by Karey Brown
Maira squirmed. “I have to tell my kerna!” Just like the wild maulkins, she hopped and bounded through the snow towards her mother’s dwelling. Abruptly, Maira whipped around and ran back to them. Shyly, she reached out trembling fingers, delicately lifting Aunsgar’s white tresses. “It is soft. I told my da’ it would be like feathers he gifts me from raids. I told him you would let me brush it while sitting in front of a fire and telling me about your battles and your hunts and teaching me your pretty words. I want to be able to speak your language. It is much nicer than mine. My da’ says your hair is like your words and I will long for a real warrior . . . but, I love you,” she finished in a hurried whisper. Aunsgar untwined a silver band from a long thin braid swinging from his temple and wrapped it at the end of the little girl’s already loosening dark plait.
“My first gift to you, Princess Maira,” he whispered, laughing when she threw her arms around his neck before scurrying away to find her mother.
“Do not play with her heart, Aunsgar.”
Quickly, Aurelia turned from him, feigning interest in the solitary surviving rose. Though small in comparison to her garden in Quemori, Pendaran had thought of everything before allowing the Outlander to come for her. The castle, her gardens, even her private solar—though now, it all belonged to Na’Dryn.
“A woman’s heart is not to be used for manipulations and trickery.” Aunsgar stood, brushing snow from his knees, eyeing her with his double meaning. “Her name whispered is not for the joy I would gladly bring her one day, Aurelia.”
“Aunsgar, please, my head cannot play your riddles today.”
“I bring her but a bit of happiness before the sorrow.”
“Sickness? No.” Aurelia’s lip quivered. She threw up her hand. “Stay your words, Aunsgar. I do not want to know. The little one follows me, taking forever to trust and venture from her shadows.” Tears cascaded. “She may very well be the closest I come to a child of my own.” Aurelia’s head bowed, her voice catching. “Immortality makes me barren.”
Aunsgar enveloped her in his arms. “If I could take you away from here, I would. Cannot Pendaran see you belong to another? This human is not for you, Aurelia.” The prince closed his eyes, both of them remembering happier times. For Aunsgar, those memories slipped into recent revelations regarding Maira’s fate; all of their fate. And the strange word whispered of late, ‘Kit’, though he had never heard of such a place. What he did know, this strange word was connected to the child, Maira.
Sniffling, Aurelia pulled away. “Men prepare horses and supplies—“
“Another village burns, Highness.”
“By the Gods, no.” She deflated. “Their sicknesses, I can cure. Their birthings, I can ease. I even help sow their fields.” She shook her head, unable to stop the tears. “But their distrust of me increases as they seek Na’Dryn’s counsel.” Chilled, she clasped her arms. “Drakar again?”
“Ardra.”
“Ardra?” Aurelia balked, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Do you think she senses you, as you do her?”
The Elf prince shrugged. “Twin stars sailed across the heavens as you slept last eve.”
“Twins birthed or twins death, twins together, sharing breath.”
He nodded. “It is why I sought you. Your ability at prophecy excels my own.”
“If only I could see my own fate. For you, I do not see death surrounding you.” She tossed her long hair. “Twin stars also warn of soulmates to meet, whether it be their first or their last. You and Maira?”
He shook his head and shrugged, clearly frustrated. “Ardra’s mind is madness. For the moment, it is all I can see.”
“Aunsgar? Do you ride as well?”
“I am sorry for it, but we’ve given our word. We bring Erchyll and any survivors back here. We depart on the morrow.”
“And Na’Dryn?”
“Aurelia . . .” Aunsgar turned away, but not before she spied anger. It disgusted he and Urkani, the female’s flaunt of position. Gaunt, his niece no longer ate unless Urkani stole herbs into her ale. Urkani. If given the order, his commander stood ready to deliver Aurelia to the other. Aunsgar awaited his father’s council, Pendaran be damned. The wizard had all but abandoned them. Far better for his niece to be with Prince Dezenial again, though she would never remember their life together when she’d been the druidess, Zaiyne.
“And Na’Dryn?”
Aunsgar sighed. “The fool Outlander has ordained her as mistress of his keep.” His gloved fist clenched. “Many stand behind you, but many more place the death of allies at your feet.” His blue eyes glittered. “I am sorry for it.” Again, he turned from her, unable to bear her ashen face; her disheartened stare.
