not to have to hide their existence from prying eyes. “Then let us go now.” Even as she spoke, their door was burst open, and it dangled crazily from its hinges. “Jhaleed's information was correct. Here you are, Your Grace, hidden away with your monstrous half-breed.” Ahketh, armored head to foot, towered there with a naked blade in his hand.

“We have spoken before, sir.” Elemia slipped from Abbas's arms to stand on the floor. “And what was then is still now. My husband and I share but a single life between us.” “Goddess, no.” Ahketh did not even seem to be listening. His gaze, from the slits of his visor, Elemia could see was fixed on her cheek. “You've marred your face, Your Grace.” “No, I have improved it.” Elemia clasped Abbas's hand. It was cold in hers. “Now leave, for you can do nothing here.” Ahketh's cold laughter was muffled by his helm. “Please, my Lady, come in.” He stepped aside, and the High Mother of the Order stood there, clad in cloth-of-gold and bearing the silver chain of her office on her brow. Her beauty cowed Elemia, and she was again a little girl being offered to the Order, offered and found wanting. “So, the useless novice has brought further shame upon us.” She looked Elemia up and down, and Elemia's cheeks burned. “How can you have turned away from your heritage, abandoned your people, for the sake of this abomination?” The insult to Abbas was more than Elemia could bear. Their danger did not matter. She gave up hope at that moment. Never again would she suffer such words to be spoken of her husband. Swift as thought, Elemia's mental self reached out and struck the High Mother's mind a sharp blow. “Do not call him so. That is blasphemy, for he is perfection.” As the High Mother staggered physically from the mental strike, Elemia darted a glance at Abbas's face and drew strength from the sight of her own tattoos on his cheeks. “And of what heritage do you speak? What people? The heritage of eating the scraps from the kitchen floor because I was not allowed to sit at table? The heritage of scrubbing the flagstones of the dining hall for hours on end? The heritage of being shuffled off to the cellar to sleep, lest my ugliness displease the eyes of the novices? The people who would sell me only because they considered death too good for me?” Elemia had never complained of her treatment in her life, but it struck her as wrong. She could owe nothing to those who would treat her so, even were it not that she was being asked to abandon the only one she had ever loved. Ahketh raised his visor and turned to look at the High Mother. “Surely Her Grace is mistaken?” The High Mother did not reply, but Abbas screamed out his answer. “Mistaken? You're more of a bastard than I am, Ahketh! You

can't grasp that you've not only failed at everything you've ever tried to do, you've wronged Elemia in every possible way.” “It does not matter.” Elemia's voice was ice. “I bear them no ill will, but I shall not go with them, and I shall not suffer any insults to you, beloved.” Elemia felt a cold strength welling up in her. Ahketh pulled off his helm and fixed the High Mother with his steely gaze. “She is not mistaken?” “Of course she is.” The High Mother's words were a low hiss. “I'll explain that to you in a moment. First I have to sever that linking of fates she has made.” Elemia braced herself. Be ready, beloved. A mental assault can hurt even the body. “Ral-nau-thal.” The High Mother, standing by Elemia's ear, whispered the words. They were a mere breath; Elemia doubted that Ahketh could have heard them. “I stand ready to obey.” Elemia screamed out the syllables of her slavery, and her misery drowned her. The High Mother had not undone the bonding; Elemia was enslaved to the High Mother's will. Whiteness washed over her. Abbas's arms were around her, but she could not touch his mental self in their shared mind. She was gone, wiped out, obliterated. As the whiteness receded, leaving behind only perfect obedience, Elemia saw the dawning horror on Ahketh's face. The High Mother tilted her head to the left. He will die at your hand, you ugly little pig, once you've killed the half-breed. Elemia could not look at Abbas's eyes. She did not want to see there the disappointment at her failure here at the last. Abbas, I love you, always, no matter what she makes me do. Abbas did not reply, but she felt the tightening of his hold on her, heard the pounding of his heart beneath her ear.

Chapter Twenty Elemia's prone form lay far away in the formless white brilliance of her mind. The marbled silver had been banished by her Command word, a word the Mother should have relinquished upon Elemia's marriage to Cathal. The knowledge of the Mother's secret hoarding of the sisters' words was precisely what had almost gotten Abbas killed the first time he met her. Elemia! Abbas cried out, but she could not hear him. The distance was too great. He broke into a sprint. Elemia vanished as the glowing void whirled around him, sending him crashing into nothingness as his head spun. When he was still, he saw her again, but this time, the Mother, who had formed beside Elemia, stood over her. No. Abbas struggled to his feet, but he knew he would never make it to Elemia in time. She was too far away. Too far away. What did that matter? This was the mind; distances were irrelevant. The Mother bent down toward Elemia, doubtless poised to strike with her mind like a snake with its venomous fangs. Abbas needed to be at Elemia's side now. He closed his eyes and steadied himself. It's not real, he told himself. It's an illusion. I am holding Elemia in my arms right now. And he was there. The Mother's cry of alarm startled him, and his eyes snapped open. She was standing once again, a few paces away, and Abbas was the one crouched over Elemia's unconscious form. So be it. The Mother's frosty eyes glinted even brighter than the mindless whiteness enveloping everything. You first. Abbas knew he would never survive an assault by the Mother's mind. He barely understood Elemia's, so how could he hope to withstand one with centuries of telepath practice? The void was without limit, yet Abbas sensed it closing in around him. His mind screamed at the paradox, and the Mother smiled cruelly, her eyes haughty, her brow unfurrowed. Abbas looked at his fingertips that were fading into nothingness, the madness that gripped him eating away at his mental self. The Mother's lips curled into a curious smile. How long could Abbas last against the onslaught? His mental self was being

suffocated, and if he dissolved, he would be lost forever. He would never find his way back to his own mind, instead left to wander endlessly the wasteland of his own psyche. His own psyche. No, not his own, for he shared it with Elemia. Their minds were one. Abbas's eyes locked on Elemia asleep in her word. She was still alive, still sane. Abbas did not have to face the Mother alone; his and Elemia's division was a trick. How could the Mother divide a united mind except by killing one of them? If she did that, they both would die. The realization that their shared weakness could be transformed into their greatest strength caused Abbas's mind to soar above the constricting, boundless void. With his fading hands, Abbas reached out and shook Elemia by her shoulder. Wake, my soul. Wake! Their minds were one. Abbas's mental self was conscious, so Elemia achieved consciousness. Abbas and Elemia were together in body and mind, so how could they ever be separated here in their haven? Their mental chambers returned to their silvered marble, and the Mother shrieked as she fled. Beloved. Elemia sat up. The smile that spread across her lips vanished when she saw the Mother nearby. We must stop her. If she retreats into her mind, we will not have the advantage of these familiar walls. Abbas nodded and made to help Elemia to her feet, but he was jerked away by some invisible force. Elemia fled away from him, or, rather, he from her. No! Elemia cried, and that was the last Abbas heard or saw of her. The silver walls of his and Elemia's sanctuary were gone, replaced by a garden of oak trees whose spanning branches shadowed the lawn, touching one another, brushing against the high walls encircling them. The music that had so often comforted Abbas while he reposed in his wife's mind was silenced. Instead, he heard the rushing of water, as if it fell from a great height to crash upon stones. The garden was vast, and before him, out from the midst of the trees, rose a palace of white stone, tall, elegant spires of Ausir design dwarfing the oaks. Mist covered the upper reaches of the palace, and Abbas located the source of the water's rushing sound.

