Mykh stared at Corinne across the tumult, reliving his helplessness before the Gray Sorceress’s evil. He identified her with one word. “Sorceress.”
“Dammit, Mykh, don’t you realize what could have happened . . .” She flinched at the look in his eyes.
He had to remove her now before he took Dragon’s Breath to her, as he’d destroyed the Gray Sorceress.
“Leave me now while I remember that you can do good, before I consider the harm you have done before and may do again in the future. Begone before I wrap Izmir’s Curse around your wrists!”
“You ungrateful brute!”
Mykh cursed as he reached for Corinne’s wrists. Didn’t she realize how desperate he was? That this was the only way to protect her from himself?
Mazur sprang between them, his teeth bared and tail lashing. Corinne lunged for Mazur’s collar, but the leopard snarled deep in his throat and showed his fangs. Mykh took a step closer and Mazur crouched to spring at him.
Even that didn’t sway Mykh’s decision to send her away. He’d kill as often as needed to ensure her safety and Torhtremer’s.
But the gods of war were kind to him in this much, when they removed that need. Mykh set Dragon’s Breath’s point down and rested his hands on the pommel as he watched his wife turn and run away from him. Mazur growled again at Mykh, then loped after her.
And if they were more merciful, they’d send him death before he saw that look on her face again.
It was the last watch before dawn when Mykh entered the throne room, still wearing his formal attire. He settled on the Dragon Throne with a bone-deep sigh, after removing his sword, then leaned back against the warm dragon scales. He could see reflections of Khyber’s golden eyes staring straight ahead in the marble columns.
“Are you done playing your mortal games yet?” Khyber inquired acidly.
“Yes, we’ve taken all the necessary steps.” Mykh wondered why he’d come here when he knew Khyber would lecture him. He rubbed his aching head and wished that he’d eaten since that thrice-damned banquet. “We’ve signaled the army and navy, we’ve issued warnings to the diplomats, we . . .”
“Was it also necessary to terrorize and dismiss the only person who can help you?”
“She’s a sorceress! Dammit, you know they can never be trusted,” Mykh defended himself, unwilling to admit being trapped in the old nightmare. He’d never told anyone all that had happened in the Gray Sorceress’s realm, not even Khyber.
“Would you care to describe what would have happened if she hadn’t acted? You can begin by reckoning the number most likely to die. A hundred? Or every guest in the hall, perhaps five hundred?”
“Or more, if he’d gotten into the people outside,” Mykh agreed quietly.
There was a short silence.
“Well, you’ve learned that much at least,” Khyber said grudgingly. “What do you want from me?”
“How do I defeat him? It took every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms capable of bearing arms to destroy his army once. Yet he lives on.”
Khyber stretched then coiled his long neck so he could look at Mykh easily, with his chin resting on the floor. Mykh adjusted his posture for the long lecture to come.
“What do you know of him?”
“He is the Terrapinheart. Ever since he stole immortality’s secret from the last white sorcerers, he has ruled the North like a ravaging beast.”
“Continue.”
“What else is there to tell? The ice storms are bad and grow worse with every year. Winter lasts longer, while summer is cooler and shorter than the old scrolls say. All the seasons are out of balance with each other.”
Khyber considered one very long claw. “Do you see any patterns there?”
Mykh flogged his tired brain. “Balance?” he suggested. “The Terrapinheart has upset the harmony between the four directions?”
“Precisely. An excellent description of the current situation.” Khyber studied another claw. “Knowing that, how would you suggest achieving equilibrium again?”
“If I, as Dragonheart, attack him personally . . .”
“Do you really believe that Dragonheart fighting alone against Terrapinheart can reset the scales?”
“No,” Mykh admitted.
“Correct. Try again.” Khyber polished his claws on his scales, glowing eyes resting on Mykh.
“Can you kill him?”
“Much as I would like to, no. Every celestial beast is forbidden to kill one another or their catalyst. Otherwise the Imperial Terrapin would have attacked me long before now.”
Mykh grunted unhappily but didn’t argue.
