The Pillars of the World

by Anne Bishop

  “I like fire,” he said.

  Grabbing her glass, she took a large swallow of wine, then looked at the glass to make sure she hadn’t mistakenly grabbed the glass of water. “I like fire, too, but I’m not fond of burning my tongue.”

  “But that is the nature of fire. It burns.”

  “It warms,” she replied sharply. She hadn’t intended to sound challenging, but something about the way he’d said “it burns” chilled her.

  “You don’t think fire can destroy?” he asked softly.

  She could tell by the way his fingers curled around his wineglass that he wasn’t used to being contradicted and certainly didn’t like it. Still, she took her time answering. Fire was a branch of the Mother that was a part of her. She knew its nature, its dark side and its light. But how to explain to a stranger something she’d never needed to put into words before?

  “Yes, fire can destroy,” she said carefully, “but it’s also the heat that bakes the bread, the comfort that warms a cold winter’s night, the light that guides you home in the dark.” She fiddled with her spoon. “That must sound very simple to you.”

  “It sounds . . . gentler,” Lucian replied, looking away. “And far more thoughtful than my own remark.” Sipping the wine, he frowned. “My apologies, mistress. The wine doesn’t do justice to the meal.”

  “It has a delicate flavor,” Ari said. In truth, despite the deep-red color of the wine, it was almost tasteless, as if it contained nothing more than a memory of flavor. Spreading a bit of creamed cheese on a biscuit, she took a bite and tried not to sigh. The cheese and biscuits weren’t any better than the wine. She hadn’t known gentry preferred food that tasted so . . . pale.

  They finished the meal in a silence thickened by tension.

  Ari looked at her half-full bowl of stew and gave up. Her appetite had fled, her stomach too full of the growing conviction that her guest was waiting for something.

  “What was your destination, Lord?” she asked, hoping it was a sufficient distance so that he would want to retire soon in order to get an early start in the morning.

  “Nowhere in particular,” he replied evasively, his eyes fixed on the wineglass his fingers restlessly turned.

  Ari stared at him. If he wasn’t going somewhere, what had he been doing out on a night like this?

  “Did you enjoy your ride on the beach last night?” he asked abruptly, still not looking at her.

  Ari’s body went hot and cold at the same time, making her feel sick . . . and furious. “If that’s what you came for, my Lord, you’re too late. The Summer Moon was last night.”

  “I know,” he said quietly, his gray eyes pinning her to her chair. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “Nor will I,” Ari snapped. “It’s none of your business.” She was so vexed she looked around for something to throw, but she couldn’t afford to waste food or crockery. “I thought I had seen someone watching from the cliff.”

  “Was there?” The sharpness in his voice made her look at him.

  “Yes. You. How else could you know?”

  Lucian’s voice softened. “I was on the beach.”

  Ari shook her head. “There was no one on the beach except the—”

  “You gave me apples and some kind of cake—and a fancy.”

  Ari kept shaking her head.

  “You kissed me, and made a promise.”

  “I didn’t,” she whispered. As she stared at him, his face changed abruptly, taking on a feral quality, and his ears grew slightly pointed.

  Fae.

  She leaped away from the table, knocking over her chair. He just sat there, watching her with that blend of wariness and hunger in his gray eyes.

  “Y-you’re Fae.” Her voice shook.

  He inclined his head slightly.

  “But . . . you said you were a horse. I asked you, and you said you were a horse.”

  A hint of amusement joined the wariness and hunger in his eyes. “When you asked me, I was a horse.”

  Ari closed her eyes. Mother’s mercy. She’d given the fancy to a Fae Lord in his other form. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, she had avoided any of the men from Ridgeley. And maybe he was a minor lord, like the Lord of Poultry or something. Was there a Lord of Poultry? If that was the case, shouldn’t his other form be a cock? A rooster, Ari amended quickly as an image of a penis with legs running around the barnyard popped into her head. She clamped one hand over her mouth to keep from giggling, certain that if she started she would end up in hysterics.

  She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, laced her fingers tightly together, then opened her eyes. “Which one are you?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “The Lightbringer.”

  She fled into the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, she felt grateful she hadn’t eaten much since there would be less to clean up if she got sick.

  Fire burns.

  Oh, that one would certainly know about fire. Yes, he would.

  The Lord of the Sun. The Lord of Fire.

  Mother of us all, please help me.

  She heard wine being poured into a glass, then the soft scrape of a chair being pushed back. She tensed, waiting for him to come into the kitchen and make his demands. Instead, she heard the rhythmic creak of her grandmother’s rocking chair.

  Gathering her courage, Ari crept out of the kitchen. The table had to be cleared and the remaining food properly stored. Besides, those chores were safe and familiar. She glanced in his direction, but he was staring at the fire in the hearth and didn’t seem to notice that she was in the room. Collecting as much as she could, she carried dishes back into the kitchen. On her second trip, he said softly, “I didn’t come here to harm you.”

  She looked at him, puzzled by the strain in his voice. Not trusting her own voice, she just nodded and returned to the kitchen. Setting the dishes on the worktable near the sink, she clasped her shaking hands together.

