Twin Passions: 3

by Lora Leigh

  Gods, what evil could have been strong enough to turn her from the Sorceresses she had sworn her magick oath to defend with her life?

  And what right did she, Astra Al’madere, have to ask such a question? For here she sat, committing an act nearly as treasonous as the one the Justice had committed.

  What was she doing? Using both magick as well as the strength of the Unicorn to drag these traitors to safety?

  Why did she bother?

  Traitors, after all, were put to death, no matter how handsome, strong, or how they drew a Sorceress Keeper in Waiting.

  Traitors were reviled.

  Especially Wizard traitors.

  They were the most reviled of all.

  Yet, using all the strength of the magick she possessed, she managed to create a bed of the softest furs in the farthest depths of a sheltering cave. There, nearly collapsing from the effort to drag them to it, she settled them upon the furs before covering them with yet more.

  Waving her hand to the fire pit she had created to their side, she willed the wood to ignite, watching as the flames began to slowly lick at the dried tinder before growing in heat and strength to spread its warmth toward the two males. Astra Al’madere, heir to the Keeper of the Power of the Mystic Forests, stared at the Wizard Twins she had hidden from the Justice of the Guardian of Covenan. Lying unconscious on the bed of furs, sprawled in exhausted abandon, they looked almost—innocent.

  Cuddled beside them lay the two weakened Griffon cubs, which she still couldn’t believe lived.

  Rather than lying broken and bleeding on the valley floor once the spell of stone had been lifted, they were intact, breathing and warm, if weak and confused.

  Still, they lived.

  That feat alone was one she still found hard to believe.

  The babe, Tambor, would need to suckle soon. But his little body drew breaths as his wings fluffed against it for warmth. He was no longer lying in pieces. The stone fragments of the statue dark magic had turned him into was no longer crushed beneath a cruel boot.

  Candalar, the half-grown male, had been broken as well. Wings and legs busted from his stone body. Had the spell been reversed before his body had been replaced intact once again, then he would not have known warmth, gentleness or caring again.

  His last memory before entering the Garden of Nirvana would have been that of pain, and of dark cruelty.

  It would have forever shadowed his afterlife.

  Instead, he was warm once more, his pale, amazingly strong wings wrapped about the tawny-and-white fur of his developing body as he snuffled at some dream.

  They had found warmth between the two Wizard Twins when Astra had found herself too weak to return them immediately to their mother after bringing Rhydan and Torran Delmari into the cavern.

  She too was exhausted.

  The magick expended to pull the heavily muscled warriors into the cavern, to create the thick, soft bed of furs in which they lay, and warm the cavern with the fire that now blazed at the bottom of the bed had been near more than her strength could bear.

  The battle with the Justice Layel for the Emerald Valley, the heavily forested land the Sorceresses had hidden the Griffons in for far longer than a century, had been draining. The others of the Sorceress Brigade had all been carried to the castle on the backs of the great snow owls the warriors flew, too weak to mount and ride the Unicorns that awaited them.

  The Griffons, weakened from the spell that had turned them to stone, could do naught now but call out to the missing cubs.

  The Griffoness’s calls were the most plaintive, pleading with her babe Tambor to come and suck.

  Did the Griffoness grieve for her lost cubs?

  Mandalae had been calling out to them since the spell had been broken earlier. Mustafa and Malosa, the two grown males, had roared through the valley, demanding they answer. But just as Astra had been too weak to call the Griffons to the cavern to collect the cubs, so had the cubs been too weak to call back or return to their pride.

  Instead, they had found warmth against the dark beings who had so obviously restored their fragile, broken bodies. They sought the warmth of both flesh and of magick and would refuse to budge even if she demanded it.

  There had been just enough strength left to secure the entrance against any magick searching the land for the babes, or for the Twins. Just enough to give her a chance perhaps to hide them, or to shield them, should Wizard Twins or Sentinel Warriors find them.

  There would be no hope for them, or for Astra herself should, the Select forbid, the enraged dragon Garron find them.

  And she had no doubt, nay she knew, there were Sentinel Warriors searching for both the Wizard Twins as well as the cubs.

  The cubs to ensure their lives.

  The Wizards Delmari to take theirs.

  Wrapping her arms across her stomach, she bent over as she sat on the boulder near the fire, trying to hold back the pain and the guilt.

  What had she done?

  She had betrayed all she loved, all she had fought for since coming to Sellane castle at the age of sixteen. She had betrayed them, and if knowledge of it was learned, then she too would lose her life.

  A Sorceress had not betrayed her own in over a millennium.

  They had especially not betrayed their own for a hated Wizard Twin.

  Especially two suspected to be dabbling in the dark arts and conspiring with the enemy in attacking Covenan and now moving into the lands of the Wizard Twins as well.

  She had betrayed her own for Dark Wizards. Oh gods, what manner of weak and unworthy Sorceress had she become?

  But Griffons could not bear to be close to dark magick.

  The thought drifted through her mind, tearing at her heart as guilt ate into her soul.

