by C. L. Wilson
Just looking at her, Dilys could tell Spring would give him one Hel of a chase before he claimed her. Of course, she would think the claiming was all her idea, and he would be pleased to let her think so. He smiled broadly at the thought.
Dilys crossed the final distance of the plaza and came to a halt before the raised dais. His captains and their officers filed in to fill the space behind him, while the remainder of his men stood in neat formation in the main road.
The Winterman who had met Dilys at the docks to instruct him and his men on the protocols of the day now stepped forward and swept a deep bow to his king and queen.
“Your Graces, I present to you the Sealord Dilys Merimydion, son of the Myerial Alysaldria I, Lord Protector of Calberna, Keeper of the Golden Isle of Cali Kai Meri, Admiral of the First Fleet, Commander of the Seadragons, the most celebrated battlegroup of the Calbernan Navy, and Captain of the Kracken, flagship of the Seadragons.”
Dilys stood proud as his titles rolled off the tongue of the Winterman announcing him. When the introduction was concluded, he put his right fist across his left breast and bent slightly at the waist, keeping his head high, his gaze fixed on the Winter King. To bow deeply was to expose one’s neck, to offer vulnerability in a gesture of both trust and submission. Dilys and his men bowed that way to no man.
“Sealord Merimydion.” Wynter of the Craig, the White King, returned Dilys’s greeting with a nod of his own. “Six months ago you came to these shores as invaders, but today, my queen and I welcome you and your men to Wintercraig as honored guests. It is our hope that this day should mark the beginning of a long and prosperous friendship between our two nations.” The Winter King’s ice-blue eyes were cold and steady. A flurry of white swirled in those eyes, and the air around Dilys grew instantly frigid.
Most men—especially those dressed as lightly as Dilys and his Calbernari—would have turned blue with cold and begun shivering. But Calbernans, who lived and swam in all the depths of every ocean on the planet, were arguably the hardiest race in all of Mystral. They could regulate the temperature of their blood, and beneath their bronze skin grew a thin layer of insulating flesh that kept them cool in summer and warm even in the iciest depths of the sea.
So, as the temperature around him plummeted, Dilys’s body reacted instinctively, blood heating to counteract the effects of the cold. All the while, he held Wynter Atrialan’s gaze without fear. A small smiled played at the edges of his mouth.
He understood what was going on. The Winter King was just making sure Dilys knew that, though the Ice King had been defeated, the infamous power of the Ice Gaze was still Wynter Atrialan’s to call upon.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment of the warning. The snow faded from the Winter King’s gaze, and the air warmed again swiftly.
“Peace and friendship between our lands is my hope and the hope of the Myerial as well, Wynter of the Craig,” Dilys replied. His gaze fell upon the small, dark beauty standing beside Wintercraig’s king, and his small smile spread to an open grin of appreciation. She was resplendent in pale buttercup yellow, the mound of her advanced pregnancy clearly in evidence.
To her, he bowed deeply, an elegant, respectful, admiring sweep, and bared his neck. “And you, Queen Khamsin. Love and motherhood suit you even better than bravery and battle. You are exquisite. Doa akua, your husband, is a lucky man.”
“Thank you, Sealord Merimydion.” Wintercraig’s young queen smiled, even as the husband at her side gave Dilys a dark, suspicious look and edged closer to his wife.
Just to prick the Winter King in retaliation for his earlier icy warning, Dilys held his warm, deeply admiring glance a few seconds longer. Then he drew back, becoming all business as he introduced his fellow captains and their first officers.
“This handsome fellow is my cousin Arilon Calmyria, descendant of the great Myerial Siesulania V, Keeper of White Bay and the Sister Isles, Fleet Commander of the Stormriders, and Captain of the Orca.” Dilys and Ari could easily have been twins, they looked so alike. The only truly notable difference between them, besides Dilys’s slightly more impressive collection of tattoos, was that Ari stood three inches shorter than Dilys.
Ari bent slightly to Wynter, then gave a full, sweeping bow of Calbernan respect to Khamsin. As he rose, he met her gaze, his eyes sparkled with even more deep admiration and masculine appreciation than Dilys had shown for her womanly gifts.
