by Unknown
She shook her head. Love? More like an impossible game to win.
He drew her into his arms. “Dance with me?”
So why did she suddenly feel like a winner when Talon held her close?
Their bodies swayed in gentle rhythm to the slow sad words. She sighed and laid her head against Talon’s shoulder. He nuzzled her ear. Saylym sifted her fingers through his long hair, caressing his nape. He pulled her closer, his thumb feathering across her wrist in a slow stroke.
She smiled, allowing him this privilege.
Talon touched the hair at her temples, a feather-light stroke from fingers that weren’t quite steady. She glided her lips just as lightly against the skin below his left ear, his throat, her mouth leaving a moist trail against his flesh.
He shuddered, his big body trembling against hers. He emitted a low growl. “You’re killing me,” he whispered against her ear.
“I know,” she flirted, batting her lashes. He wasn’t the only who could play with fire. Just before the song ended, Eldora tapped Saylym’s shoulder. Saylym stepped back, a dreamy smile curving her lips.
Talon drew the old lady into his arms.
Eldora stiffened. “Don’t be tryin’ any of that Romeo stuff with me, young man. I knew him when and he wasn’t that great a lover. His wand was a little stubby and he was always in a hurry. It’s no wonder poor Juliet offed herself.”
Saylym choked.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Talon replied, arching a silent brow at Saylym.
Eldora giggled. “Yeah, you would. You’re a waken.”
The song ended, and Talon released her with a sweeping bow, and a playful pat to her bottom. Eldora swatted his hand, giving him a warning glare. “Behave! And see to it you’re good to that girl.”
Amusement twisted Talon’s lips as he straightened. He leaned close and brushed a kiss against Eldora’s papery cheek. “I plan on being very good with that young woman,” he whispered.
Eldora’s eyebrows rose in a high arch. “That’s what I figured.”
Saylym gathered her purse and slid her hand through Talon’s arm. “You’re such a letch. Tomorrow’s a work day. Happy birthday, Miss Eldora, may you have twenty thousand more.”
Eldora smiled, walking them to the door. “Thank you for the cake and the party, Saylym. You’re a good girl.”
Talon took Saylym’s hand, forcing her to pause on the sidewalk outside. “It was very kind of you to make that old hag happy.”
Saylym shook her head. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Maybe not to you, but it meant a lot to her. Her heart wept with happiness.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said huskily and started down the sidewalk. He took three steps, halted and muttered, “Aw, hell,” turned and marched back toward her, his face broody with determination.
Saylym gasped as he palmed the sides of her face, dipped his head, and planted a kiss on her mouth. His mouth was light and gentle on hers even as he slipped his tongue between the seams of her lips and briefly explored.
He released her mouth, stepped back and drew a ragged breath. Gingerly, he feathered a fingertip down her cheek. “That was for starters. Good-night, sweet Saylym.” He turned and hurried down the street.
Saylym stared after his departing back. “Whau!” was all she managed.
* * * *
Eldora slipped into the shadows and watched the young couple. She kicked up her heels, pleased when Talon turned back and kissed Saylym good-night. She sighed. Oh yes, she liked this prince. Indeed, she did. She’d like nothing better than to see Saylym settled with Prince Talon. They were a perfect match. Besides, she’d read it in the stars centuries ago.
She turned her attention on Saylym, her thoughts suddenly troubled.
What if Saylym was infected with the witches’ virus Infertilus? Saylym would never be able to have children if that was the case. Eldora brightened. Oh, ho, perhaps if she conjured up a little magic—Conjure a bit of magic? She was good at casting spells, better at keeping secrets. She could whip magic out of a stone if necessary, but she couldn’t fix the virus if Saylym was infected. No one could.
Smothering a cackle, she waved her arms in the air and drew sparkling green symbols across the sky. Symbols that represented a male and female locked in a breeding clutch. She chanted softly:
“Trouble, trouble
Double, double
Mix times two
A witch’s brew.”