  Lifting her gaze, she stared at the two sleeping creatures cuddled so close to the Twins and felt her chest tighten at the sight. They curled trustingly against them. As though there were no dark magick inside their souls to torment the young ones.

  She couldn’t believe she hadn’t yet sent out a call to the Guardian of the Lands, the princess who commanded them. These two were supposedly responsible for Covenan’s missing heir to the throne of Sellane.

  And her queen. Her gentle, compassionate Queen Amoria.

  The Wizards Delmari were accused of aiding in the abduction of both the princess and their Queen Amoria. Accused of the most foul, most heinous act of the Princess Selena’s near death and the death of two of their own Wizards. Even now, two of their Sentinel Warriors were held in chains beneath the castle for having conspired with them, and their remaining warriors were locked within their quarters until their own guilt or innocence could be decided.

  Astra had run to the room of her princess when the dragon’s roars had rocked the castle and magickal awareness of the crime had been sent throughout the land to every creature of magick that inhabited it. Along with her Queen Amoria, the Princess Selena had been taken from their own castle and these Wizards were accused of having been a part of that abduction.

  Two of their warriors had attempted the murder of their own then had aided the Secular attack on Princess Serena, nearly killing her before the abduction.

  These Wizards and their brethren alone were responsible. They alone had brought this destruction to Covenan.

  And she had known where to find them. Known they were in the Emerald Valley, weak and exhausted, near death. Yet she had refused to acknowledge such a thing to herself. For if she had, then she surely would have betrayed them in her haste to run to them.

  Her magick would always know where her natural Consorts hid, she realized. She should have known when she first felt that faint call of the land, pulling her here. The land itself and all magick contained within it would have called out to her to give them aid.

  She had known since the day they had flown to the courtyard of Sellane Castle that they would be the cause of her downfall. She had known they would break her heart, that they would sear her soul, and that
they alone had the power to destroy her.

  And here she had found them, their magick still glowing about the weakened forms of the Griffon babes as they lay, unconscious, their magick spent from repairing the creatures before returning them to their living forms.

  The Sorceresses had left the babes as stone, praying to find a way to do just that before returning them from that hardened hell. But none in Covenan had known the spell to repair the damage created by such a dark and perverted power.

  She gripped her sword as she felt tears fall from her eyes, felt everything inside her screaming at her to exact justice now. To strike swift and sure while they slept. While they could not strike back or defend themselves with dark magick.

  As she struggled to force herself to do as the laws of the land and of magick itself demanded that she do, the eldest, Torran, opened his eyes weakly.

  His features were so perfectly hardened and savage, even in sleep, that when his heavy, thick black lashes lifted to reveal eyes the color of the softest spring blue, a cry nearly escaped her lips.

  Her tears ran faster, wetting her cheeks, her lips as her breathing hitched and a low, keening sob echoed in her throat. Pain was a shroud of sharpened spikes driving into her defenseless body, piercing her heart, raking her tender soul like the sharpest dagger and ripping through her tender emotions.

  Magick lifted from him, the faintest, faintest threads of that gentle, soft blue struggled to lift from his body as his fingers twitched at his side.

  Astra gripped the hilt of her sword tighter, fighting to do what she knew her honor demanded.

  To strike them before they could strike another whom she loved.

  Yet they had repaired the Griffon babes, brought them back from stone, nearly at the expense of their own lives.

  That was no dark magick, surely. For the Griffons were known for their purity and innocent magick.

  Pain filled his gaze as his features twisted in regret as he watched her.

  Aye, he deserved to feel that regret, and so much more. His soul, if he had one, should be writhing in agony at his acts.

  “No tears, love,” his voice rasped, rough, weakened. Nearly breaking her with the gentle understanding it held. “Do not hesitate, little Sorceress, our forgiveness will follow you.”

  She bent over, her forehead touching her knees as she felt her body shake with the sobs she couldn’t hold back.

  Because she couldn’t do it.

  She wanted to.

  She wanted to strike their wicked heads from their bodies, yet she couldn’t draw her sword from its sheath.

  Even as the thoughts passed through her mind, she knew them for the lies they were. Even the Sentinels knew she could never force herself to harm them, no matter the crimes they were accused.

  Instead, as her head lifted, shock tore another sob from her as she realized her magick was weaving with those weakened palest-blue threads struggling to lift from his powerful chest.

  He watched her solemnly, as though he knew her every thought, knew every fear surging through her. And perhaps he did. Any Wizard strong enough to attempt to murder one of their own and conspire to kill a princess would have great dark magick indeed.

  Magick strong enough to steal any Sorceress’ will.

  His gaze shifted to the sword once again.

  “Why hesitate, beauty?” he rasped, understanding thick in a voice so weakened it barely carried to her.

  “Do not speak to me,” she cried out, feeling everything inside her rejecting the thought that she could spill this Wizard’s blood. That she could dare to strike out at him.

  At the same time, everything inside her was screaming that she do just that.

  She had spent her magick once just to save them and the cubs. She had spent her magick again to hide them, to ensure that the rage Garron had sent out through the land toward them could not touch them.

  Here, within the Emerald Valley, her strongest magick shielding the entrance to the deepest cavern within the valley, she had betrayed herself, her queen, her people.