“You may remember from Tajzyk’s Gorge that he can summon Azherbhai, as you can bring me into existence when you’re away from this throne. Difficult and time-consuming for you because you’re not a sorcerer. Easy for him, because he is a sorcerer.”
“You’re saying that I have to kill the Dark Warrior, while holding off the Imperial Terrapin.”
“Impossible. One catalyst against the other strikes an equal balance, even with their celestial beasts present. But two facing one makes change possible.”
“Tigerheart or Phoenixheart must be my ally then.”
“Unless you mean to wait until your true-born son, another Dragonheart, stands beside you.”
“There is no time for that. The Dark Warrior will attack again within days or hours.” Mykh fell silent, considering his options. Inviting the Phoenixheart meant risking that the great southern deserts would increase to the north, toward or perhaps into Torhtremer. The other choice was the Tigerheart, that rarest catalyst of all.
“Corinne is the Tigerheart,” he said slowly. “The lights shine for her and the Tiger Throne’s eyes glow.”
“Correct analysis. Yes, she is the one who can help you defeat the Dark Warrior.”
“She’s a sorceress!”
“You keep bleating that as if she carried Zemlayan fire ants in her robes,” Khyber complained. “Are you saying that you’d prefer to see the Imperial Terrapin seize the Seven Kingdoms, rather than charm a woman?”
“No, of course not,” Mykh snapped back.
“Then will you act the High King and do your duty?” the dragon inquired.
“I have to, mustn’t I?” Mykh snarled. He stared into the shadows, his heart bleak.
Corinne crept into the throne room just before dawn, when the great chamber was at its darkest and shadows lurked behind every column and in every corner. Her long silver robe with its charcoal gray embroidery made her look and feel like a ghost. As if sensing her loneliness, the silver shells held mere traces of light.
Mazur glided silently beside her, his ears pricked for the least sound.
She sank down on the Tiger Throne with a sigh, tucking her feet up under her and wrapping her arms around her knees. The throne quickly warmed and softened under her, reminding her of sleeping next to her neighbor’s Maine coon cat as a child. Mazur settled on the floor next to her in a sphinx’s posture, ready to defend her.
Svetlhana? Corinne whispered.
Da, little sister, I am here. Svetlhana’s voice was very gentle. Men are selfish pigs sometimes but we must forgive them.
It’d be more fun to kill him, Corinne tried for some humor. In some gory fashion, like a bad horror movie.
Boiling in oil might teach him a lesson, Svetlhana agreed.
Silence stretched between them before Svetlhana spoke again. What will you do now?
What I must. I will be his Companion and do my best to heal him.
You are very generous.
I love Torhtremer. I have spent ten years dreaming of it and seven years writing of its greatest hours. I can’t let anything happen to my friends now, not when I can help them.
Do not underestimate tomorrow’s obstacles, Svetlhana warned. The Advent of the White Horses will be very difficult, even if you two were at ease with each other.
I figure I must focus solely on being the best Companion possible and
not think of anything else. I’ll have to stop worrying about Celeste. She had to let her sister go, trusting that she’d survive somehow. Any distraction tomorrow would ruin her chances of pulling this off.
And all I ever wanted was to make a good marriage, she mused. Now here I am, married to a king no less. But I’d rather be married to a mechanic who loved me.
Svetlhana was wisely silent, although the throne warmed against Corinne’s cheek in a sympathetic gesture.
Her throat was tight but she’d long since run out of tears. She had to succeed in healing Mykh. Maybe then he’d find somebody else to give him a son and she could go explore the rest of Torhtremer. She didn’t think she could stand to be pregnant, knowing that he hated her.
She turned away from her personal agony to Svetlhana’s future. Maybe when this is over, we can find some mint fields. I’ll summon you and you can play there.
And Khyber, too, Svetlhana agreed. The big lizard can be so silly when he rolls around like a cub. It is vast fun to see him like that and very different from flying with him, when he is so thrilling. She lingered over the last word until it sounded like a description of untold delights. What a male he is, she purred in a tone that confirmed the carnal direction of her thoughts.
