by Nora Roberts
TIME was short, and the risk worth taking. Armed, Thane hurried through the tunnels and chanced the daylight to find Gwayne.
“This isn’t your place, or your time,” Gwayne told him. “We are moving at sunset and still have much to prepare.”
“Lorcan sent six hunters out nearly an hour ago. They’ll come this way. If they find you and even one escapes, you’ll fight your battle here rather than on your chosen ground.”
“Are these men loyal to Lorcan?”
“Loyalty is cheap here.”
Gwayne fingered the hilt of his sword. “Then we’d best offer them a dearer coin.”
Aurora chose white, the color of truth, for her gown. In her vision she had worn red, the color of blood. So she made this change deliberately, and hopefully. But not foolishly. The long, flowing sleeves hid the dagger she strapped to her wrist. Over Cyra’s objections, she left her hair down, falling straight to her waist and unadorned. And in a gesture of pride and defiance, she pinned her mother’s brooch to the gown between her breasts.
“He might recognize it,” Rhiann objected.
“If he does, it will be too late.” She took the globe and the star. “I’ll need these.” She slipped them into a white velvet purse. Turning from the looking glass, she held out her hands, one to Cyra, one to Rhiann. “You’ve been mother and sister to me. Whatever changes tonight, nothing changes that. I ask that you see my beloved’s mother and sister safe. If the light doesn’t shine for the midnight hour, you’re to take them to the Valley of Secrets, where Leia bides, and seek sanctuary. Your vow on it.”
“Aurora,” Rhiann began.
“Your vow on it,” Aurora insisted. “I can only do what I must do with a clear heart and mind.”
“Then you have it. But the light will shine.”
THANE waited until the mounted hunter was directly below the bough, then leapt upon him. The force sent them both tumbling to the ground, and the alarmed horse shied.
Before a breath could be taken, Thane had his sword at the man’s throat. “Call out,” he said quietly, “and it will be the last sound you make.”
“Thane of the stables?” There was as much shock as fear in the tone; “What recklessness is this? I am on king’s business.”
“It is a new day,” Thane said, then hauled the man to his feet. “Take him off with the others.” He shoved the hunter toward two of the rebels who waited in the shelter of the trees. “His bow and quiver will be useful. Tell Gwayne I’ve gone back. I will be listening.”
With a sense of purpose in every stride, he hurried back to the stables. Whatever happened, he would not pass another night there, sleeping on the floor like an animal. Tonight his family would be free, and he would live—or die—in the service of his lady.
“You’re late,” Kern complained the moment Thane climbed through the passage.
“I had business.”
“You’ve had considerable here as well, which I’ve seen to. Guests are still arriving, and their horses require care. You might have been missed if I hadn’t been here to deal with it.”
“I’ll tend the horses, then I am done will this. I swear if I have any say over what’s done, whoever takes my place here will have decent quarters and payment for his labors.”
With some reluctance Thane unstrapped his sheath.
“I said I tended the horses. You’ve no need to labor over them again.” Lips pursed, Kern circled Thane. “It will be considerable labor to tend to you.”
“What? What’s wrong with me?”
Kern pinched one of Thane’s ragged sleeves between his fingers. “Nothing a bath and a barber and a tailor of some skill can’t fix. But we’ve no time for all of that. I’ll just have to see to it myself.”
“I don’t need a bloody barber before a battle.”
“You need one before a masque. But the bath first. Believe me, you can use one.”
Kern snapped his fingers twice and conjured a copper tub full of steaming water.
“I’m not going to the masque, but to the dungeons to help free the prisoners. I don’t think they’ll care if I smell sweet or not.”
“The prisoners are being freed even now.”
“Now?” Even as Thane reached for his sword, Kern waved a hand. And Thane was naked.
“For the sake of the gods!”
“You’re not needed. My kind are adept at getting into locked places.” Kern grinned. “We enjoy it. You’ll be needed at the masque, and you won’t get past the guards unless you’re bathed, groomed, and properly attired. The tub, boy.”
“I’ll stand with Gwayne, lead—” He found himself in the tub, immersed. He came up sputtering.
“You waste breath arguing. Are you afraid to go to a ball?”
“I’m not going to dance, thundering hell. I’m going to fight.”
“And so you may. But if and when, you fight by her side. To get to her side, you need what I’ll give you. Wash.” Kern circled the tub while Thane sulked and scrubbed.
“Is this the queen’s bidding?”