The palace was flanked by twin waterfalls that fell from a cliff high above even the highest tower. Abbas turned, and behind, beyond the high garden walls, stretched a wide city of Ausir design. Abbas saw everything as if from a bird's eye view, yet his feet were firmly planted on the ground. He saw through the eyes of memory, but whose memory? The sea lay beyond, and scores of Ausir ships lay in the city's emerald harbor. This was Kartalon, for no other city held such a collection of breathtaking Ausir engineering and architecture. For a moment, Abbas forgot where he truly was, and he smiled at the delights that the capital offered his inquisitive mind. He heard voices in the garden behind him. Abbas sneaked forward and popped his head out from behind a mighty oak. There, on a sunlit lawn, stood a group of novices of Yuilan, all obviously consumed by anxiety, primping and chattering with one another. The Mother stood amongst her peers, but she was not the Mother. She was a novice. This was centuries ago. Another Ausir woman whom Abbas did not know, who wore the Mother's silver chain set with the sapphire in the center of her brow, called her pupils to attention. From the palace strode a tall Ausir, richly dressed in a blue and silver tabard. Ahketh! Abbas almost blurted out his foe's name. “Stand ready, daughters of Yuilan,” Ahketh spoke imperiously. “Your King comes.” Everyone gazed at the wide, shadowed entrance of the palace's west face. Abbas, too, stared. King Kelvirith appeared, flanked by two of his royal guards, armored, armed, and grim-faced. He was nothing as Abbas expected him to be. His eyes held no pupils, no whites, but instead moved and swirled like eddies in the sea. His black horns jutted out of long, opalescent hair. The King walked over to inspect this latest crop of novices. The woman Abbas knew as the Mother – her trepidation seized him, and he understood he was experiencing her memories, not merely witnessing them, but reliving them. The King's appraising look fell on him as it fell on her; he was inspected just as she was. And he was found wanting, just as she was. “I know you have all worked hard to become what you are,” Kelvirith said after his examination was complete, his voice echoing

more of the song of the falling rivers behind him than any mortal utterance. “But none of you are the mate my soul craves. I am sorry, truly I am.” Abbas's heart sank into his stomach, and he thought he might vomit. The novices all murmured and fidgeted. They had all sacrificed so much for this moment; they had all hoped against hope; they had all dreamed of one day being the bride for the God-King. Abbas wanted to scream out his protest. How could the King reject them? How could he reject her? His rising anger set a flame burning within him, and his rage mounted within him. Kelvirith put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “Sera is your name, is it not?” She did not reply. The King nodded. “Do not be angry with me, bright sister. Your mind is strong, and you are lovely. There is more to the world than this palace.” But the palace was what she wanted, Abbas knew. All she wanted. She wanted the world to know her name, to go through the ages immortal with the King at her side. Sera had Kelvirith within her grasp, and he was slipping away, like water. What would she do now? How could she live being denied her heart's desire? Sera turned and caught Abbas in her furious gaze, and Abbas shared her fury. Was he going to just hide there behind that tree and let the King disgrace her so? How could he right the wrongs done to her? Abbas rubbed his hands on his leather breeches, drying his palms before quietly drawing his sword. He would sneak up on the King when he turned back toward his palace, toward his fame, his immortality, and his life of ease and luxury. He would cut Kelvirith's throat for the sake of all rejected women, for Sera's sake. All rejected women. For Elemia, too, then? For who was more rejected by everyone than Elemia? Abbas shook his head and realized he was standing exposed in the center of the garden, his naked blade in his hand. The King, the royal guards, even Ahketh and all the novices, stared at him. He had been discovered, and he would die for his trespass. Sera’s anger rose like a fever in him, but he fought it down. What pain had Sera experienced that she did not inflict upon Elemia?

As High Mother of the Order, she spared Elemia no cruelty. Abbas wrestled partial control of his mental self away from the Mother's unseen hand, and with a shout, he banished the scene before him. Only the Mother, in her younger, novice form, stood before him, and as he lunged at her, she vanished, only her laughing echo remaining. Abbas was in a tunnel, black as moonsless night, its walls damp and lichen-covered, beetles crawling over its surface, bloated earthworms burrowing their slimy lengths into the softer soil. The tunnel stretched before and behind him, and he ran forward, for lack of any other direction. Elemia was not in the past, not behind him. He had not left her anywhere; therefore, she must be ahead. Abbas felt his independence and self-control returning, fueling the strength of his limbs, allowing him to run without wearying. His lungs did not burn with exertion. He bounded as easily as the deer, sprinting down long passages, whirling around blind corners, leaping up steep inclines. Elemia was near; he knew it. With joy, he took one last turn, ready to tackle Sera and end this feeble attempt at sundering the indivisible, breaking him apart from Elemia. Abbas backpedaled, lost his footing and crashed against the stone of the tunnel, his breath knocked from him. He was back in the Dark Shelter, his father's secret sanctuary of Veirakai. Fear replaced elation, dread replaced triumph. He looked to the corner, but he did not see himself there. The sigil of Veirakai leered down at him, and Abbas was eight years old again, pissing himself in terror. Abbas heard the weak, wet cry of a newborn baby. He turned, and behind him, the cave spread out before him, Sera half-reclining on the sacrificial slab, her legs apart and covered in blood and water. Between her legs stood his father, his face a mask of disgust, a baby boy gripped in his hand. “Kill it now.” The strength of Sera’s hate overruled her fatigue. Abbas felt everything she felt. His own existence disgusted him. Garivonix shook his head and turned away from his erstwhile mate, taking the baby over to the vile shrine covered in melted animal fat and candle wax. “Not yet. You want a curse unto death, and Kelvirith is a half-god. We must fatten this boy up and make him ready for the sacrifice.” “It is an abomination! That should be enough.” Sera fully sat up, and she pounded the flat stone beneath her as she spoke. Abbas,

too, struck the cave wall with his fists. He knew he was a thing that should never have been. Garivonix only hummed to himself and began chanting under his breath. “Your hate for the God-King demands immediate gratification, but you coupled with me for a reason. Now, let me do my work. Return to your convent, and when your spawn is of sufficient age, I will feed him to Veirakai.” The baby squealed itself hoarse as Garivonix held it upside down throughout the entire rite. And then the priest laid him on a rude, makeshift pallet of blanket and dried-out plains grass. Abbas's mother lay back, allowing exhaustion to claim her. Abbas pitied her. Sera had gone through so much, given so much of herself for her revenge. She had lain with a loathsome priest, allowed a human to get her with child, hidden her pregnancy from her pupils for months, and made the difficult journey to the Dark Shelter in winter. She deserved rest. She deserved satisfaction. Sera looked over at Abbas, her eyes pleading. She deserved revenge, and he could give it to her. If Abbas could only understand how much she had sacrificed to bring him into the world, then maybe he would gratify her. Abbas nodded. He understood. The wailing thing that lay on the straw was a blight upon all that was natural, wholesome, and beautiful. It could not be allowed to live. Sera smiled at him, and tears of gratitude filled her eyes. “Thank you, son,” her lips mouthed. Abbas's soul thrilled at the thought of pleasing his mother. He looked down and saw that he held his father's sacrificial knife, but the blade was no longer an object of fear for him. It was an instrument of justice, and wielding it, he might do some good in his life. He stalked toward the baby. The infant ceased its crying when Abbas took it into his arms. It looked human except for the nubs of horns poking out its scalp. Its ears would only turn pointed as it grew into a boy. This child, precisely because it was born of mixed parentage, was beautiful. No, not so! It was hideous, an affront. Abbas blinked. This babe at peace was perfection. Sera glanced toward Abbas, and he felt her displeasure. Elemia called him perfection. Elemia!

Abbas wrenched further control of his mental self away from the Mother's imperceptible manipulation. With a look of triumph back at his mother, Abbas gently laid the baby back down. The Dark Shelter vanished, and Abbas was struck by a strong, cold wind. The lake upon which Elemia had danced spread out before him like glass, untouched by the gale. The convent stood on the other side of the lake. Abbas heard the rumble of wooden wheels, and when he turned, he saw a wagon, drawn by a single horse, coming down the lake-shore road, heading toward the convent. The drivers were a male and female Ausir, plainly dressed. The scene shifted, and Abbas found himself standing in a high-vaulted chamber of grey stone. The Mother – his mother, Sera – sat upon a throne-like chair, which in its gilded ornamentation, perfectly reflected her own vanity. Her horns were engraved with blue roses now. Before her stood a little Ausir girl wearing a simple wool dress. Her hair was as black as her horns, and though Abbas was behind her and could not see her face, he knew this girl was Elemia. He was in the convent of Yuilan. He was once again captive to Sera's memories. “So, you've come to give yourself to the Most Holy Order of Yuilan?” The Mother looked down her nose at the child. Abbas could sense Elemia's undisciplined telepathic prowess through his mother's recollections, and he marveled at the girl who would become his wife. As a marginally telepathic man, he could never have appreciated Elemia's innate, effortless telepathy without Sera's viewpoint. “Yes, High Mother,” little Elemia answered with her chin held high, her gaze locking with Sera's. “You are impertinent, child.” The Mother rose and descended the three steps of her dais. Abbas sensed Sera's fear; she had already put in motion the curse of the King, and here came to the convent a girl whose beauty was breathtaking and whose telepathy was unmatched. How long it would take for the curse to overcome Kelvirith's divine nature, she could not tell, but she knew she could not turn Elemia away. There would be questions. Sera looked over to where Ahketh waited, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The knight had already seen her, and though he could not use his telepathic power to sense Elemia's potential, Sera knew Ahketh was skilled enough to appraise novice hopefuls with