“It is my pleasure indeed, Queen Khamsin of the Storms, to make your acquaintance.” Ari spoke in a sensual purr, his voice set on full simmer. “My cousin’s considerable praise these last months did not do you justice.” In last winter’s invasion, Ari had remained with the ships just off the coast of Wintercraig, protecting the beachhead and the invaders’ flank while Dilys and his men met up with Falcon; thus Ari had not fought the Ice King nor met Khamsin.
Khamsin’s cheeks turned a dusky rose as Ari focused his considerable charms on her. “The . . . ah . . . pleasure is mine, Sealord Calmyria,” she replied in a somewhat breathless voice. A faint growl rose in Wynter’s throat, which only made Ari’s warm smile widen and grow warmer.
Dilys gave him a subtle kick in the ankle as he moved to introduce the next Calbernan nobles who had accompanied him up to the terrace. “And this fine son of the sea is my cousin Ryllian Ocea, descendent of the Myerial Kailuani III, Keeper of Silversands Isle, Fleet Commander of the Wavedancers, and Captain of the Narwhal.” Ryll was as dangerous and fearsome a Calbernan as they came, as well as being a master sailor who could steer a galleon through rocky shoals in a dense fog without receiving the tiniest scratch on the hull of his vessel. He had an uncanny sense of waves and currents and exactly how they would react at any given time. Dilys could control the seas, but Ryll could become them.
Though Ryll could be every bit as provocative as Ari or Dilys, he’d obviously decided they’d pulled the wolf’s tail enough. He bent his spine to Wynter, bowed deeply to Khamsin, but kept his considerable masculine charms under tight wraps as Dilys continued to introduce the rest of their fellow captains and first officers.
“Welcome, Sealords,” Khamsin said with a smile when he was done, “and it is my pleasure to introduce you to my sisters, the Seasons of Summerlea. Their Royal Highnesses, the Princesses Spring, Summer, and Autumn Coruscate.”
“Myerialannas,” Dilys let his expression show his profound appreciation for each of them. “It is with great joy I greet you.” He tried—and failed—to catch the little honeyrose’s eye, but the other two met his gaze and nodded their acknowledgement of his greeting.
“Sealord,” said Spring, her tone as cool as a frosty morning.
“Sealord.” The exotic Autumn arched one haughty brow and looked down her slender nose.
He grinned at them both.
“Sealord,” whispered Summer, her eyes fixed upon his Adam’s apple.
She really wasn’t much smaller than her other sisters, he realized. She was just so slender and slightly built that, coupled with her timid demeanor, she seemed much more delicate and fragile. And he clearly made her nervous. The pulse in her neck was fluttering like a trapped bird, and she was doing everything in her power not to attract his attention.
Taking pity on her, he turned his attention back to Wintercraig’s young queen. Now here was a woman who had proved her mettle in every way possible. Had she not already been wed and to a man she loved when they first met six months ago—he would not have left Wintercraig without her.
“It is our pleasure to welcome you and your men as our guests for the next three months,” Khamsin said. “Sealord Merimydion, as we discussed in our previous communications, we have prepared accommodations in the palace for you and your officers. Are you certain you prefer the rest of your men to remain quartered on your ships?”
“I do.” It seemed wiser. His men had, after all, last come to Wintercraig as invaders. Keeping them aboard ship at night seemed the safer course, in case any of the Winterfolk held a grudge. He did not want violen
ce to mar this opportunity for him and his men to find lianas and forge ties with Wintercraig.
“Very good. The folk of Konumarr have prepared a celebration to welcome you and your men to Wintercraig. Sealord Merimydion, if you will come this way to help us start the festivities.” She turned to her husband and held out her hand. Together, with Dilys beside them, they walked to the edge of terrace overlooking the city.
They looked out over the gathered throngs of Calbernans, Winterfolk, and Summerlanders, and in a carrying voice, Wynter began to speak. “Six months ago, Sealord Dilys Merimydion of Calberna and the men accompanying him today came to the shores of our kingdom. They came as invaders, unaware that Rorjak the Ice King had arisen. But Queen Khamsin, wise and brave beyond her years, convinced the Sealord and his men to fight with us rather than against us. Thanks to our queen’s wisdom, courage, and weathergifts, the bravery of our own people, and the Calbernans’ renowned skill in battle, the Ice King was defeated. Together, Winterfolk and Calbernans—led by Queen Khamsin and this man, Sealord Dilys Merimydion—saved me, saved Wintercraig, and saved the whole of Mystral.”