“No. But she will be pleased enough. It is her wish and her will to take the throne with as little blood as possible. The magicks have agreed to aid her in this,” he added as Thane’s head came up sharply. “We will enchant the guards to sleep, and the walls will be breached without sword. No man will die in the city or outside the keep. But inside, Lorcan’s power must be faced and vanquished, or she cannot rule. There is the battle. Dark against light. The pure against the corrupt. And there you must be.”
Kern tapped his finger to his lips, considering as Thane hauled himself out of the tub. “Simplicity, I think,” he stated and, wagging his finger, garbed Thane in royal blue with tiny flecks of gold. “No, no, not quite.”
Thane scowled at the lace spilling over his wrists. “I feel like a fool.”
“As long as you don’t behave as one, we’ll have no problem.” He changed the blue to black, the gold to silver, and nodding, drew Thane’s hair back in a short queue. “Dress swords only.” He snapped and had a jeweled-handled sword in the silver sheath.
Pleased for the first time by the turn of events, Thane drew the sword. “A fine weapon. Good balance.”
“It was your father’s.”
Thane lowered the sword and stared into the eyes of his teacher. “Thank you. I fail, too often, to thank you.”
“Meet your destiny, and that is thanks enough. One last touch.” Kern waved a hand and covered the top of Thane’s face with a black domino.
“Take your place,” Kern said quietly. “Stay true to your blood and your heart. The world rests on what passes tonight.”
AURORA held herself straight, fixed a flirtatious smile on her face, and stepped into the great hall. Music was playing, and already lines were set for dancing. Tables groaned with platters of food, and hundreds of candles streamed light.
Dress was elaborate, with feathers and furs, high headdresses and flowing trains. She saw Lorcan drinking deeply of wine, with his queen pale and silent beside him.
The first order, she thought, was to separate them so Brynn and Dira could be spirited away to safety. Despite the masks and costumes, she had little trouble in locating Owen and staying out of his line of sight. She walked directly to the king, curtsied.
“Majesty, my humble thanks for the invitation to so lively a celebration.”
“The voice is familiar, as is . . . the form.” He tapped a finger under his chin, studied her smile and the eyes that looked out of a sparkling silver mask. “What is the name?”
“Sire, the guessing is the game.” She trailed a finger down his arm in a daring move. “At least until the hour strikes twelve and we are unmasked. Might I beg for a cup of wine?”
“Asking is enough.” He snapped his fingers and a servant hurried over. Deliberately, Aurora shifted to look back at the dancing, and had Lorcan turning his back on his wife. “Would you care to take a turn of the room with me?”
“Delighted and charmed.” He of
fered her his arm. “I believe I have guessed this game, Lady Aurora. You are, I believe, the most daring of the maidens here.”
“One expects a king to be wise and clever, and you are, sire.” She lifted her glass as they walked, and saw Rhiann nod. The first move would be made.
She chattered, commenting on the costumes, complimenting the music, knowing that she would soon circle toward Owen. But while she did, Brynn and Dira would be safely away. As would her own women.
“Lovely lady.” Aurora’s heart stopped at the voice when the courtier in black bowed in front of her. “Might I steal you away for a dance?”
Struggling to gather her scattered wits, she inclined her head. “If His Majesty permits.”
“Yes, yes, go.” He waved her away and held out his cup for more wine.
“Are you mad?” Aurora said under her breath.
“If love is madness, I am so afflicted.” Thane led her across the room, and hoped it was far enough away. “But the fact is, I don’t dance. Would that I did. You are so beautiful tonight.”
“Do something,” she hissed.
“I’ll feed you.” He began to pile a plate with delicacies. “It’s something flirtatious courtiers do for ladies at balls—so I’ve seen when I’ve spied on them. Sugarplum?” Grinning, he held one up to her lips.
She bit in and laughed. “You are mad. I’m so glad to see you. I want to touch you, and dare not. Your mother and sister are being taken to safety.”
“I saw them go. I can never repay you.”
“Learn to dance, then one day promise to dance with me.”
“On my oath. If I could, I would whisk you out on the terrace, kiss your lips in the light of the rising moon. And there would only be music and moonlight for us.” He took her hand, brushed a kiss over it. “I know what you’ve planned with the magicks. You should have told me.”
“I was afraid you and Gwayne would never agree. You wish for blood—both of you, and you’ve earned it—both of you. I’m denying you your right.”
“I would not have agreed.” His eyes lifted to hers with a sudden shock of power. “I do not agree. There are bruises on your throat, beloved. You didn’t quite cover them.”