alarming accuracy. The Mother was going to have to deal with this child whether she wanted to or not. Sera knelt before Elemia and looked the child right in the eyes. “You are a useless novice,” she whispered. “But we are stuck with you. You are useless and…hideous. Your beauty will never bloom.” Sera raised her index finger. Abbas, who shared in his mother's memories as if they were his own, felt how Elemia's very presence threatened him, and he was happy to realign her mind. He had plans for her; he would consign her to the kitchen, never let her take meals with her peers, and force her into hours of meaningless, backbreaking work. Elemia would never be the bride for the God-King. If he had his way, she would never see even the gardens of the King. The change in Elemia was visible. Ahketh, who had been standing in distant approval of the child, now recoiled at the sight of her. At the Mother's command, he shooed her out of the receiving chamber, throwing her into the rough hands of the kitchen staff. Sera walked over to Abbas, reached out, and smoothed his hair. “My son, sit with me.” But Abbas looked back toward the door through which Elemia had been dismissed. Elemia, the ugly. Elemia, the unwanted. The Mother turned Abbas's face back toward her. “Do not think on things so unpleasant. Let her go skulk in dark places where she cannot disturb us.” Elemia, the plain and derided. The faces of Ahketh, Cathal, Volshaden, and the High Mother sprang up before his mind's eye. They had all seen Elemia as this, but Abbas never had. He loved her for her goodness, the way she thought of him before her own safety, her kindness and her honor, and the way she gave herself so completely and without reservation. He loved her, and in response to that love, her beauty broke forth, showing the world what he had already seen. “No, Mother,” Abbas said, disengaging himself from Sera's hands. “Your depredations are all too clear to me now.” And with that, he tore the last bits of his mental self from her grasp. The convent dissolved into a wide chamber of iron, at the center of which strove Elemia and Sera in mental combat. They stood in front of each other, their legs planted on the floor, just out of each other's reach. Abbas had found them, the real them.

The walls shook like a mighty earthquake, and then the iron snapped and twisted as the room threatened to collapse upon Elemia. She held it back with a wave of her hand, and with her other hand, she grasped the air as if to pull Sera toward her by the same invisible cords that had pulled Abbas into the Mother's mind. Even as Elemia reached out to grab her foe, the walls would collapse again, and Elemia would be obliged to force them back. How long they had been locked in this duel Abbas could only guess. Abbas. Elemia's mental self spoke to him, though her mouth did not move, and she did not dare risk taking her eyes off her opponent. I am here. Abbas started forward, but he did so cautiously. He had no idea where to begin, and he feared ruining everything for them. What should I do? Elemia was a long time in responding, and Abbas assumed it was because she could barely spare any concentration even for simple communication. I know…everything. Saw you…in her memories. The walls wrenched, and sheets of jagged iron rushed in at Elemia. Sharp edges of metal sliced her skin before she was able to drive it all back again. Sera glanced at Abbas then, and he felt her venom. Abhorrence and disgust lay plain on her countenance; her son still lived. The walls shifted, and the ground beneath Abbas dropped away. He fell, and the black void would have swallowed him had not Elemia been instantly at his side and caught his arm with hers. She treated you worse than she ever treated me. Elemia's strength was limitless; she pulled Abbas to safety as easily as she might have lifted a rag doll. We share one mind, but we also share one past. Let us turn our suffering upon the one who wrought it. Abbas wholeheartedly agreed with his wife's plan, but as the Mother stalked toward them, he felt panic rising in his breast. He had no idea how to go about enacting Elemia's thought. He did not have to. Elemia picked up a handful of the iron upon which they stood as if it were soft clay. She turned toward Sera. You rejected your own flesh at his birth. The iron formed into lengths of chain in her hands. Abbas understood. He, too, for lack of a better plan, imitated Elemia. He found the iron malleable. You envied a beauty you did not yourself possess. And in his grasp, a chain took shape.

Sera raised her hands, and the room shook again. Does the mighty rider regret kicking stray dogs from her path? The walls again responded to the call of their mistress, diving in like metal birds of prey, eager to rend Abbas's and Elemia's flesh. Elemia moved her hands across the chain. You left Abbas in his infant perfection to be tormented by a monstrous priest. Still the chain grew. Abbas's fear evaporated in the heat of Elemia's courage. You sold Elemia to a lecherous, honor-less beast, and you rejoiced at her slavery. The clinking of additional chains filled his ears. You have envied and hated us. And those very deeds will be your prison. Elemia's chain snaked away from her and wrapped itself around the Mother. Now, Abbas! Abbas released the hate-forged chain he held. It shot away from him, whirling around his mother and binding her fast. Sera's arms were chained to her sides; her face was a metal mask of iron links, her eyes and mouth covered. Her mental self was senseless. The walls dissolved away, and the familiar silvered marble of Abbas and Elemia’s shared mind filled the void that remained. Did you just do that? Abbas asked, taking Elemia in his arms. Elemia kissed his mouth. I prefer this décor. She clutched him to herself. Oh, how I have missed you all this while. Abbas pushed her out to his arms' length, and he saw that her eyes were full of joyous tears. What do you mean? But Elemia did not answer. Instead, his eyes opened upon the real world.

Chapter Twenty-One Elemia blinked. The sunlight seemed off. She had known that it would be, but still it shocked her. It was the rich gold of a midsummer sun. The room was hot, stifling almost. She sat up. “Abbas.” “Here, my soul.” Abbas was at her side. He had been sitting at the head of her bed, just out of her field of vision. “Beloved.” Elemia reached out for him, clutching him to her. Safe in his arms, she looked down at her own body. She was clad in a simple gown of silver-edged blue, the garments of a noble Ausir lady. Her chieftainess garments were gone. Her bed was wrong, too. It was wider, softer. The windows were too large. She did not know this room. It was a richly-appointed chamber with three beds, one along each wall, saving only the one with the closed oaken door. The bed nearest hers was empty, but its coverings matched those that lay across her waist. The other bed held a motionless figure, but a sheet covered the face. Questions filled Elemia's mind, questions that had answers in the same silvered marble place, but she could not bear to look for them. To walk through any mental chambers was a hardship still, and though she wanted to know, she did not want to think. Instead she spoke. “Abbas, my own, it has seemed long, so long, since I have held you, touched you, kissed you!” Her very soul was thirsty, and only Abbas could quench her need. She thrust her hands into his hair, twining her fingers into the black braids. She kissed his mouth, and, despite all the confusion, the conflict, she felt flowing from him, he responded to her touch. She tasted his lips, and the sweetness of them went to her head like wine. Warmth filled her, and she clung to him, grateful for his mere presence. Everything else was wrong. This was not the room they had taken. The winter had passed; summer had come. Someone had stripped her of her Rolador garb and clothed her as an Ausir. But her tattoos still dotted Abbas's face, and his arms still held her. His face was right. He was right. He was hers; she was his. Whatever else had changed could not take this from her. At last, she asked, “How long have you been awake, beloved?”

“Just one day.” Abbas murmured his words into her hair. “But it has been a long while we have been in stasis.” “Tell me, Abbas. Tell me everything.” You know what I know, my soul. Abbas still held her, feeling her desire for him. “But I have lacked you – how long is it? I want to hear your sweet voice.” Elemia leaned her head against his shoulder. “Long, Elemia.” Abbas tightened his grip. Her need for him, he had clearly anticipated. She pressed a lock of his hair to her lips. “You were lost in the Mother's mind, beloved. I wanted to strike her down, to crush her, but I could not.” “But you would have broken my mind. I know, Elemia.” “Where are we now? Who watched over us in our stasis?” She looked around the room again, fixing her gaze on the sheet-covered body. Then the door opened, and in the doorway, she saw standing Ahketh, still clad in the King's livery, but divested of his armor. “I have watched over you, Your Grace.” At his side there appeared from the hallway a young woman, the loveliest Elemia had ever seen, with hair like a raven's wing and eyes like glittering onyx. “And I, Mother.” Elemia gasped aloud; her hands flew to her belly. “Goddess!” She recalled that she had just conceived when they were drawn into the High Mother's mind. Elemia's hands clutched convulsively. She should have expected this. But to have been gone so many years? This was a woman full-grown. Elemia's gaze darted back to the girl, standing tall and serene at the side of Ahketh. “No.” Elemia buried her face in Abbas's breast. Beloved, beloved. I cannot accept it. I cannot. I have accepted it, and thus you have, my soul. Abbas tilted her face up to his. In our mind, she is present. I got you with child twenty years past. We were in stasis; she was not. She grew in your belly and was born of your unaging, unchanging flesh. “What is your name?” asked Elemia. She could not look at her daughter. She kept her face still against Abbas's breast. “I am called Mirel,” said the girl. Her Ausir accents were measured and cool, the speech of a novice.