  Whatever you do comes back to you . . .

  Be careful what you wish for . . .

  As I will it . . .

  Could she, in part, be responsible for this? She hadn’t wanted to give herself to a man from Ridgeley, especially Royce. She hadn’t cast a spell to avoid that, but her thoughts and feelings had been focused on avoiding it. Could that have been enough to have drawn him to the beach last night? Having magic himself, he would be more sensitive to its call, wouldn’t he? Besides, she had made a solemn promise, and, because of who he was, when she had sworn by the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon to honor that promise, that vow had even more weight than it might have.

  And he seemed so . . . alone.

  That thought startled her enough to make her take care of the mundane chores around the kitchen. As she cleaned up and put the food away, she felt steadier and able to think more clearly.

  He could have changed form after she gave him the fancy and demanded satisfaction last night. But he didn’t. He could have told her who he was and why he had come as soon as he crossed the threshold. But he didn’t. He had given her a name that wouldn’t frighten her, and he had given her time to talk with him and get used to his presence before he’d mentioned the beach and the fancy.

  All of those things had weight. And there was one other thing: Her only experience with a man had been painful and disappointing. How different might it be with someone like Lucian? If she didn’t take the chance now, would another chance ever come? Even if it was no better than it had been with Royce, could it be any worse?

  And he’s alone. I don’t know why that’s so, but he is alone. Like me.

  When there was nothing left to do in the kitchen, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Have courage, Ari, and trust the Mother’s wisdom. Sometimes things are meant to be.

  She approached the hearth slowly, then stood there, uncertain, until he finally looked at her.

  “There’s something you need to understand, Lord,” she said, feeling her face heat. “I’ve only
done this once.”

  “Done what? Offered a fancy?”

  “No,” she said hurriedly. “I’ve never done that before. I meant the other part.”

  He looked puzzled for a moment, then his expression cleared. “Once?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  He studied her. “And it wasn’t pleasant.”

  She shook her head.

  He drained his glass and set it beside the rocker. “It has to be your choice, Ari.”

  “I made my choice when I offered the fancy.”

  “You didn’t know who you were offering it to.”

  “I keep my promises, Lord.” A witch does.

  He stood up, approached her slowly. His hands framed her face. “Be sure.”

  “I’m sure, Lord.”

  He brushed his lips against hers. “Lucian,” he murmured.

  “Lucian,” she said obediently.

  She braced for a hard kiss and an invading tongue, but his mouth and hands remained gentle, producing a fluttering sensation inside her, as if she were being brushed by delicate wings. Soft. So soft.

  His hands left her face and traveled down her back lightly enough she could barely feel them through the nightgown and snug.

  His lips explored her face and throat. His hands slipped under the snug. More sensation, but the nightgown still made his touch elusive enough to make her crave more. She wanted to raise her arms and explore his body, but they were too heavy to lift, and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the journey his hands were taking over her body.

  She was like wax being softened by a quiet flame.

  “Come,” he said quietly, leading her into the bedroom. As they reached the door, the candle by the bed began to burn.

  Lucian pulled back the bedcovers, then removed her shrug. Unable to resist the light pressure of his hands on her shoulders, she sat on the bed while he removed her slippers and socks.

  “Get under the covers,” he said. “It’s cold tonight.”

  Shivering a little, she obeyed. Before she was completely settled, he had shed his clothes and was stretching out beside her.

  His hands circled her wrists, bringing them up beside her head.

  He was warm. So wonderfully warm.

  “Shouldn’t I—”

  He brushed his lips against hers, silencing her. “Shh.”

  Wherever he touched, she melted. By the time he coaxed her to remove her nightgown, she couldn’t raise herself up without his help.

  Warm. So warm.

  “Ari.”

  It was so hard to open her eyes. Her body was answering his commands far better than it was answering hers.

  “Ari.”

  When she finally opened her eyes, his face was above hers. He studied her for a moment, then smiled. She felt him shift, felt the pressure of his legs opening hers. He filled her slowly, then seemed content to remain still while he kissed her.

  It was his balls that finally changed the melting feeling into something sharper and hungry. They rested against her, brushing sensitive skin every time his muscles flexed. The weight of them where nothing had touched her before made her squirm.

  “Lucian,” she moaned, trying to find some way to ease that soft torment. Her fingers clamped on his buttocks, urging him to move. “Lucian.”

  His lips curved in a smile against her cheek. Then he moved, and with every stroke, he fed passion’s fire until she burned.

  Lucian eased himself out of Ari’s bed. As quietly as he could, he pushed back the drapes and opened the shutters. The gray light that would soon yield to sunrise was enough to see by, so he dressed in the clothes he could find, then slipped out of the bedroom.

  Drawing back the bolts, he opened the front door. The storm had long passed. Had, in fact, barely lasted through the meal, but he doubted Ari had realized that.

  Where had she put the rest of his clothes? he wondered as he closed the door and moved to the back of the cottage. He studied the clean kitchen. And where had she put the rest of the food?