“Garreck is your champion. He rages Broc is fool to turn from you, and bellows the Outlander has no right to bequeath a castle not his to give. Reignsfeugh bellows the opposite. Better one of their own and the wrath of Pendaran versus the daughter of a Lumynari who probably awaits opportunity to slaughter them as they sleep.” Aunsgar gazed longingly at the horizon. “The Outlander is beyond listening to reason. Viewing death changes humans, Aurelia, but what Lumynari leave behind tests even the endurance of my own guards.”
“You blame me as well?”
“Never! But messages in the stars I cannot ignore. Broc’s men do not possess even hope against my sister and the legion she amasses. Erchyll’s village was one of the last few remaining. As winter chills the horizon, so too, it chills Lumynari from more raids. We can only hope this reasoning is sound. If we can replenish our stores, weapons, and gather as many men before spring brings about fresh attacks, we might stand a—”
“I would not allow frigid winters to waylay keeping watch. Mayhaps, they think winter will bring about laziness; thus, the perfect opportunity to finish us off.”
“Pendaran’s fortified you with a castle—“
“That another has become chatelaine to.” Her chin raised a notch. Her decision made during the long cold night, she would not deter. Upon Aunsgar’s departure, she too would seek a new horizon for herself. “Good journey, Aunsgar.”
Voices faded into swirling mists as Emily’s eyes fluttered open. She lay there for many long moments, pondering the strange dream before realizing the water had iced.
That was no dream. Just as sure as I’m freezing, that was a full blown vision. Emily held no illusions. She knew whomever that woman had been that she’d stepped inside of, had been her in another lifetime. Broc had betrayed Aurelia with another woman; had broken her spirit. All feared Pendaran, whomever he was. Aunsgar really was an Elf. But one thing remained: who or what were Lumynari? And why did just the mention of them terrify her?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Her head would spun like UFO’s. She stuck her tongue out several times. Two and half bottles of scotch. Her mouth felt like she’d licked the cat. Emily gagged, grinned though tears, envisioning Broc’s reaction if she retched all over him. In fact, the more the image took hold and grew, the harder she had to fight back laughter. A good teeth brushing should remove the film now covering her tongue, throat, and gums. And then, if she could just make it back to the bed . . . maybe, the floor. The floor would do.
Minty toothpaste, after swilling pure scotch for the past several hours, elicited gagging. She dashed for the toilet. Her throat flamed. I need milk! Oh, God, my throat’s on fire! The room dipped and swayed. What the hell had she been thinking? More came up. It didn’t seem like she’d drank as much until that final tilt of the bottle. Empty. Ooops. Clattering bottles had caused her to quickly sit forward on the chaise. Too quickly. The room spun and the fire roared.
Emily collapsed to her knees, hugging the toilet. “Please . . . God . . .” she gagged again and sank lower to the tile, writhing, clutching her burning throat. Empty stomach, too much acid, undiluted whiskey—
“Help.” Nothing more than a croak. She’d have to open the damn door. Walls were not keeping up with her. Everything jilted into place a few seconds too la
te. Her stomach heaved until she thought her ribs would burst. Spins took on more speed. White spots danced.
Pounding against the door made her cry out.
“Lady Emily?”
“H-help.” No good. Reaper-man couldn’t possibly hear her hoarse-whispers. She gagged. Pure fire. “HELP ME!”
More pounding.
“Help me! Oh God, just help me!” She was sobbing. No longer able to hold the toilet, she collapsed to the floor. Fire burned her stomach. Her throat. She convulsed. “Help me,” she whimpered. Cold white tile seared her cheek. Soothing. So clean. Pure white. No lint. Strange thing to think about. Her stomach knotted.
“Emily!”
Rumbling in her stomach brought about more dry heaving.
The door splintered and crashed.
“Emily!”
“Milk,” she whispered, heaving again, clutching her stomach and tightening her fetal position.
“Ye’ little fool!” Broc stormed in, and scooped her up. Cradling her against him, he charged from her chambers. It was a wonder he didn’t smash her skull against the now ruined doorframe. Her stomach knotted again. Dry heaves attacked with a vengeance. She screamed, the pain so unreal, and clawed his shirt, unaware the fine fabric tore.
“Garreck!” Broc bellowed, running now.
“Please, please.” Emily tried telling him to stop lurching her around. Her head spun like mini tops she’d foraged out of cereal boxes as a kid. Her stomach tensed.