We have lost our child, Abbas. Her tears dampened his shirt. This is a maiden, fair and rich, but she is a woman grown, a woman older even than I. Abbas's answering groan told Elemia that he had already felt this, known this, and had hoped to spare her by putting on a brave face. What has Ahketh told you? How has he explained himself to you? “Ahketh would not answer me.” Abbas's laughter was bitter. “It was Mirel who told me that she was our daughter. Ahketh would have kept even that knowledge from me.” “Show some gratitude to my guardian,” said Mirel. “Please. You are my father, and you, my mother. All my life I have known this. Day by day, I have sat by your sides and watched. Night by night, I have seen as I have grown older, and you have not. I remember the night in which I passed your age, my mother. It was a bitter moment. But Ahketh was there to comfort me in my sorrow. He raised me and gave me everything I have this day, my learning, my clothing, my bread and meat. Please, do not be angry.” “Ahketh, you have done this.” Elemia addressed him for the first time since her awakening. “Tell me, you who brought Sera to my door, what precisely is it that you meant in so doing?” “How do you know her name, Your Grace?” Ahketh darted toward Elemia. “What did she do? I heard her use your Command. Forgive me, I did not know! I–” “Cease babbling.” Elemia, her arms still around Abbas's neck, sat up straight. “You wronged us when you came to us. You wronged by your silence my husband when he woke. Ask me not for forgiveness until first you have asked his pardon.” Abbas laughed again, and this time the sound held true mirth. “My soul, you have grown bold in my defense.” “Always.” Elemia rose to her feet. “Speak, Ahketh. You name me Queen. Then obey me. Beg pardon of my husband, and explain your deeds.” Mirel smiled. “There was love at my making, truly.” She turned to Ahketh. “There is no witchcraft here, sir.” Ahketh knelt before Elemia and fixed her with anguished eyes. “Forgive me, Abbas,” he said, still looking at Elemia. “I brought the High Mother here – and she has not been called Sera since she

was a sister – to undo the link you had made with…Abbas. She promised me that she would, that she would help me take you to His Grace, but when she came here, she tried to use your Command against you. I had not known that she kept the words, Your Grace. Please believe me.” Elemia nodded to Abbas. She wished him to speak, and he knew her desire even as she felt it. “Sera was collecting the words of the all the novices,” said Abbas. “She never forgave the King for his rejection of her. She plotted to curse him. She…was my mother.” Ahketh recoiled. Elemia saw his struggle against the motion, but he failed. “Goddess, no. She cannot be your mother.” He glanced at the unmoving, sheeted figure. “She is.” Elemia pressed Abbas's hand. “And she tried to do more than use my word to make me follow you to Kartalon. She tried to kill us both. It is her curse, forged with the aid of a dark priest of Veirakai, which even now holds His Grace. This is your doing, too. My forgiveness you have, but may bright Yuilan have mercy on you for His Grace's sake.” “There is more.” Ahketh dropped his gaze. “Twenty years His Grace has wasted.” Though she had known it since seeing her grown daughter, to hear the words “twenty years” spoken struck Elemia like a blow, and her hands shook in Abbas's. She blinked back tears, forcing herself to listen to Ahketh's voice. “Even his divine nature is failing,” said the knight. “The King lies in a dark slumber, and he has not spoken these two years. War threatens the Ausir kingdom. The noble houses are poised each to seize power when His Grace fails at last, and were it not for the Order's influence, both that of the convent and of those novices given in marriage, it would long since have come to open conflict.” “And this, too, was in her plan.” Elemia's head ached with knowledge she did not want. “Sera cursed the King, and she plotted that, when he fell victim to her evil spell, she should have assumed power, piece by piece, through the brides and sisters whom she had kept enslaved. Were she active, can you doubt that she would have done so?”

Ahketh's face was ashen. “My failure is greater than I can comprehend. I sold my Queen to a savage and served the treacherous author of my King's fall?” Mirel ran to Ahketh and put her arms around his neck. “Do not blame yourself, sir. You have always acted for what you thought best. You have done what was right, so far as you could tell. You have been good to me!” The last words were a mere whisper, but Elemia caught them. “So you have brought up our child.” Abbas spoke Elemia's thought. “A child of impure race. Why would you do this?” “I have raised her, yes.” Ahketh smiled at Mirel. “When I delivered her, held her, blood-covered and wailing, and knew that, without me, she would die, from that moment I have loved Mirel as my own daughter, and I acknowledge that this much of what you have lost, I have taken.” But Elemia saw no regret in Ahketh's eyes as he spoke. He does love Mirel, truly. He cannot have been unkind to her. The heaviness of Abbas's response saddened Elemia. Doubtless he has been good to her. And she loves him. He is, in her eyes, her father. Not I. “Will you come to Kartalon, Your Grace?” asked Ahketh, rising. “You must tell the nobles there of Sera's plot. You…must save His Grace.” Mirel, now that Ahketh was calmer, resumed her pose of graceful composure, watching with a distant admiration Abbas and Elemia. “No,” said Elemia at once. “You go. You deliver Sera. You speak of her crimes. Your word is enough. They have no need of mine.” Abbas smiled and put his arm around Elemia's shoulders. “Sir!” Mirel darted to Sera's no-longer-motionless form. “She stirs, too.” Elemia whipped her head around. “You shall not.” She raised her finger, and in her mind, she tightened the chains that held the High Mother bound. “They cannot take her, my soul.” Abbas dropped a kiss on the top of Elemia's head. “They need you there to keep Sera in check.” “Or you.” Elemia sighed. “She must answer for what she did to you, beloved.”

“We sail for Kartalon, then.” Abbas stroked Elemia's loose hair. “Ahketh, see to it that my wife and I have a room to ourselves aboard ship.” The protest Elemia knew he wished to make died unspoken on Ahketh's lips. “Yes.” “Now leave us, please.” Elemia wanted Abbas, needed him, and all at once, Ahketh and Mirel's presences became insupportable. Mirel smiled. “Of course.” She moved to embrace Elemia and Abbas, but Elemia found the touch strange. “Now that you are both awake again, perhaps we can learn to be a family. You can give me brothers and sisters, and I will learn to call you 'Father' and 'Mother.'” Ahketh's strangled sounds drew Elemia's gaze at once. “What is it?” The knight's face had lost even more color than when he had learned of Sera's treachery. “It is not right to speak of it, Your Grace.” Elemia knit her brows. She had always felt Ahketh's mind as a blank spot, an impenetrable stone in the midst of the sea, but now she realized that this was because his guard was up, because he had raised walls of protection about his thoughts. Those walls he lowered now. What is wrong? Abbas sensed Elemia's perplexity. Ahketh invites me into his mind. I doubt that it is a trap, as he has not that sort of skill. I will go. I must know what he has done to me. Elemia brushed Ahketh's thoughts. She did not wish to enter his mind, though she knew that, as a King's Squire, his mind would be an edifice like her own. Instead, she ran the tendrils of her thoughts across the surface of his mind, and there she saw the image that consumed him. Elemia saw her own motionless body lying on the very bed on which she had awoken. Her belly was swollen, distended by the unborn Mirel, and Ahketh stood over her. His eyes were blood-shot, and he murmured to himself, his words the only sounds despite the fact Mirel was being born. Elemia herself made no noise. Her body continued in its stasis, unchanging, save for the injuries the baby might make on her unassisted way into the world. The baby was long in coming, and Ahketh grew weary in waiting. But even when at last Mirel burst forth, claiming Ahketh's devotion with her infant wails, Elemia saw there was yet more. Her body continued to bleed.