Corinne sat bolt upright, Celeste’s plight totally forgotten in her surprise. Her author’s instincts had never taken her in this romantic direction before. Is Khyber your mate? she demanded.
But of course he is, little sister. Svetlhana sounded surprised. Didn’t you know? The green dragon is the only true mate for the white tiger. And if we are ever summoned at the same time, her voice lowered suggestively, then we are free to live in Torhtremer. Unconfined to these thrones or the weapons that can call us. We can play in the sunshine, we can fly. Her voice deepened. We can love. Oh, such loving!
Forever? Corinne squeaked, her mind boggling at the thought of Khyber and Svetlhana making love.
For as long as Dragonheart and Tigerheart live, we can love one another in the flesh.
Both fell silent, considering that image.
I wish, Corinne murmured, I wish that Mykh and I could love each other that much.
SIX
Corinne tapped Mazur’s nose with the condor feather and laughed when he spluttered. He sneezed and batted at the long feather, but she still tickled his cheek with it. His head twisted away from it as his paw tried to catch it. He hopped when she bounced it against his chest and finally dived playfully after the torment as she dragged it along the path before him. They laughed together when the feather escaped his pounce in the early morning light.
Mazur mock growled and attacked again. Corinne knew that he’d play with the feather like a kitten for as long as she was interested, especially since her status as Tigerheart somehow made her fast enough to keep up with him. He’d played with a red ball while she ate her breakfast, his antics distracting her from another round of rice pudding and tea. At least the tea had been a lovely iced, sweetened version that tasted better than anything she’d ever found in a Georgia diner.
Mazur was such a good friend, never speaking of why she was so quiet. The perfect companion, he’d play if she wanted amusement or snuggle next to her when she wanted company. It wasn’t his fault that she longed for a tall, red-haired warrior with a rotten temper.
The maids were just as protective, treating her as if she were made of glass. They’d pampered her with a relaxing bath and massage the night before without once hinting, by so much as a stray glance, how odd it was that the Companion slept without the High King. In fact, she’d overheard some of them grumbling about what selfish wretches men were. Now the maids assembled inside, allowing her privacy in the few remaining moments before the day’s first ceremonies.
Eyes half-shut, Mazur sat erect on the path, pretending he didn’t notice the feather tickling his paw, although one eye was looking stealthily down. Suddenly his ears pricked and his eyes opened. He stared straight ahead then hissed and sprang to his feet.
“Mazur?” Corinne questioned. “What is it?” The leopard ran past her, his tail bottling in indignation. She spun around to see what had disturbed him.
Mykh stood under the portico at the top of the steps leading down into the great rose garden, looking as he had when she first saw him. He was dressed in the simple black leathers of a mercenary captain—long black vest laced neatly down the front, black trousers, high black boots, wide cuffs at his wrists. His beautiful hair hung loose, tamed only by a small braid at each temple. He carried no visible weapon, not even his sword, Dragon’s Breath. He looked like a man and not a High King to be feared.
He stepped away from the column when he saw her looking at him. “Corinne,” he said quietly.
Suddenly a black shadow flew up the steps and nipped the man’s ankle. “You thrice-damned furball!” Mykh cursed, trying to jerk his leg free. His hasty movement combined with Mazur’s momentum to send him stumbling backwards. Corinne ran forwards, shouting at Mazur to stop.
A huge splash erupted from the pool, sending water flying upwards and out between the columns. Corinne dodged the spray and leaped up the stairs, still calling to Mazur. The sight that greeted her eyes at the top stopped her in her tracks.
Mykh stood chest-deep in the pool with water running off him. He ran a hand over his face, sweeping his sodden mane clear and sending scarlet rose petals down his back. Mazur paced beside the steps leading into the pool, closely watching Mykh’s movements and Corinne’s reactions.
Corinne giggled. Mykh glared at her. “Oh Mykh, if you could only see yourself,” she gulped then chuckled. Her maids arrived in a twittering flock and watched from the doorway, hands hiding their mouths and eyes bright with surprise.