“Milord?” Broc’s captain was leaping up the stairs several at a time, Reignsfeugh and Aedan scuffing his heels. “What did ye’ do to her?” Garreck eyed her, panicked.
“Urkani! Now! Tell him, whiskey poison. We’ve need of his—“
“I am here,” a voice evenly announced.
“Not natural, the way they always ken the goings on down here,” Reignsfeugh muttered.
“Oh my goodness!” Maeve stammered. She rushed ahead of Broc, pulling out a long bench. “Sit here, milord.” Snatching a large bowl of garden greens, she tossed them out onto the table and thrust the bowl at Aedan. “Hold this to her face. I’ll be right back.”
Aedan grimaced, but hurried to do his mother’s bidding. Emily, helpless, groaned, tears streaming down her deathly pale face. He’d been beside himself when she’d fallen to her knees and crawled into the bathroom. Hearing her sick and moaning behind the closed door, he’d leapt off the bed, rushing to their laird.
No longer did she clutch her stomach, her arms limp. Again, she convulsed, her body flailing. Aedan thrust the bowl close to her mouth, dry heaves racking her body. She coughed hard, her eyes bulging. Her long white hair trailed the floor, limp as she.
“Here ye’ are, milord.” Maeve ran out from the kitchen corridor, a large tankard of water sloshing. She held it out as Urkani emptied a tiny leather pouch into it. Gray powder began to turn the water lavender in color as he muttered words over Emily, holding the ancient vessel to her lips.
“Drink, my sweet. It will take away your pain and the sickness tha’ ails ye’,” Broc cajoled.
But Emily turned her head away. “Milk.” She buried her face deeper into Broc. “What is he . . . saying? Help me!” She convulsed, again clawing at Broc’s throat. She couldn’t breathe! Strangling. Gasping. Gulping, she screamed, depleting her lungs.
Keer’dra. Calm. Drink the Elf’s elixir. I command you to obey!
“Screw you!” She gagged. “Get out of my head, fucknuts!”
“You will drink this now!” Urkani ordered, though he and Broc frowned at each other.
Emily snapped her face towards the Elf. “I’m gonna kick your—“
Urkani grasped a fistful of her hair, yanked her head back, and forced the liquid down her throat. Broc clamped down his own grip as well. Garreck held fast her flailing arms. “Forgive me, milady. ‘Tis for yer’ own good,” he muttered. Aedan tossed the bowl, grabbing her bucking knees.
“Feisty, even when dyin’. God likes ‘em strong,” Erchyll blathered. “Maybe she be one o’ those who tosses people out o’ Heaven when they misbehave.”
Awful gagging and gulping sounds filled the hall, everyone wondering if the lass was drowning; if Urkani should be stopped. None dared make a move.
Long white hair tickled her fingers, though Broc still pinned her arms. Emily grasped the ends of the pale man’s hair, and, painful to her wrist, arched her appendage inward. Urkani’s howl and the sudden jerk of his head made the horrid drink worth the suffrage. Erchyll clapped wildly, dancing a jig, bandy bare legs twigging out side-to-side from his long frock as he sang a ridiculous ditty. The more he sang, the louder he clapped.
Reignsfeugh pried Urkani’s hair from Emily’s fingers. “S’blood, the lass be a feisty one! Sorry, lad, looks like ye’ lost some.” He shouted laughter when Emily’s fist tightened, holding strands of hair like a killing prize. Erchyll’s humming escalated into lunatic wailing.
Maeve had heard enough. “Do some prayin’, old fool, instead of all that yappin’!”
Aedan clamped down on Emily’s legs even tighter. “Maybe we should use Erchyll’s Holy water?”
Erchyll stilled. “I could get it. None of ye’ are ever gonna die. Mi’ Holy water just sits. Wasted. Do ye’ ken what I suffered through? Carried it all the way—“
“Tell me where it is that I may douse ye’ wi’ it when I kill ye’ mi’ self!” Broc threatened through clenched teeth. The wee lass was brutal strong.
After much cursing, gagging, and coercion, contents of the tankard were emptied down Emily’s gullet. Urkani released his hold. Emily sputtered and glared up at her assailant. Bloodcurdling scream, inches from his face, had the desired effect.
Urkani flinched.