The sight distressed Elemia, and she skipped to the end of Ahketh's recollection, to the image of his own ineffectual attempts to help her. She knew then he had damaged her irreparably. He had inadvertently sterilized the woman he named Queen, had deprived his King, if he were correct, of the possibility of heirs. Elemia withdrew from Ahketh's thoughts at once. Ahketh had not wronged her purposely. It had been his lack of medical skill, added to his need for secrecy, which had injured her, left her unable ever to bear a child again. She searched out her body then, sensing it, feeling it with her mind, and she knew Ahketh was correct. She could have no other children than this stranger, this young woman who was herself older than Elemia by two full years. “Leave us. Now.” Elemia could not look at Mirel. When the door closed behind the exiting pair, Abbas took Elemia in his arms and sat back down upon her bed. “What did you see? Your eyes are dark, my soul.” “I am barren soil,” said Elemia. “He didn't do it on purpose.” Abbas clenched his fists. “Goddess, I want to kill him! But I can't, not after he raised Mirel.” “The only child we can have.” Elemia put her face in her hands. “I am sorry, beloved.” Abbas at once pulled her hands away, taking them in his own. “Not that, Elemia, never that. Don't be sorry. I loved you, wanted you, when I thought I'd never be able even to touch you. We have had a child, but that's an extra grace. I have you, my soul, and you are all I have ever needed.” Elemia could not endure it any longer. She put her arms around Abbas's waist and pressed her lips to his. “It was long for me, Abbas. I know that for you our separation was mere hours, but, beloved, I have lived years without you.” Abbas enfolded her in his arms. “I didn't know.” “I need you.” Elemia's searching kiss expressed more than her words. Abbas did not speak his reply at all. He lay back, letting her explore his body. Each inch of it, so well known to her, was new and fresh to Elemia. She kissed the tattoos she had placed on his cheeks. She traced the sides of his neck with her fingers. Her mouth dropped to his chest, and she kissed her way down the center, taking a detour to lick

each nipple twice, until at his navel she stopped for a dozen kisses. Then down she went again, exploring until she reached his throbbing erection. Abbas laughed at her intake of breath. “You have forgotten, Elemia.” “It is always larger when I have not been looking at it.” She ran her fingers over the hard shaft, and it seemed to grow even stiffer in her hand, if that were possible. She closed her hand around the thickness of it, and Abbas closed his eyes. “Elemia,” he said. Elemia bent to drop a kiss on the tip of his phallus, and at the shiver that went through her husband's body, she repeated the kiss. She kissed him all along its length, from the tip to the base and back again, and when she reached the tip again, she licked away the dampness she found there. Abbas moaned. Hunger and aching need brought the idea to Elemia. She had never done anything like this before. Tentatively, she licked the shaft again. As Abbas's sounds of pleasure increased, Elemia's nymphae grew wet. She wanted more than anything to hear him moan her name. She slipped the tip into her mouth. It was hot and hard, and Elemia twisted her tongue over the very top. “Goddess.” Abbas's word was a mere breath. Elemia decided she was on the right path. She opened her mouth wider, taking yet more of Abbas into her. As her lips slid down his length, Abbas's hands went to her hair. His fingers twined among the loose strands, and Elemia would have smiled had her mouth been free. She took as much of him into her mouth as she could before going back up. Before she could slide off, however, the pressure of Abbas's hands assured her he still desired more of her kisses. She slid back down again. She was not certain how many times she repeated the motion before she heard Abbas whimpering. “Elemia, Elemia.” Satisfied, she rose up and moved forward. She raised her dress sufficiently to sit upon Abbas's upright phallus. Her petals opened to receive him, and as he entered her, parting her flesh, Elemia sighed her delight. Abbas sat up. Without a word, he tore off her dress and took her breast to his mouth. Elemia responded by wrapping her legs

around his waist, pushing him yet deeper. Her hands she slipped around his back, and even the broad scars there were precious to her. She hooked her ankles together and pushed with all her strength. Abbas left her breast and caught her face in his hands. He pulled her mouth to his. “My soul,” he said, and kissed her again. Elemia surrendered to the unspeakable pleasure. Fire burst from her blossom, up through her body, until behind her eyes white lights flashed. Sobs shook her, but she did not cease her motions. She continued to press against Abbas, even as he thrust upward into her. All the rest of the world faded away. There was nothing except for her and Abbas, their bodies joined as magnificently as their minds. Abbas twisted his legs beneath Elemia, tilting her backward until she lay beneath him. “My precious Elemia.” He stroked her hair as his thrusts slowed. He kissed her, a kiss long as a summer day, fierce as a winter storm. That kiss alone, his lips and tongue locked with hers, sent Elemia beyond herself. She could not hear, could not breathe. She gushed out onto him, drenching his lap, even his thighs. As she gripped Abbas's back, treasuring the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, of his shaft pounding into her, suddenly he stopped. He shuddered and joined her in that white space of stars where no one could reach them.

Chapter Twenty-Two Abbas stood amidships, his feet set wide apart against the gentle rocking of the deck. He had never been on a boat before, and he kept well away from the sides. The murky waters of the bay of Godswatch lapped against the ship as evening fast approached. Preparations were underway for their departure. Men ran here, sailors climbed there, and Abbas understood nothing of their employment. Ahketh had chartered a ship manned by humans to take them to Kartalon. When Abbas had indicated the presence of Ausir ships in the harbor, ships lower to the water, sleeker and faster than humanbuilt craft, the knight pointed out that they were warships, and their captains would not be persuaded to take aboard passengers such as they. Ahketh was right, Abbas realized. The Ausir ships were anchored in Godswatch Bay for a different reason. Torchlight and the glow of lamps sprang up across the city, and Ausir commanders mustered contingents of human soldiers on the docks. Each group was associated by different colors, each matching the flags that flew from the Ausir ships. “The Ausir are not as prolific as humans.” Ahketh took up a position in front of Abbas and leaned his elbows against the railing. He did not look back at Abbas, and Abbas was surprised the knight deigned to speak the Ausir tongue to him. Abbas narrowed his eyes, trying to puzzle out Ahketh's reason for approaching him and adopting such a casual, friendly attitude. “And?” Ahketh nodded toward the docks. “They are recruiting mercenaries, each noble house taking what men they can buy.” He pointed at the warships. “Ausir do not need anything from humans. Our designs and engineering are superior. But they have numbers, and in war, we need warm bodies to fill suits of armor.” Irritation grew in Abbas. “Why are you telling me this? Do I look like a commander or a soldier to you?” Ahketh turned his eyes of superiority and arrogance on Abbas. “No. You look like a man who is about to send a nation to war, a war that will destroy the Ausir people and then spread to engulf all the

cities around the Aras Arlluvia.” The knight swept his hand around his head, indicating with a dramatic flourish the darkening sea beyond. Abbas's thoughts turned to Elemia, to the woman he shared one mind, one body, with. His wife, for good or ill, come what may. “This is all your fault,” Ahketh said. “And what would you have me do about it?” Abbas was eager to defend himself. Ahketh strode up to Abbas and stood chest-to-chest with him. “Let her go. She was never yours to begin with. You stole her from her rightful husband. Do not let your selfishness send us into war.” Abbas's hands balled into fists. “For Mirel's sake and for the love you have shown her these past twenty years, I will not strike you down for impugning my lady's virtue, but if you ever again speak of Elemia as being joined to someone not lawfully her husband, my hand will fly, and with it, my sword.” “Bold words,” Ahketh answered with equal venom, “knowing that you can hide behind the Queen, knowing that I cannot destroy you – which I easily could do were not her link in place.” He shook his head and took a step back, visibly reining in his anger. “We get nowhere by fighting. The King needs his bride to revive him from his death-sleep, to break the curse.” “How do you know that?” Ahketh blinked, having no ready answer. “How do you know that getting his bride will break the curse my father and mother wrought upon him? The curse was born of a woman jilted. It is separate from any promise that Kelvirith would someday find a wife. This has nothing to do with your vaunted destiny.” “No,” Ahketh said, shaking his head, his gaze wildly darting back and forth. “No, that must be it. The King ails; only a restoration to the way things ought to be will cure him.” He snapped his fingers suddenly. “And the moment I gave Her Grace away to that chieftain, the King began to waste away. So, it must be connected.” Abbas shrugged. It did not matter what Ahketh said; no amount of pleading would separate him from Elemia, and in his heart and mind, he knew Elemia felt the same way. Again, his thoughts went to Elemia who was below decks, dealing with Sera who struggled to break her chains, to wake from her coma.

