by Ann Lawrence
The councilor’s heavy hand held him in place. “It is with that in mind that we have searched for a suitable lifemate for you. One who will be worthy of a man who, I am sure, will one day head this council.”
His mind reeled. A lifemate. It was all he could do to hold himself still and not roar with the pain of it. Reality and all its many thorns and pricks wrapped around him.
“Aye,” Samoht said from his place. “The council has selected a worthy mate for you. The daughter of the Selaw chief. The contracts are being drawn as we speak. We shall benefit greatly from the alliance, and so shall the Selaw.”
Kered tried in vain to force his way through the crowded palace corridors. He had to get to Maggie. He had to break this news to her in just the right way. Together they would think of a solution. After all, had not Maggie been there and helped him along each step of his quest? At nearly every turn of the cool stone hallways, someone pulled him to a stop to congratulate him or to ask for confirmation of details on the next day’s convoy to fetch the ice. The good wishes he could brush off, the concerns for the morrow he could not. So he ground his teeth in mute agony and answered with a patience he did not feel.
Surely, if the news of his marriage alliance had reached so many, so soon, Maggie would hear it as gossip—hurtful gossip. Finally, unable to pretend any longer, he put a man aside and raced the length of a corridor, then burst through the doors to his quarters.
Torches lit the chambers and wreathed the ceiling with smoke. He searched the many rooms for Maggie. Her neatly made bed, her small chest of possessions, might mislead another man to believe she’d stepped out for a moment. But he knew her better than he knew himself. After all, how could he not know the woman who linked him to another world, who was bound to him heart and soul?
He could smell the bleakness of her chamber. Beneath his bed he found the empty box that had held Maggie’s pendant and Vad’s cards. With a roar of grief, he flung the box away.
He raced to the barracks and hauled Vad from his bed. “Where is she?” he demanded, his desperation shredding his composure.
“What makes you think I know where Maggie has gone?” Vad wrenched himself from Kered’s grip, then hastily drew on his clothing.
Kered raked his fingers through his hair and stomped in a circle. “Why do I think you know? Who else would help Maggie? Einalem? Anna? She has no one else in this world!”
“Control yourself,” Vad ordered as he pulled on his boots. “And lower your voice. Ears are everywhere. You have need to see your awareness master. Maggie is a slave. Nothing more. By all the gods, you have lost your heart to a slave—one who will cause you naught but grief. It is best you lifemate now, before you do something foolish.”
Kered clenched his fists against the grinding reality of Vad’s words. “She is not just a slave.”
Vad slammed a hand against a nearby table. “No, my friend. You are wrong. She is naught but a slave. You can sell her. You can lie with her. You can breed children off her, but still, she will be a slave. Your children will be slaves. There is nothing you can do about it.”
At least in this world, Kered thought.
“You are wrong. I can do something.” Kered strode past Vad. He took the barracks’ steps two at a time.
Vad caught up with him, breathing hard, half running to keep pace with Kered’s long strides. “Do not be foolish, friend. Accept what is inevitable. She has.”
Kered jerked to a halt in the wide thoroughfare. “She has? What does that mean?”
“I spoke to her. Told her of the great honor the council offers you. She agreed it would be best for you both if she left. I gave her safe conduct.”
“Safe conduct!” Kered cried. “There is no such thing for a slave. By Nilrem’s knees, can you not understand? I love her. All this,” he swept his hand out to encompass the sprawling capital, “is meaningless to me without her.”
Kered looked up at the sky. As purple as an ancient king’s robe.
The moons silvered Vad’s hair as he, too, looked about. “I cannot understand. There is no place I would wish to be besides Tolemac. We are about to enter a new age of peace. Peace you brought about. How can you throw it away for a slave?”
Kered placed his hands on Vad’s broad shoulders. “Come with me. Help me find her. Tol will see our work is carried out. Another may guard the ice shipment.” He could barely contain himself. “By the sword, let Samoht mate with the Selaw daughter! We will cross the ice fields and see this place Maggie describes, a place without slavery!” But Kered knew that all his words would not make a difference. Vad knew only this world and this reality. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said softly. “The council will have to find another mate for the Selaw daughter. I am going after Maggie.”
He studied the sky. He would need to ride both day and night to reach her in time. Swiftly, he embraced his friend. Tears ran unheeded down his cheeks. He had wondered at his friend’s fate for more than twenty years. This leave-taking was more painful, more final than he’d ever imagined.
Vad shook him off. They cleared their throats and looked everywhere but at each other. Kered tried a final time. “I must go. Come with me.”