If her young neighbor wasn’t infected, she could at least increase her chances of conception.
But would Saylym and her handsome prince be pleased to learn she’d cast a fertility spell over the two of them? Eldora snickered, turned and re-entered the house. Dancing a jig across her living room, she paused to kick up her heels one last time, then sang off-key, “Happy birthday to me. And a baby makes three. Hee-hee-hee.”
If that spell failed—well, she just happened to know a few love spells she could cast. Or she could mix up some potions. Magic love potions would insure the prince fell deeply in love with Saylym.
But for now, she’d be content to sit back and watch Cupid play his games with his golden bow and arrows.
Chapter Five
Magistrates John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin examined Tituba, Sarah Good, and Sarah Osborne in the meeting house in Salem Village. Tituba never denied her abilities and confessed to practicing witchcraft.
~Salem Witch Trials
March 1, 1692
Page Entry…
With Queen Leyla ruling Sanctuary, a struggle for power between the witches and wakens tore Ru-Noc asunder. The males were no longer allowed within the magical gates of Sanctuary. Furious with this edict, the wakens vowed to hunt down and kill Leyla Winslow, unless the witches destroyed Sanctuary.
A compromise was made. The males would be allowed inside the protected walls of Sanctuary once a year, during the Festival of Beltane, but only for procreation purposes. Any waken who used this opportunity to steal a witch’s soul would be locked in the stocks and burned alive.
‘Twas indeed, a recipe for disaster. For what waken could resist the lure of passion and the seductive taste of a witch’s soul at the moment his seed erupted inside her? And what witch ever ignored the possibility of conceiving a child to brighten her last days?
Many witches compared the wakens to insects that devoured their mates once copulation was completed–but stealing a witch’s soul was much worse than having one’s head bitten off after mating.
~From the Winslow History of Witches.
In the Year of Samhain, 1000
Ru-Noc
Droth
City of the wakens
“No.”
The four elders seated on the Wakens’ Guild blinked. Their mouths gaped in shock at Talon’s shouted refusal.
“Now, Talon,” his Uncle Teek said, holding up a hand in a placatory gesture, “you know you can’t refuse a direct command from the elders.”
Talon clenched his fists in utter frustration. Arguing with the ancient wakens got him nowhere. They wouldn’t listen. They never listened, including his father, the king. This was exactly why he hated reporting to the guild. They were bigoted, opinionated, and stubborn as hell. There was no bending the law with them. The four members of the Knights of the Guild were the oldest rulers of Droth, third only to the king. There was one amongst them who had the final say about all things, but it was rare for Katch to voice his opinion.
The guild was the very foundation of his race.
The law givers.
The judges.
The jury.
At this moment, it was safe to say none of them were happy with him. It was obvious his father was in a far from placating mood. He rose slowly from his throne. A heavy, jeweled crown rested on the wild mane of ink-black hair that fell past his shoulders in typical waken fashion.
The king stepped from the marble dais where both his and the queen’s throne st
ood in elegant splendor. His long legs ate up the distance from one end of the wide room to the other, back and forth he marched in front of the round table, lips tightened with disapproval.
Waiting for the thundering explosion to erupt, Talon folded his arms across his chest and kept a wary eye on his father. Darak paused every now and then and speared Talon with a furious look. The flash of wildfire in his fierce green eyes left little doubt to everyone in the room that the King of Ru-Noc was in a royal snit.
His thick, dark brows snagged together in a stern scowl. He suddenly stopped and directed a severe glare at Talon. Talon rubbed a hand across his mouth, waiting. His father was an imposing figure even when he was cheerful. This was certainly not one of the better times. The king had never looked so furious, well, except for the time Talon was practicing a new spell and accidentally set the royal stables on fire.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d be like that little boy again, standing before his father, chastised for his disobedience. Even now, the members of the guild waited in breathless anticipation to see who’d win this latest skirmish between the royals. He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, several times.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Talon?” Darak barked. “The option to reject an assignment isn’t open to debate. You work for the guild. You will do as ordered.”