“It's three days to Kartalon,” Ahketh said as he turned to walk away. “Think on what I have said.” And he was gone, leaving Abbas alone with his guilt. The moons rose, bathing the twilight world in their commingled blue and red light. The tide ebbed, and the ship lurched as the sailors brought it around and set its course for the open, black expanse of the sea. Abbas kept his eyes on the city. Every man who would die in this war, every drop of blood shed, he would be responsible for. Could Ahketh be right? Was Elemia meant for the King? Abbas beat his fists against the mast. Even if she were, how could he give her up? Should he prove faithless so that a war might be prevented? The shouts of the Ausir commanders sent the human mercenaries scurrying for their respective ships. Deep horns blew their ominous calls from the decks of the warships, horns of war, horns that signified death and pain. Abbas turned away from Godswatch and walked to the bow of the ship. Kartalon, capital city of the vast forest kingdom of the Ausir, lay beyond the darkness. Abbas dreaded the morrow, and the next day, and the next; he dreaded looking into the King's water-like eyes of formless blue. He feared the blame everyone would heap upon him when they believed what Ahketh believed, that he had stolen their Queen and thus their peace. He wished he could take Elemia by the hand, jump overboard, and swim back to shore. He wanted to go some place where they would never be found, never interfered with. Some place where his world was only her, and hers was only him. Sera's muffled groan echoed through his mind, and he sensed Elemia once again subduing the High Mother. Their course was set for Kartalon, and they had to go, too, for no one else could deliver the treacherous telepath into the hands of justice. **** Ausir war horns startled Abbas awake. He jumped out of his cot and went to the porthole. Elemia rose, too. From his vantage point below decks, Abbas could see an array of warships anchored in a deep bay of green seawater, blockading a large Ausir city that grew up out

of the forest. Kartalon. He had seen this city in his vision within Sera's mind. The ship Abbas and Elemia were taking had hugged the eastern coastline of the Aras Arlluvia Sea almost the whole journey, and Abbas had an appreciation for how vast the Ausir nation was. “What is this?” Elemia smoothed her mussed hair and came to stand at the next porthole, going up on her tiptoes to peer out. “A blockade. I don't know by whom though.” Abbas pointed at the red and white colors that flew from the mast. Elemia nodded. “The house most closely related to the King. They have always defended the interests of the crown; doubtless they do so now, keeping Kelvirith's enemies out of the city.” Abbas was not so sure about that, but he trusted Elemia's estimation of the situation. “Will we be able to get through?” “It should not be difficult for me to persuade the captain of the flagship,” Elemia said, indicating the largest, most impressive warship, “to let us pass.” Abbas smiled. The ease with which his wife dealt with nontelepaths never ceased to amaze him. But his diversion was shortlived. Kartalon loomed before them; its beautiful spires, its wide curving streets, its unmatched architecture brought him no joy, for here dwelt the God-King, the one who would claim Elemia for his own. Abbas scooped Elemia into his arms and kissed her ravenously. “I won't let anyone take you away from me. You are mine.” “I am yours.” Elemia, though still crushed against Abbas, put her hands on his chest, steadying his racing heart. “No one can drive us apart. We are one, now and forever.” She tapped her and his temples with her forefinger then pressed her breasts against him, leaning in but not kissing his lips. “In all ways, we are one.” Despite the threat of the blockade, despite the world teetering on the brink of war, Abbas's phallus swelled and stiffened with desire. Elemia's wry smile would have embarrassed him if he had not realized that she wanted him as much as he wished to possess her body. Elemia rose up and parted his mouth with her tongue, brushing her sweet lips against his. Truly, they were a world unto themselves, and everyone and everything had to wait upon their lovemaking.

The war horns blew again, shattering their mounting passion. They looked out the portholes again; the black-haired Ausir aboard the flagship were running about pulling on ropes, calling out orders, readying ballista along the ship's starboard side. “I will go,” Elemia said, but as she turned to ascend the narrow, wooden steps that led to the main deck, a rustling sound caught her and Abbas's ears. Sera, asleep in her cot, stirred. “Not now.” Elemia moaned, turning back and running to the High Mother's side. Abbas rushed over, too. “What should we do?” He glanced at his mother then back out the porthole. The Ausir warships were positioning themselves for attack. “You are going to have to handle this, beloved.” Elemia spoke distractedly, and Abbas knew that most of her concentration was focused on her opponent. Indeed, Elemia was now more within the silvered marble of her mind than aboard the ship. “What?” Abbas licked his lips. “And what, precisely, am I supposed to do?” Elemia scowled and shook her head. She spoke quickly, like one being disturbed. “Just what I was going to do. Forgive me.” Abbas did not move. His feet were frozen to the creaking, rocking wooden floor beneath him. He stared into Elemia's face, but she was paying him no heed. How was Abbas going to take care of the situation, especially when he was supposed to do it the same way Elemia would have handled it? He heard the cries of the humans above him. They were readying their defenses, preparing for a counterattack if necessary. Abbas was aboard a merchant ship, and though he knew next to nothing about naval combat, the Ausir warships would clearly sink them with little effort. He had to do something; if he did not, they would all drown. He bounded up the steps. Sea salt and sunlight greeted him. He ran from one side of the ship to the other, searching for a clear vantage point. There was too much maneuvering, too much distraction, too much yelling. Abbas climbed the mast rigging until he was above the front sail. He scanned the flagship and located the captain, a green-eyed, black-haired Ausir, the tallest he had ever seen. Elemia, what do I do?

But Elemia did not answer him, and her mental self did not appear. She was in Sera's mind, and if Abbas went looking for her, he would become insensible to the real world. The cranking sounds of metal on metal came from the warship. The Ausir soldiers were drawing back their ballista. Elemia, I need you! Nothing. Abbas focused on the Ausir captain. He did not want to lose sight of him for even an instant. How could he affect a mind he did not know? When he had implanted his suggestion in Volshaden's thoughts, it had been easy. Volshaden was consumed by lust, and Abbas knew him. His emotions had been easy to manipulate. Abbas sensed that this captain's mind was serious, disciplined, not easily stirred either by anger or excitement. Abbas hung from the netted rope as the sea wind blew his long, black hair in his eyes. He swept away the stray locks, and it hit him. A wave of trust flowed through his mind; Elemia was reaching out to him. She knew he could do this; she trusted that he would. The ballista were trained at their ship. If he failed, Elemia died. He would not let that happen. The warship captain's mind opened up to him like unfolding paper. Abbas seized that paper and read what was written there, a lifetime of duty and responsibility. Abbas worked quickly, penning a new phrase, one bolder than all the others. He made it the captain's duty to let them pass through the blockade, that what their ship carried was vital to the safety and stability of the crown. Abbas wept as he did so, for he was, in effect, delivering Elemia into the hands of the God-King. But could he have her die? She had trusted him, and now he had to trust her not to succumb to the King's advances. He did trust her, but dread sickened him. **** Kartalon was as Abbas remembered it in his mother's memory. This was the ancient capital of his people that he had never known, but he recognized their like-mindedness in their invention. No sewage soaked the streets of smooth, unbroken stone. He wondered how the Ausir had accomplished that, for he knew only the cobblestone streets of Godswatch and the hard-packed earthen roads of the hinterland.