Vad shook his head, his own eyes alight with the gleam of emotion. “Go with the gods, my friend,” he said.
“Aye,” Kered returned. “You, too, go with the gods.” He grasped his friend’s hand and, as he had twenty-odd years before, he let it go.
Kered tore through his cupboards, tossing garments aside as he searched for certain articles of clothing—buff breeches, his leather jerkin. He wasted precious time hunting for the turtle Maggie had made for him. As he held it in his hand, he paused a moment to consider the remarkable woman who had used her skills to aid him. With great care, he slipped it inside his jerkin, where the cold metal and glass could rest against his skin. Finally, he sheathed the sacred sword of his ancestors. Time was flying—and so must he.
An hour later, mounted on Windsong, he cantered across the meadow that overlooked Tolemac. He had known she would not be standing in the center, awaiting a conjunction still a day and a half away. One did not need safe conduct to a meadow on the outskirts of the city. But still, he had come.
He gripped his reins and wheeled his mount in another direction, toward hostile country. Windsong sidled beneath him, turning and objecting to the direction his master seemed determined to take. Overhead, the heavens told him he would be too late. He gripped the hilt of his sword and vowed to try anyway. He leaned forward and whispered in Windsong’s ear, “Get me there, my fine friend. Give truth to your name.”
She journeyed as quickly as her mount would allow, frightened at every turn by the slightest noise or hint of humanity on the horizon. She rather doubted that her small metal pass would protect her from anyone who wished to claim an unescorted slave. Even Kered’s boot knife, which she touched frequently to reassure herself, would be of little use against a Wartman, or even a determined beggar.
Occasionally, she imagined that the dagger grew warm against her thigh, but she shook it off as imagination—and desire for what could not be. Still, in those moments, she looked over her shoulder at the barren land behind her and kneaded the spot where the metal hilt lay warm against her skin.
Nilrem expressed no surprise when she appeared on his doorstep. He asked no questions, just set a wooden cup of water before her and offered her a thin broth from a pot set over the flames. They spoke little of anything save the coming conjunction.
She napped and to pass the time, mended a woolen blanket for the wise man. Finally, she knew from the shadows cast that it was time.
She kissed the old man on his head.
“Do not be so sorrowful, my child. You are doing what is best,” Nilrem said, patting her hand. “Kered will do what is best for him, too.”
“I am doing what is right for Kered. I was wrong to think one could come and go, or dwell in more than one place. He feels complete here, so here he belongs.”
“
I imagine Kered feels complete wherever you are, child.”
She shook her head. She remembered the look of joy on Kered’s face when he’d stood on the meadow, surveying the world around him with new eyes. “Goodbye.” With that, she lifted the latch and stepped out into the cold night.
The moons were almost in alignment. A flicker of lightning on the horizon made her hurry to the edge of the mountain meadow. The wind rose. As in the opening of the game, she stared along the path to the grove of trees and the way to the Scorched Plain.
He was safe.
He no longer needed her protection.
She no longer wondered why he had thrust her away. He had known there was no place for her in his world. She hung her head and hugged the engraved knife to her chest. Even without Derek to draw the game, Tolemac still thrived and moved on. And so must she.
A shower of pebbles made her head jerk up. Her breath hitched in her chest. The sound of a boot on the loose stone of the path made her heart swell. He climbed the rocky hill, each foot placed deliberately. She heard the crunch of stones beneath his soles, heard the sigh of the wind in the trees. The sweet scent of mountain flowers drifted on the breeze.
Kered came straight toward her.
Maggie flew into his arms. He hugged her close, then wrapped his arm about her waist. The heady taste of his kiss told her all she needed to know.
“Hold me tightly,” he said, his gaze locked to hers.
She hugged him close.
The orbs aligned.
His sword sang from his scabbard. “Where you are, Maggie, there I must be.”
A ball of fire lit the sky as his sword traced an arc against the heavens.
About Ann Lawrence
Award winning author Ann Lawrence writes both historical and paranormal romance with strong heroes and equally indomitable heroines. Her books reflect her love of English history and Arthurian legend. But whichever genre Ann chooses, she likes to include a puzzle for her readers to solve. Ann loves hearing from her readers.
Ann welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Ann Lawrence
Lord of the Hunt
Lord of the Keep
Lord of the Mist
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Virtual Heaven
ISBN 9781419946288
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Virtual Heaven Copyright © 1999, 2013 Ann Lawrence
Cover design by Dar Albert
Cover photography by SeamnartiniGraphics, Lynel, gOrZh, tankist276/fotolia.com
Electronic book publication July 2013
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