“Damn furball will be a rug before sunset,” Mykh grumbled and started to walk toward the edge, his black leather clothing billowing in the water. Corinne chuckled again at how far removed he was from the all-powerful High King. Her amusement built until she was laughing helplessly but quietly as she came to help him out.
Mykh easily lifted himself out of the pool then hesitated. He dropped to his knees and bowed to Corinne, until his forehead touched the paving.
Corinne froze, her laughter forgotten. The little maids were silent. Even Mazur stopped his pacing to watch.
“I have come to beg your forgiveness, wife,” Mykh spoke softly in a rough tone that reeked of truth. “You battled as mightily as any warrior out of legend. Yet I permitted my shame, that I could not defend my people, to overcome me and dismissed you. Pray accept my honest contrition and let us begin again.”
Corinne’s heartbeat hammered in her ears. Ten years of studying Mykh had shown him to be arrogant and clever and proud, never as one to apologize. She remembered how he had looked in the banquet hall, angry and determined. A total contrast to his playfulness when he’d taught her to breathe with him. Which man was he now? Could she trust him again? She tried to think of something to say.
Mazur sat down and started to groom himself, ears pricked.
Mykh spoke again when she remained silent, his voice still harsh. “I acknowledge that I have proven myself to be unworthy of you. If you do not wish to have anything further to do with me, then I will accept your wishes in this. But I beseech you to consider the welfare of Torhtremer, especially those who will die in ice storms or starve from lost crops if the Dark Warrior wins. I implore you to labor with me that they and their children might have a future full of peace and hope.”
“Ah . . .” She cleared her throat and tried again. She couldn’t trust him with her heart, as she once might have, but she could work with him to save Torhtremer. Wistfully, she wished that he’d spoken of something more personal than a kingdom. But it was probably asking for the moon, to think that he could fall in love with a sorceress. “In the name of Torhtremer, I accept your apology. And I’ll do whatever I can to save your people.”
Mykh straightened up, his amber eyes somber as he studied her. Something bleak swept over his face before he
schooled his expression. “Thank you for your gracious pardon, my lady. I vow that I will do my utmost to be worthy of your clemency.”
“Yeah, okay, fine,” Corinne agreed, nervous of his formality. What was he really thinking behind all that polite contrition? “Aren’t we supposed to attend some sort of ceremony to kick off the third day?”
“Aye, the High Priestess will lead morning prayers.” To her relief, Mykh dropped much of his formality as he rose to his feet. “We should depart now if we are to attend.”
“Don’t we have to?”
“No, it’s understood that the Dragonheart and his Companion might prefer to say their devotions in private.” Corinne blushed scarlet and Mykh went on quickly. “But all others who celebrate the Goddess’s Dance gather for prayers at the last high tide before the Advent of the White Horses.”
“If we’re going out in public, you need some dry clothes,” Corinne observed. A thought stirred about testing his reaction to her magic. There was one spell that the white sorcerers had used frequently. It should be easier than those she’d used in the banquet hall.
“Aye, I’ll send for some.”
“Is there time?” Corinne walked closer to him, raising an eyebrow.
He frowned at her. “Perhaps not. What are you considering?”
“How far can I trust you?” Corinne demanded. “I can dry your clothes but will you run?”
“I will not flee,” he vowed and stiffened his shoulders like a man preparing for battle.
“I’ll use high magic, not low,” she warned him.
He nodded curtly and waited.
Corinne eyed him warily then lifted her hands. A few quiet phrases and Mykh stood as dry and polished as when he’d entered the Tiger’s Den. His mouth twisted as he looked himself over. He shook himself out like a dog after a dust storm.
“Ready?” he asked and offered his arm.
“Sure,” Corinne agreed and took it. He glanced at her, daring her to mention any shivers on his part, and took her outside. The maids followed close behind, keeping their whispers to a minimum. Mazur ambled as far as the portico, yawned, and curled up to nap.
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