A raucous cheer went up, and this time there was no doubting the genuine enthusiasm sent up by Winterfolk, Summerlanders, and Calbernans alike.
“In thanks, we have invited the Calbernans who participated in that victory to return today and live among us for the next three months as trusted friends. It is the custom of Calbernan men to seek wives from among the women of other lands, and the privilege of courting wives from those of you willing to entertain the possibility of such a union was one of the tokens of gratitude Queen Khamsin agreed to in return for the Calbernans vital assistance in defeating the Ice King.”
Now Khamsin stepped forward, and her voice rang out, carrying on a controlled breeze. “For the next three months, these men will live among us. Use this time to get to know them. Wedding a foreigner, leaving your home and all that you know is a big decision, not to be undertaken lightly. Take your time. Make the choice that is right for you, but make it freely. To wed or not is your decision.”
“My queen is absolutely right,” Wynter added in a firm voice. “These men were guaranteed three months to court a wife, not the certainty that they would find one. If any of you feel pressured in any way, come to me or the Queen immediately, and we will put a stop to it.” His hard gaze swept over the Calbernan horde.
Standing beside Wynter, Dilys arched a brow, amused rather than offended by the suggestion that a Calbernan would ever need forceful means to win his liana. If a woman was unattached and in possession of a pulse, she would not long remain unwilling in the face of a determined Calbernan’s courtship.
“Above all,” Wynter continued, “know that whatever you choose, you will always have a home here. There is work, food, and shelter in Wintercraig or Summerlea for any woman or child who desires it. Those of you who choose to wed and leave, know that you go to Calberna with our blessing. And to any Calbernan who takes a wife from among the citizens of Summerlea or Wintercraig, know that should you so desire, you would be welcome to stay here, with your wife, as a citizen of this kingdom.”
Dilys kept his easy smile. No true Calbernan would abandon his homeland to become oulani. Calberna was built on the devotion of its sons and the strength of its women. And while fate had necessitated that most sons of Calberna find their mates from among the other peoples of Mystral, a Calbernan and his liana returned to Calberna—always.
Khamsin glanced up at him. “Sealord? Would you like to add a few words of your own?”
He nodded and stepped up to the balustrade to address the crowd. “First, I wish to thank King Wynter and his brave and gracious liana, Queen Khamsin, for their kind welcome. My men and I look forward to our time among you, and to returning to Calberna in three months’ time with lianas of our own by our sides. My men are well capable of speaking for themselves, but on their behalf—and my own—I will just say this. In Calberna, our women—all women—are treasured. A Calberna’s devotion to his liana is unwavering and eternal. Your joy is our joy. Your happiness and comfort our sacred duty. No woman has ever regretted taking a Calbernan to mate, nor ever will. The decision to wed is your choice, but if your choice is to wed a Calbernan”—he turned to direct his last words to the Seasons, and for the first time caught gentle Summer’s startled blue gaze full-on—“you will never make a better one.”
Her eyes were like the clearest waters. A pure, deep, sparkling blue, shimmering with light and warmth and inviting waves. They called to him, those eyes, as surely as the sea itself, and for one instant, the world fell away and he was diving deep and fast, into endless, magical, beautiful blue. In that instant, he felt a perfect peace, a sense of rightness he couldn’t explain. Like finding home after a lifetime of wandering.
A loud wave of sound crashed over him, dragging him back to the surface, to reality. He sucked in air, as breathless as if he truly had dived deep, and turned to see the crowds cheering, and the celebration begun.
Queen Khamsin was saying something. He frowned and tried to focus his rattled brain into some semblance of coherent thought.
“—a feast prepared for you and your officers at the palace.” She waved a hand towards the wide stone bridge that crossed the fjord to the sprawling palace on the northern shore.