  When a quick rummage through various cupboards didn’t yield a pot of hot tea, bowls of stew, or cheese, he opened the large wooden box sitting on the worktable and found the bread as well as the biscuits he had brought. He took a biscuit and bit into it, then made a face. For some reason, they didn’t taste as good here as they did in Tir Alainn. He rummaged a bit more in the box, hoping he’d find something more than was apparently there. Like some of those cakes Ari had brought to the beach.

  He could wake her. She would want tea if she was awake, wouldn’t she? And if she was awake, she wouldn’t mind fixing something for him to eat.

  He was standing outside the bedroom door when it occurred to him that he still had the custom of gifting to deal with. A satisfied lover may want something very different from a sleepy, disgruntled woman who was expected to cook breakfast. It would be wiser to settle the gift before mentioning food.

  He suspected the rules regarding the fancy gave him every right to ignore the custom of gifting, but he had enjoyed Ari far more than he’d expected to, and a gift would make her more eager for his return. Because he was going to return. She was his from the full moon to the dark, and he intended to enjoy her while he could.

  And he wanted breakfast.

  Entering the bedroom, he sat on the bed. She still slept, snuggled under the covers. He reached out to touch her shoulder and give her a little shake into wakefulness, but his hand kept going until it could stroke her hair.

  “Mmmmff,” she said sleepily. “Did the birds tell you it was time?”

  Time for what? “The birds?”

  Her nods pressed her face deeper into the pillows, and he wondered if she’d slip back into a deep sleep before he could talk to her.

  “Birds always know when it’s time,” Ari said after a minute of silence. “As soon as the light begins to change, you can hear the soft chirps, as if they’re encouraging the sun to rise.” With a sigh, she snuggled deeper under the covers. “Or maybe they’re encouraging you.”

  “I don’t need help from the birds in order to rise,” Lucian said dryly. There was too much temptation to get back into bed and show her another kind of sunrise. But what she was saying bothered him. Surely she didn’t think . . . “You do know that I don’t really lift the sun above the horizon, don’t you? It can do that just fine by itself.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Ari mumbled. “I’d always wondered what would happen if you overslept. But the birds would wake you.”

  Lucian studied her for a moment, then shook his head. Either she was too sleepy or he was too awake for this conversation to make sense.

  “Ari?”

  “Mmmmff.”

  “It is the custom that when a man enjoys a woman’s company, he gives her a gift to show his appreciation.”

  “Gift?” She frowned for a moment, then smiled. “A present?”

  “Yes,” Lucian said, his patience strained. “A present.”

  Ari sighed. “No one’s given me a present since my mother died.”

  Lucian sat back, no longer sure what to do. He’d intended to suggest a couple of things from the Clan’s large trinket box, things that would require no effort for him to provide. He hadn’t found human women tempting enough to often yield to their enchantments, but from what other Fae males had said, those women were a bit like crows—they liked shiny objects. Since the gold, silver, and jewelry usually found its way back to a Clan trinket box, even if it wasn’t the same trinket box, there was nothing there that hadn’t been given before.

  He’d known there was no one else in the cottage last night, but he’d assumed they were simply somewhere else for the day. There was so much presence in this place that it hadn’t occurred to him that she was truly alone here. Knowing that, and knowing how much a gift now would disappoint or delight, he had an obligation to give her what she asked for, no matter how greedy the request might be.

  Leaning closer, he said, “What kind of present would you like?�
��

  “I get to choose?”

  “Yes, you get to choose.”

  She smiled. “Sunshine.”

  He stared at her. Was that a coy way of asking for a necklace of amber or citrine? Or gold? “Sunshine.”

  She nodded. “I have to work in the garden today. Sunshine would be nice.” She frowned. “But not too hot.”

  He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Sun that warms but doesn’t burn.” When she nodded again, he said, “What else?”

  “More?” After a long pause, she said, “A dragon.”

  Lucian sighed quietly. A dragon? Even if such a creature existed and he could capture one, what did she think she could do with it? “A dragon,” he said heavily.

  She giggled. “A cloud dragon chasing fluffy cloud sheep.”

  For the first time, he wondered how old she was. It had been obvious that she was young, but it was a woman’s body that he had enjoyed last night, not a girl’s. No matter. Since he hadn’t been the first, she was surely old enough.

  He kissed her cheek again. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back tonight.”

  “Tonight,” she mumbled.

  Moving quietly, he left the bedroom. The saddlebags were on one of the dining chairs, but he still didn’t know where she had put the rest of his clothes—or his boots. He shrugged. He didn’t need them right now, and he’d be back tonight.

  It was a man who opened the kitchen door and stepped out of the cottage. But it was a black horse that galloped toward the shining road that led to Tir Alainn.

  Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.

  The birds were celebrating the day with enthusiasm.

  Too much enthusiasm, Ari thought as she turtled under the covers to avoid the light streaming in from her bedroom window.

  Light?

  She poked her head back out and reluctantly opened her eyes. The drapes were drawn back and the shutters were open. Two sparrows and a finch stared at her from the other side of the glass.

  Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.

  Wake up, wake up, wake up and greet the day.