Erchyll crossed himself, fell to his knees, hands clasped, and commenced guttural praying. “Elves never flinch. Bad omens.” The priest rocked and wailed his prayers.
“Get up, fool!” Broc shifted Emily, watching her for telltale signs the elixir wasn’t going to stay in her belly. He also watched in case her eyes began to glow, sure she desired nothing more than to skewer him. Only Lumynari had glowing eyes of amber. Broc pushed the impossible to the far recesses of his mind. Lady Emily was a modern, not a Lumynari. Twas a fluke of candlelight, nothing more.
The priest opened one eye, the other twitching before following suit. “I could get mi’ Holy water.”
“I’m killing albino man . . . but you’re . . . first.” Emily muttered, smacking Broc’s chest, not realizing it was more of a soft pat. Her head slumped against Broc’s shoulder. “You even smell like a Highlander.” She giggled. “Can I play with your treasure trail?” Her head lolled. Quickly, Broc shifted his arm, lest her neck snap. His glare scalded his men.
“One word, and I kill the lot o’ ye’, burying ye’ in four corners of the world.”
Twitching mouths tightened. Or, at least, they tried to.
“She sleeps. Her pain is over.” Urkani glowered at Garreck and Aedan who were chuckling.
“Aye, Albino Man, good thing for ye’ she does. Ye’ heard her. Yer’ a dead mohn,” Reignsfeugh reminded before looking to Broc. “What does she mean, ye’ be smellin’ like a Highlander?”
“Not even by a hair’s breadth do I fear the mortal,” Urkani announced, gathering his pouches.
“Ye’ pack yer poisons quick enough, Elf,” Aedan said, laughter in his voice. “What is this treasure trail? We be ‘avin treasure here? Ye’ keepin’ secrets again, laird?” Aedan tapped Urkani’s shoulder just before the commander stood. “Sleep wi’ dagger or dirk, Elf. I have seen the lass with blade.” His grin widened. “Took on the laird wi’ out a flinch.”
Urkani glowered. “Protection of the prince is the only merit to draw weapon—“
“Her skill intimidates ye’.”
“Stop fussing.” Maeve shoved Aedan aside, then waggled her finger up at Urkani. “You, tell me what you gave her and your words so I ken what ta’ expect when the lass awakens.”
“She will sleep.
The woman needs food. And warmth.” He glared at Broc. “If you cannot take adequate care of Princess Emily, perhaps she should be brought to Prince Aunsgar’s towers?”
“Ye’ stand in mi’ hall, daring—“
“Broc!” Aunsgar called. “He means but to protect her.” The prince strode down final stairs, joining them.
“I canna control the wee lass’ temper. She swilled damned near three bottles.” Broc ginned. “Never seen the likes, ‘cept from the lads.”
Erchyll draped a plaid over Emily. “Gluttony is a sin.”
Broc eyed him speculatively. “So is drowning a priest.”
“Broc?” Emily whispered.
The laird eyeballed Urkani.
The commander remained indifferent. “She is stronger than I presumed.”
“Aye, love?”
Laird MacLarrin ignored elbowing of ribs and ridiculous grinning.
“Bed. Please. So cold. Wanna lie down. Tell him . . . thank you. Fire stopped.”
Urkani stepped closer and placed his hand on Emily’s brow.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!”
Urkani yanked his hand back, examining the appendage as if bitten. Emily dropped her head back against Broc, deeply slumbering. A contended sigh escaped her.
“What exactly are the uses of that Holy water,” Aedan whispered. Several ‘ayes’ followed. Urkani muttered incoherent words, though he kept his distance.
“She should awaken without pain to her head, though her stomach will ache for a pair of days.” Urkani looked to Maeve. “Your stew and bread will do wonders.”
“Ye’ ‘avin’ a taste for it?” Maeve grinned. “Ye’ and Aurelia used to argue. I remember raging battles oft led to weapons drawn, Aunsgar yer’ mediator.” The elder woman nodded approvingly. “The soul remembers.”
Urkani looked at her most oddly. “The weather turns frigid here.”
“I’ll ‘ave the lads bring ye’ a pot o’ mi’ finest O’Shay stew—“
“Kitty soup,” Emily giggled softly, nuzzling into Broc.
“Tomorrow noon,” Maeve finished, staring oddly at Emily. “I’m in your debt, Urkani. Get her upstairs, milord.” She pushed on Broc’s shoulder, nudging him towards the stairs.