He forced a smile. What had she said? Something about following her to a feast? She was looking at him expectantly, her body half turned as if to leave. He took a step, and knew he’d chosen correctly when she smiled, took her husband’s arm, and began to lead the way.
He glanced back at the Seasons, but where there had been three, only two remained.
Summer was gone.
Summer Sun!
Gabriella leaned against the cool stone wall, behind a stack of boxes piled in a shadowed alley off Ragnar Square, and pressed a hand against her frantically beating heart.
What in Helos’s name had just happened? The Calbernan had turned unexpectedly and caught her gaze upon him and then . . .
She dragged in a breath, then another. Ragged. Shaken. She couldn’t even begin to describe what had happened. It was as if, with one look, he’d dived into the deepest, most secret parts of her soul, places no one—not even she—had ever been.
Then he was gone, as abruptly as he’d come, and now there was something inside her that hadn’t been there before. An empty, aching void. As if part of her was missing. A part that he had taken—and that only he could give back.
Shivering, hot and cold all at once, she wrapped her arms around her waist.
Was it possible he’d worked some sort of enchantment on her? Would he dare? Had he just stood beside her sister and her sister’s husband, agreed that all women would have the freedom to choose whether to take a Calbernan husband, and then cast some sort of spell on her to make her want him so desperately?
As soon as the last thought formed in her mind, she laughed at her own absurdity. Why would she assume he’d taken one look at her and decided she was the one he wanted, through fair means or foul? When she was surrounded by her two far more desirable sisters?
No. No, it was much more likely that the shocking sensation that had swept over her when their eyes met was a product of her own imagination and her astonishingly powerful attraction to him.
She’d never in her life looked at a man and felt like a starving beggar standing before a sumptuous feast. She’d all but licked her lips at the sight of him! Even now, just the thought of all that bronze, shimmering, tattooed skin, corded muscles flexing with the slightest movement, made hot blood pool in every one of her womanly parts.
One thing was certain. She could never—ever—allow herself to be alone with him. Helos only knew what she might do.
“Summer?”
The sound of Spring’s voice made Summer jump and leap out from her hiding spot.
Her older sister regarded her with concern. “Are you all right, dearest?”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s just t
hat you disappeared so abruptly.” Cool, too-observant eyes did a short but thorough scan, not missing the hectic color in Summer’s flushed cheeks. “Are you not feeling well, sweeting? Should I summon Tildy?”
“No!” Sweet Halla, the last thing Summer wanted was their childhood nurse, Tildavera Greenleaf, examining her. The canny old woman had an unnerving knack for divining exactly what ailed a person.
Aware that her protest was more a bit too forceful, Summer smoothed her hair back off her face and forced her nerves to calm. “No,” she said again in a much more subdued voice. “I’m fine. Something from breakfast didn’t entirely agree with me, but I’m already much better.” The lie fell easily from her lips, and she dragged her customary serene mask firmly back into place. “We’d better get going before our suitor thinks we’ve run off.”
“I doubt he’s even noticed our absence.” Spring’s mouth quirked. “Autumn is with him.”
Somehow, Summer managed to summon a grin and a laugh. That seemed to allay any of Spring’s remaining suspicions, and the pair of them walked arm in arm back to the palace, hanging back a far enough distance from Calberna’s prince that Summer managed to get her panic under control.
As they walked, Konumarr City came alive with music and laughter and took on a carnival-like atmosphere. Jugglers, acrobats, fire dancers, and musicians took to the streets, providing entertainment from every corner and plaza. Already, scores of women bold enough to mingle with the Calbernans found themselves surrounded by openly admiring men, each vying for attention. Summer watched a brave child approach one of the men and reached out to touch his shimmering blue tattoos. When he knelt down to show them off, a dozen children and almost as many young women flocked round. People were smiling, food and ale was flowing. The ice had been broken.
The reception Khamsin and Wynter were hosting across the fjord in the palace’s western gardens was slightly more subdued than the celebrations of the city, but no less welcoming. A small orchestra played from a candlelit grotto, tables overflowed with the bounty of Summerlea and Wintercraig, and scores of nobles, wealthy merchants, and tradesmen, as well as unattached ladies of both noble and gentle birth had gathered to make the acquaintance of Calberna’s officers.