  Still, her shields should have never been enough to hold back Garron’s magick and the violence and rage that had fueled it.

  “Do not speak to you.” He gave a weary breath as his head turned, his gaze finding the unconscious form of his brother mere inches from him.

  His gaze then dropped to the fragile forms of the Griffons sleeping between them.

  His lips quirked in a somber line as his hand slid to the baby, his fingers drifting over the white wings and tucking beneath them to the soft white fur that covered the fragile body.

  The cub turned on his back, still sleeping, wings unfurling out to his sides as he sprawled out in abandon to allow the Wizard to stroke his undefended belly.

  How odd. The babes rarely allowed even the Sorceresses to stroke their most vulnerable area in such a way.

  Griffons were born with a knowledge that their bellies were the most undefended parts of their bodies. That it was there that they were most often struck and brought from the skies.

  Yet Tambor was allowing the Wizard to stroke him, and even slept through the gentle caress.

  “He will need to suck soon,” the Wizard advised her softly. “He is weak, and will need his mother.”

  “When he awakens.” She wiped at the tears that still fell. “He has not yet gained the strength to go to her, and I am not yet strong enough to do so either.”

  He nodded softly before lifting his gaze to her once again. “You are weary, Astra. Come, lie between us. Let us warm you and rest. Your magick will then return full strength, and perhaps by then, we can repair a bit of the damage in your thoughts of us.”

  “How, with a Joining?” Mocking filled the tear-stained laughter that was so pathetic it was humiliating.

  Because there was nothing she longed for more than to lie beside them, to have them wrap her in their arms and create the bonding that only came when natural Consorts Joined.

  “I fear even we could not establish a Joining this day, love.” He sighed then. “It would take far more than one small nap to establish the strength needed to give you the pleasure we long to give.”

  “No lies, Wizards.” She feared she could not bear the pain of them. “Rest. Worry for your own strength, for there will be a reckoning soon. And I fear strength may be all that will aid your escape from this land.”

  The thought of them leaving, of no chance to feel their touch or the caress of their magick, was near more than she could bear.

  “How long—” Clearing his throat, he stared around the cavern. “How long has it been since we found the cubs?”

  She shrugged, uncertain. “I found you and the babes, chilled and weak this noon, though the battle for the valley was fought two eves past. The land showed me the gifts you gave in repairing their bodies before lifting the spell. I brought you here.” She gestured to the cavern. “And wondered at why you did such a thing.”

  Did her hatred, her disgust at herself as well as them, reflect within her voice?

  The emotions tearing through her were chaotic and left her filled with dread.

  “They are innocent,” he said softly, his gaze on the Griffon babes rather than her. “Such innocence did not deserve such a fate.”

  Should she excuse him for not seeing the shaft of agony he drove into her heart? Did this mean, in his reasoning, that she and the Sorceresses of Covenan were somehow guilty of some crime and undeserving of life?

  Could she forgive such a thought in exchange for the actions of saving the cubs?

  Nay, she would forgive him nothing.

  “What of my princess and my queen?” she demanded wearily then, coming to her feet to pace slowly toward him, to stare down at him, wishing she had the strength to expend her fury. “Were they not innocent enough, Talagarian Wizard? Did they deserve whatever fate you sent them to?”

  His head turned slowly. The look on his face—was it guilt or was it horrified confusion? At that moment, how she wished she had the gi
ft of the Justices to divine the truth.

  “What say you, Sorceress?” His voice rasped, as if a great illness tore at his throat. “What is this you accuse us of?”

  Her chin lifted, but still her tears fell as she stared down at him. Her anger, her certainty that he must lie, that he must know how he had destroyed not just her queen but also her cousin and her friend, drove spikes of agony through her chest.

  “Queen Amoria and Princess Serena did naught to you,” she stated, painfully aware that she could not strike him down, that she could do nothing but leave and pray to the gods she had the strength to never return.

  “Why?” She could not stop the plea from passing her lips. “Why, Torran, would you take them from us? Did you hate the princess so much for denying your request to question men you had given orders to? Was it the fact that she denied you? Did you know how she stood before the Justices, before you petitioned to speak to the accused and raged at them for their refusal?

  “That she begged and all but went to her knees before them to allow you the questioning you sought. For what?” she cried out desperately. “So you could destroy her and her mother? Take from us all we hold dear?” She battled back her tears once again. “Ah Torran, fine warrior of Talgaria, how I wish I could drive my sword through your heart for such an evil act.” Sobs tore from her. “How weak am I?” She wanted to fall to her knees in shame and pain. “How weak am I to allow you to live when you have taken them from us?”

  Her hand refused to pull her sword free. Her arm refused to make the killing blow. All that seemed willing to obey her commands now were her legs. And she used them to turn and run as fast and hard as her weakened body would allow from the warrior who brought her magick alive in a way she had prayed she would never know.

  In a way that proclaimed her the natural Consort of a traitor.

  As she turned to run, Torran sent his magick, weak at it was, to cover her. To protect her should she actually leave them alone, without her warmth and her tender care.