“Have they any more import than those he put on you?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
“Find another kitten to stroke.” Owen snapped out the order, shoving Thane aside. Even as Thane’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword, Aurora stepped between them. “Sir,” she said lightly to Owen, “I am no kitten.”
“A cat, more like, rubbing herself against any willing leg.”
“If you think so of me, I’m surprised you would spend a moment in my company.” She started to turn away, resisted when Owen took her arm. With her back to him she mouthed Not yet to Thane, then faced Owen once more. “You make a spectacle of us, my lord. The king will not approve.”
Owen took her hand, squeezing until her fingers ground bone to bone. He leaned close and spoke in a voice like silk. “I will not choose you. But I will have you. Had you been more agreeable, you would have been queen.”
She saw two of the king’s personal guards rush into the hall, heard the clamor, and knew the rebels were over the walls and through the tunnels.
She stepped back and, over the shouts, spoke clearly. “I am queen.”
11
“YOU will have nothing,” she said. “For nothing is what you have earned. Your time is ended, and mine begins. The hour is about to strike.”
“No woman speaks so to me.” Owen drew back his hand. And Thane’s sword was out and at his throat.
“Touch her, and I will slice your hand off at the wrist.” With his free hand Thane pulled off his mask. “Don’t interfere,” he said to Aurora. “I’m not a man if I don’t stand for myself and my lady, at long last.”
“Your lady,” Owen spat.
“My lady, and my queen.” Thane stepped back a pace. “Draw your sword.”
Chaos was already reigning as guards battled the rebels who charged into the hall. Lords and courtiers dragged screaming women away from the fray, or simply left them and scrambled for cover themselves. Aurora cast aside her own mask and called out for a sword. She would have no choice now but to fight her way to Lorcan and cut off any chance of escape.
Owen pulled his sword. “Stableboy, I will cut you apart, piece by piece, and feed you to my dogs.”
With a thin smile, Thane made a mocking salute with his sword. “Will you fight, you tedious braggart, or simply talk me to death?”
Owen came in fast, striking, thrusting, and Thane felt his blood sing. Their swords crossed, slid hilt to hilt, and he grinned between the lethal vee. “I have dreamed of this.”
“You dream your own death.”
They broke apart, and steel flashed against steel.
Wielding a sword of her own, Aurora slashed blades aside, shoved a swooning woman into a courtier’s arms, then whirled to fight back to back with Gwayne.
“Outside?” she shouted. “The walls, the tunnels.”
“It’s done. This is all that’s left. The faeries hold them fast, and the dungeons are clear.”
“Then we end this.” She looked toward Lorcan and saw his sword was bright with blood. “We take him.”
With Gwayne, she fought her way to the king. They battled through the panicked guests, leaping over the fallen and the fainting to be joined by others as she called them to arms. They pressed the outnumbered guards to the walls, and Aurora locked swords with Lorcan.
“You may take me,” she said calmly. “I think you won’t, but you may. If you do, these men will cut you down. You will not live through this night unless you lay down your sword.”
“You will be hanged.” His eyes burned black. There was blood on his hands, she saw. As there was on hers. “You will be drawn, quartered, and hanged.”
“Lay down your sword, Lorcan the usurper, or I will end this in death after all.”
“There will be death.” But he threw down his sword. “It will be yours.”
“Tell your guards to lay down their weapons. You’re outnumbered here. Tell them to lay down their weapons so you might hear my terms.”
“Enough!” He shouted it with Aurora’s sword to his throat. “Lay down your swords. Your king commands you.”
The sounds of clashing steel dimmed until there was only Thane’s blade against Owen’s.
“Let him finish,” she said to Gwayne. “The hour has not yet struck. This is his time, not mine, and he must live it. Put Lorcan on the throne he values so much, and hold him there.”
Across the hall the two men fought like demons. Winded, Owen hacked and cleaved, and cursed when Thane’s sword flicked his away. Enraged, he grabbed a candlestand and heaved it, following with vicious sweeps as Thane dodged aside and spun back into attack.
“You are too used to sparring with soldiers who are beaten or banished if they dare best you,” Thane taunted. “Now that it’s your life—” Thane slashed, and cut neatly through Owen’s silk doublet to score the flesh—“You’re clumsy.”
“You are nothing! Coward, whipping boy.”
“I carry your scars.” Thane sliced the point of his sword down Owen’s cheek. “Now you carry mine. And that is enough.”