And there they were at last, his father’s words, and exactly what he’d expected. Talon clenched his jaw. “There’s no reason for this assignment. I refuse,” he repeated, speaking in a calmer voice. Talon cringed inside. He knew what the guild and his father’s priorities were. He didn’t agree with them.
“Refusing a direct order of the guild is a crime punishable with the Char-Flum-Rope.”
Talon swayed. The threat of that harsh penalty was rarely mentioned or used, but from the tone of the king’s voice, he had little doubt his father was voicing an idle threat. He felt the color leech from his face. Few wakens survived punishment by the flaming whip. They didn’t die, but the pain was so severe, it drove them mad. Then they were exiled to the salt plains of Kydora for eternity.
“The guild trained you for assignments like this. It is no different from the others.” King Darak settled on the throne with a disgusted grunt. “You are an assassin. It is your job, and your duty! Just because you are my son, does not allow you special privileges, or the right to refuse direct commands from the guild.”
Talon winced. His father seemed to believe shouting would make him change his mind. Like hell! Maybe it had always worked in the past, but not this time. This time was different. Not even the threat of the Char-Flum-Rope could force him to do what they commanded. He balled his fists at his side. The members of the guild were huddled together like a bunch of old roosters, doggedly discussing his refusal to cooperate.
Talon caught the action of his cousin Sage as the younger waken leaned closer to him.
“Well, you managed to do it again,” Sage remarked.
“What’s that?”
“Get on their bad side, of course.”
Talon smiled over his cousin’s weak description of the guild’s state of temperament. “If you’re suggesting they’re pissed, that’s putting it mildly.”
Sage immediately tugged on his arm, drawing him closer. “You know what they’re saying, don’t you?” he murmured out the side of his mouth.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Talon shrugged. “Yup. Always the rebel. “It makes them happy when I rebel.”
Sage nodded in agreement. “That’s true. They love an insurgent. It’s only you they detest.”
Talon flashed his cousin a look filled with utter disbelief. “They don’t detest me. They just-they just-er…”
“Yeah?” Sage laughed.
“Well they can detest me all they want. I did the right thing. I brought them the information an illumrof dwells among us. I expected outrage.”
“Justifiably so,” Sage replied. “If mortals once again discover there are truly witches and wakens…” His sentence trailed off, leaving the elders breathless with anticipation. He shrugged. “You know what a disaster that’d be.”
“Right.” Noticing that the older wakens had stopped whispering and were leaning forward in an attempt to hear what he and Sage were discussing, Talon spoke louder, “The danger of exposure for our world is too great.”
“Perhaps we should just slay all illumrofs and be done with it?” Sage suggested.
The guild members stared at them as if he and Sage suddenly sprouted two heads each. “Don’t encourage their bigotry,” Talon said. “They haven’t enough common sense among them to realize their concerns should be about the human, and how she got here, instead of a half-witch who at least carries some witch blood.”
“That’s enough, Talon,” King Darak roared. “You will show respect for the members here or leave the council chambers!”
Talon graciously inclined his head. “I apologize to the guild.”
Sage patted Talon on the back. “You really have managed to ruffle their tempers this time, cousin, and you’re poking the king. Not good.”
Talon turned toward Sage. He couldn’t keep from grinning at the sight of the black satin eye patch covering his cousin’s left eye. Leave it to Sage to covet drama. “Why in Samhain are you wearing a patch? All these injuries you keep faking are going to get you in hot water with some lovely witch one of these days.”
“Don’t you think it makes me look sexy?” Sage asked, tilting his chin in an uppity manner.
Talon snorted. “Not to me. The day that happens is the day you’ll need a patch for real, plus the sling you wore last year.”