Many other wonders, such as running water to homes coming from a statue of a girl pouring water from her jug in the center of the city, passed before Abbas's eyes, but as the palace grew in his field of vision, he paid less and less attention to his surroundings and turned inward. He had seen his mother's rejection in the garden. Now he would witness the King offering his hand in marriage to Elemia, his own wife. Each step toward the palace was a chore; the twin waterfallsthat had delighted him in his vision brought him no joy. Elemia walked beside him, hand in hand. Ahketh walked before them with Mirel at his side, and human sailors from their ship bore Sera's unconscious form in a canvas sling behind them. Abbas ignored the curious gazes of onlookers, and he kneaded his fear within him. Do not worry, beloved. Elemia was there with him in his mind. All shall be well. Abbas' mental self was mired in his own apprehension, and it clung to him like stubborn mud. I can't help it. You go to meet your destiny. No. You are starting to sound like Ahketh. What if he's right? Abbas caressed her cheek. What if.... But Elemia did not let him complete his thought. She kissed him in the privacy of their mind, and her touch, her taste allayed his fears. We are the makers of destiny. At the gates of the palace, Ahketh spoke with the royal guards. Abbas did not even try to listen in. He did not care. He just wanted to hand Sera over to the King's custody and be gone with Elemia. As a King's Squire, Ahketh must have had some clout in Kartalon, for the guards opened the gates and provided them a formal escort into the palace. Abbas passed under trees he had seen before, crossed the same garden his mother had crossed. They were swept down one hallway and then another, across an inner courtyard and through a series of richly-ornamented rooms. At last, they came to a set of double doors. They were informed that His Grace lay within, and they were admonished to show no surprise at his appearance. Blue and silver liveried servants opened the doors to reveal a cavernous throne-room, at the center of which stood a small

congregation of people, priests and healers of all types. They retreated at the sight of visitors, revealing the supine form of the King. Kelvirith was nothing like the man Abbas had seen in his vision. If he had not known better, he would have sworn it was a different person altogether. The King's vigor was gone; his youth and vibrancy blasted and withered away. Upon a high table of stone before his throne lay Kelvirith, the God-King, a grey, wasted wreck, a dried-out husk. Quietly, reverently, the sojourners began their approach toward the throne, and as Abbas and his companions passed through the door, Kelvirith, like the waking dead, sat up. He turned his sunken visage upon them all, and he fixed them with his hideous, opaque eyes of unbroken white. His voice was the creak of an opening mausoleum door. “My bride has come.”

Chapter Twenty-Three Elemia did not look at the King. She looked instead at the anguished face of Abbas. My oath holds to you. Abbas did not speak. Elemia felt the horror that stopped his tongue, and again, in the privacy of their minds, she kissed him. Kelvirith still spoke, holding out his hand. “Here is my bride, if she will have me, she who is love made very flesh.” Abbas gave a strangled cry, but Elemia laid her hand on his arm. His Grace does not speak to me. She looked at Mirel, at her stranger/daughter, at this young woman whose character, like her own, had been shaped by Master Ahketh's raising of her, but whose beauty and nature were the image of Abbas's. Elemia watched Mirel and hoped. Would Mirel have the strength, the generosity, to do as Abbas had done, to love the unlovable? It would be generosity only to love the King as he lay in this wretched state. But Abbas had looked upon Elemia and loved her, despite the plainness everyone else had seen. Elemia, rejected and unwanted, he had desired and chosen, and his love had made her lovable. Kelvirith stretched out his hand again, and Elemia realized that, though he sensed Mirel's presence, he was blind. “Will you, you who are incarnate love, whose ways are watched by love, whose mind is bathed in love, lay your hand in mine and be my wife for all the ages?” Mirel turned once to look at Elemia and smiled. It was a grave smile, one more serious than pleased, but there was neither doubt nor hesitation in Mirel's face. She went to Kelvirith and knelt by the side of the King's stone bed. “Your Grace, I have seen your image in my guardian's mind. All my life I have seen your face through his memory, known your magnificence through his thoughts.” Mirel glanced back at Ahketh then, and Elemia marveled that a King's Squire would have permitted anyone such a presence in his mind. Mirel continued. “To see Your Grace brought to such a pass–” Her voice trembled. “In my mind I already know enough of Your Grace to say that I consent.” And she laid her hand in his.

Elemia did not see what happened next, for Abbas crushed her against his breast. His racing heart told her of his fear, now wiped away in relief. “My wife only, and not the God-King's bride.” She laughed out loud. “After all that we have endured to be together, you were still afraid? Beloved, you should know by now that no force in this world can sunder us.” The sound of gasps and shouts of joy drew Elemia's attention, and she pulled her face from Abbas's chest to see that the King had risen from his bed. With his hand still in Mirel's, Kelvirith stood, and he was a different man. His opalescent hair seemed nearly to glow, and his eyes had cleared of their white clouds. Instead, brilliant blues and greens shifted in the unbroken fields of his eyes. His face was no longer haggard and gaunt but rather shone with unbearable beauty. “The King has risen!” Attendants and nobles darted from the chamber, crying out the news to all. Elemia knew that, within minutes, the word would be known throughout the city. The war would be averted. Kelvirith spoke to Elemia and Abbas, ignoring his running and shouting servants. “I had not known the author of my suffering at first, but as I faded more from this world, I passed more into hers. Where, then, is Sera? For I have seen her mockery in my thoughts as her curse laid me low.” “She lies there, Your Grace.” Elemia gestured to where the staring human sailors still bore Sera in the sling. “She is bound in mental chains, but she yet struggles against them.” “Let her struggle no more.” Kelvirith raised his hand, and Sera sat up in the sling. “Treason is her crime, and death is her sentence.” “She will escape, Your Grace,” began Abbas, speaking to the King for the first time. “No,” said the King. “Her mind I have broken utterly now, and the beheading which shall follow hereafter is but her body joining her mind in death.” He glanced about the chamber. “But where is the priest? For in Sera's torments I saw his face often.” “He is dead, Your Grace.” Elemia was the one to reply. “It was his flesh which sealed the curse upon you.” “And it was his flesh which broke it.” Kelvirith raised Mirel's hand to his lips. “Child of Sera's child, child of the curse, child of the prophecy. You – what is your name? Or shall I call you 'love,' for that is what you are?”

Mirel seemed dazzled by the King's eyes. “I am called Mirel, if it pleases Your Grace.” “Call me by my name, please,” said Kelvirith, “for since my sister's departure for the heavens, no lips have spoken it to me.” “I am called Mirel, Kelvirith.” “And you are the flesh of the one who cursed me, sprung of the Order which my sister founded to give me a bride.” Kelvirith spoke to Mirel as though she were the only one in the chamber. “But she wasn't a novice,” Abbas whispered in Elemia's ear. “No, but she came from the Order nonetheless.” Elemia put her arms around Abbas's neck, ignoring the fact that they were in the throne room of the God-King. “She is my daughter and yours, and thus she is everything he needed. She is our love made flesh.” “And thus she is love itself made flesh.” Abbas held Elemia against him. “For your love is perfect.” “Our love.” Elemia smiled. At that instant, she heard a sound she had never thought to hear. Ahketh was weeping. He put his arms around Abbas, and Elemia stepped away from her husband. “I did not fail.” Ahketh's words were uneven, but he embraced Abbas with an emotion Elemia recognized for remorse. “I did not bring the world to ruin. I brought the King his bride after all.” “Now, come forth, you to whom I owe my life and love.” The King stood now before his throne, and on the throne he placed Mirel, kissing her brow. Elemia took Abbas's hand, pulling him away from Ahketh's grasp, and she and her husband came to stand before the God-King. All her life Elemia had been raised for the moment of standing before the King, but she had never thought of desiring him. She did not now. She did not envy her daughter the immortality the King would bestow upon his bride. She envied no one. “Speak your names, you whose images I see in my bride.” Abbas pressed Elemia's hand, and she knew he wished her to speak. “I am Elemia,” she said. “Once of the Order of Yuilan, now wedded to Abbas.” “And you neither of you have any other names.” The King did not phrase it as a question. The Rolador tattoos on their skin showed enough. “I will give you a new name and a clan to endure.”

Elemia's shot a wry glance at Abbas. Their clan would begin and end with them. “Forgive me,” said the King. “I had not noticed that.” Elemia blinked, realizing only then that, as she was to nontelepaths, so the King was to her. His divine nature laid all thoughts bare to him, but it went still further. He had to put forth no effort at all, merely to look upon thoughts as she looked upon objects. “Still,” continued the King, “it is little enough to show my gratitude. I will bestow on you such titles and lands as are fitting for your rank, and you shall dwell in Kartalon, beloved of the Queen and honored of the King.” **** Elemia sat in the window, looking out over the city of Kartalon. It was a busy city, full of merchants, traders, and most of all craftsmen. She sighed. Perhaps even more aspiring nobles than craftsmen. Three months they had dwelt in Kartalon, but though she rejoiced in Abbas and his love as much as ever, she found it difficult that he was so often taken from her by the duties of his position. The King had not given them a meaningless position, and Ausir nobles had many tasks and duties. Tasks and duties that required his constant interaction with other Ausir nobles. Elemia sighed again. She would not have minded if Abbas had been out hunting all that while, or trapping, or even constructing a new crossbow. To be forced to spend his hours with those who despised him as a half-blood – Elemia shook her head. She must not be ungrateful to the King. He had meant it for kindness. Mirel, her mortality purged away, was now accounted divine, like the King himself, and no Ausir in Kartalon held otherwise, even in thought. Elemia knew this, for their thoughts constantly washed around her. As for Abbas, he was despised, only escaping outright hatred because they considered him unworthy of so much attention as that. Yet still, day by day, they came to him, asking his favor for this or that, entreating him to put this request or that favor to the Queen. “As if we had any influence with Mirel.” Elemia spoke the words more to hear her own voice than any other reason. She could not endure the presence of the Ausir attendants, and she hid herself in her chambers to escape them. They looked down on Abbas, too. Were

it not that Elemia received a nearly equal portion of their disfavor, she would not have been able to stay in the city at all. So long as she was accounted an outcast along with Abbas, she could take comfort in that. She was proud to share everything with him, even disfavor. “Elemia!” Abbas burst into the chamber, and she ran to him. “You are early, beloved.” She kissed his lips and ran her fingers through his hair. “Have you ever met a half-breed besides me?” Abbas took her face in his hands and fixed her gaze with his glowing black ones. “Do you know anything of us?” “I have never met any other like you, beloved. Why?” “I saw it today, in the thoughts of some northern noble's son. He'd met a half-breed once. Elemia, I live only half as long as you.” “And?” Elemia waited for the rest of what had brought such dread to Abbas' face. “You've linked your fate to mine, Elemia. You've cut off half your life!” Abbas's dread blossomed into misery. “And they'll be glad to see you free of me. You belong here, Elemia, among these cultured and polished Ausir. I don't. I'm a bastard, raised by a priest of Veirakai to be a sacrifice and then rescued by a Rolador chief. Elemia, I didn't even know how to read until I learned it from your mind. The Rolador don't even have letters.” “Stop.” Elemia put her hands on Abbas's shoulders to end his babbling. “Beloved, this city is dragging you down. How can you even think that I have lost any life if mine ends with yours? Without you, I have no life. You are all the light of my days.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I had to live years without you, beloved, in the battle I fought with Sera. I know that twenty years passed outside us, but even in my mind, I felt the passage of dark and terrible years, time without you, though I knew that you were close to me. Had I not had that comfort, had I not known that it was for your sake and because you were near to me that I struggled, I could not have gone on. Do not ever speak of my having lost life because of our bond.” She kissed his lips again. “And it cannot be undone anyway, so you must accept it. But as for the rest – Abbas, I belong here no more than you.” She traced the tattoo on her cheek. “They may look down upon you for not being a pure-blooded Ausir, but they consider that I have betrayed my own kind by our joining and most especially by my keeping to our

ways.” She gestured to the Rolador fashions she wore. “In their eyes we share equally in degradation.” Abbas kissed her, and the hunger in his embrace told Elemia that her words of comfort had been effectual. One hand he thrust into her loose hair, yet another way Elemia disdained Ausir convention, and the other tugged on her shift, pulling it off her breast. Her nipples stiffened at the touch of his hand, and Elemia sighed into his kiss. The knocking of a servant on their door pulled Abbas up short. Elemia covered her breasts, and Abbas said, through gritted teeth, “Come in.” A footman escorted Ahketh into the room and bowed. The footman resumed his place outside the door and closed it behind him. “My Lady.” Ahketh bowed. “My Lord.” “What is it?” Abbas's frustrated arousal mingled with his earlier concerns, and Elemia saw in his clenched fists the effort it took him to restrain his temper. “The Order of Yuilan has been officially dissolved.” Ahketh smiled, a more common occurrence than at any time in Elemia's remembrance. “Yes?” Elemia prodded further. “Why do you tell us?” “Is there something you need of the Queen?” asked Abbas, and there was venom on his tongue. “Surely you don't need us to ask her for anything.” “No.” Ahketh seemed unruffled by Abbas's harshness. “And I am sorry, my lord, for everything. I am sorry for trying to steal your wife for my King, for costing you your child, for trying to kill you. For everything. I have asked your forgiveness, but now I would try to make amends.” “Make amends?” Elemia laughed, and the sound was bitter even in her own ears. “How can you do that? That is impossible.” “I can give you your hearts' desire,” said Ahketh. “I have her already.” Abbas took Elemia's hand. “But I can give you the only thing you two lack, privacy for each other.” Ahketh smiled, and Elemia recalled a distant memory of Ahketh's smile in her childhood. “You neither of you belong in Kartalon. You both know this, and I know it, too. But no more do you belong in any other kingdom of the world.” Elemia nodded, understanding Ahketh's full meaning. “The only realm I know is the realm of Abbas.”

“In my realm, there is only one Queen, and she is Elemia.” Abbas smiled at his wife, and as her heart leapt up, her nymphae dampened. “I have noticed,” said Ahketh. “And I have spoken to His Grace. The convent of the Order of Yuilan is to be made over to you both.” “We may leave?” Elemia's joy trembled as unshed tears in her eyes. “When?” Abbas grasped Ahketh's shoulder, nearly shaking the knight. “As soon as you like.” Ahketh pointed out the window to the Bay of Kartalon shining like an emerald in the light of the autumn sun. “That ship awaits your pleasure, and it can sail with the evening tide.” “We will be on it.” Elemia knew she spoke Abbas's desire as well as her own. “I will have your things taken to the ship, then.” Ahketh bowed, but he did not yet leave. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The slight discomfiture stood in such stark contrast with his usual steely composure that Elemia stared. He cleared his throat. “I wish…things had been different.” He looked from Abbas to Elemia. “Between us, I mean.” Elemia smiled, at last understanding the sense of finality that prompted his words. “Thank you, Master Ahketh.” Ahketh laid his hand on Elemia's shoulder, and then his knightly facade fell back over him like a cloak. “Fare you well, my Lady, my Lord.” And he was gone. “I'm not surprised he noticed we didn't belong,” said Abbas, as the door closed behind the knight. “But I am surprised that he cared at all. You should have heard how he reviled me on the journey here, blaming me for the war.” “It was himself he blamed,” said Elemia, twining her fingers into Abbas's hair. “Even had he succeeded in dividing us, he would have brought to his liege a woman marked by another man.” Here Elemia traced her tattoo with one hand, the other still in Abbas's hair. “One who had coupled with another man, one who had borne a child to another man, one who could give the King no child.” She kissed Abbas's lips. “If he had been correct that I was the bride of the God-

King, then he would have been bringing a wretchedly damaged bride indeed.” Abbas crushed her in his arms. “Not a damaged bride, but my very soul.” **** The winter sunlight was weak and fitful over the lake, but neither Abbas nor Elemia felt the cold. “Twenty years we missed, so today you are but nineteen, my soul.” “I could not have imagined that day the joy that lay ahead of me,” said Elemia. She wore a white gown, made in the image of Abbas's first gift to her, and he wore a matching tunic of white. “I first tasted your lips there.” She pointed to a rocky space at the water's edge. “I cannot forget the sweetness of them, and were I not able to taste them daily now, I should go mad with desire for them.” Abbas laughed, but Elemia went on. “I had to dance that day with but your double. Today, I would dance with you yourself, beloved.” “But I can't–” began Abbas. “You can.” Elemia laid her finger on his lips. “You have my telekinesis now, too. So, shall we dance upon the lake together?” Abbas did not speak. He took her hand in his and stepped out onto the surface of the lake. He danced with Elemia, throwing her into the air, where her own telekinesis caught her, only to lower herself back into his arms. His hands played over her body, and Elemia rejoiced at his desire for her, at his love of her. Behind them in the distance rose the high walls of their convent-home. It stood strong against the wintry world, alone but not lonely, just as they were themselves. Their dance admitted no other participant, and their life needed no one else. Rejected of the world, they had made a world of their own. **** Year by year they danced on the lake on that day. When they danced no more, Queen Mirel had the convent pulled down, but King Kelvirith summoned from the lake Abbas's old watery double and for it fashioned a mate in the image of Elemia. He placed them in the

center of the lake's still surface, statues of motionless yet everflowing water, Abbas and Elemia, each held forever in the other's arms.

The End

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