Sage laughed loudly enough to draw a glare from the members of the guild. His lavender colored eye sparked with amusement as he faced the small group. “Talon is merely stating facts.” He stepped forward, addressing his comment to Teek, his father, who was also Captain of the Guild. “I’ve never seen an illumrof.” He paused to draw a protection symbol in the air. “I have no desire to, either. The great witch hunts in Europe proved how weak and fearful illumrof creatures can be of things they do not understand.”
“We know that,” King Darak snapped. “What is your point?”
The elder wakens bobbed their heads in agreement.
Talon cocked a brow at the king’s impatience. “The Salem witchcraft trials of 1692 nearly destroyed our race of females,” he said. “You know it will take thousands of years before the female numbers increase enough to substantially rebuild our race. So I have to ask,” he added, sliding his gaze over the guild with a curl of contempt, “just why the hell the royal court would be so foolish as to order the assassination of yet another one of our females? Our number of mating partners decreases dramatically each year.”
Talon paused to draw a deep breath then continued, “With this virus, Infertilus attacking our females, most are now barren. Continuing the practice of outdated laws is foolish because of some old grudge. We’re annihilating ourselves.” He held out his hands in a pleading gesture. “Our females come into season year after year, but barely a fourth of them conceive. And when they do, they either give birth to such a hideously deformed male child he then has to be terminated and his soul given to Dym, or the babe was not conceived by a waken, but by a demon. And female babies are becoming rarer with each passing century.” Talon slashed his arm through the air. “There are tens of thousands of males without mates and only a few hundred females left. We are a dying race!”
King Darak scowled at his son. “I don’t need a history lesson. Or a census count. And it’s perfectly normal for our females to mate with demons and conceive from their seed. Their chances of conceiving with a demon is ten times greater than their chance with a waken.”
“Forgive me, Father, but it isn’t perfectly normal. Can’t you see we’re being eradicated?”
“I’m well aware of all the factors involved,” King Darak replied. “At the moment, demons mating with our females is not the topic of discussion.”
“Well, it should be,” Talon snapped.
King Darak’s eyes grew cold. “The problem lies with the fact that this witch…this Saylym Winslow…is a bumbler. She has to be our first concern.”
“As usual, your priorities are screwed up,” Talon muttered.
“What in hell is a bumbler?” Sage asked.
The king’s lips flattened with rage and he glared at Talon. “An endangerment to us all!”
“That’s bullshit,” Talon shouted.
King Darak lifted his head, his eyes blazing green fire. “One more outburst, Talon, and you will be dismissed. You have about as much finesse as a thrash hog in heat.”
Talon smothered a growl and ignored Sage’s startled glance at the king’s harsh words. He frowned, wondering why Stry hadn’t made an appearance. He knew his older brother, the heir to the throne, resented being summoned before the members here, but he could certainly use his support right now. It would be just like Stry to disappear for a few days and remain absent.
“If you aren’t going to concern yourself with the demons, then you should at least be wondering how the illumrof crossed into our realm without a single one of our Observers being aware of it,” Talon said with heat. “Was a hex put on them to allow her to cross undetected? If so, who did it? We should be fearful of her crossing back into the human realm and exposing our existence to other illumrofs.” Talon folded his arms over his chest and glared at the guild. “Instead, you’re more concerned an Impure who bungles her magic now resides in Sanctuary.”
“You worry overmuch about this human,” King Darak replied. “She is nothing. No other human would believe her even if she somehow managed to reach her world.”
“They believed in 1692,” Talon pointed out. “But the opinion here is that you all think the answer to the problem is for me to assassinate Saylym Winslow.” By the gods, they could glower at him all they wanted, but he wasn’t going to back down over this issue. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. He wasn’t stepping dutifully aside so they could assign another waken the duty of stealing Saylym’s soul either. Maybe he hadn’t known her very long but his emotions were already involved. The realization that his heightened feelings might be clouding his judgment hit him like a punch to the gut. No matter how awful, the simple truth ate at him. He cared for the Impure. He’d be damned to Nemaland before he allowed the guild to harm Saylym in any way.