Since she didn't resist, Cheylan kissed her again, and this time he let his hands wander down her back, pulling her closer.
She could pretend to be flattered by his declaration but uncertain what to do about it. Stall him. But to what end? He would still want her to surrender to him before he would trust her enough to reveal his true intentions. And as for letting her escape...
Surrender.
Yes, she realized. That was what she had to do in order to learn why Cheylan had brought her here and what he intended.
"What you do will change everything," the Olvar had said.
No one knew better than Elelar how to manipulate a man through his desire and control him through sex. She had made Advisor Borell betray Valdani plans to her again and again; she had made Zimran betray Josarian. She could certainly make Cheylan reveal his secrets to her. Borell and Zimran had trusted her after conquering her body; Cheylan was no different, no better. He, too, would do what she wanted after he won the prize from her which men so absurdly valued. The prize which she had already, during their journey here, encouraged him to believe could be his.
"You must surrender," the Olvar had warned her.
Once Cheylan thought he had mastered her, she could master him. As soon as he believed he ruled, he could be ruled.
"Elelar," Cheylan whispered, bearing her down to the smooth, hard surface of the lava stone.
His eyes glowed hotly, and there was something cold beneath his skin when she touched him, something strange which she had never felt before and didn't understand. She shied away, startled and uneasy.
"Don't," he murmured. "Don't."
Fire and water surrounded them, hot and cold, freezing and burning. Lava streamed into the underground river, oozing slowly down glassy black cave walls to plunge into the water, shuddering ecstatically in the brief, destructive union of liquid and flame.
Surrender.
Elelar ignored her nerves and willfully banished her flash of anxiety. She lay back and forced herself to relax, inhaling the strange steam of this secret abode while Cheylan's hot lips explored the hollows of her throat and the rising curve of her breast.
Glowing shapes slithered past her hazy vision, as if fleeing the sight of two people mating in a domain which had, until now, always belonged wholly to something else.
Dar...
The muted roar filling Elelar's ears was, she now realized, the sound of exploding air and flowing lava, of melting rock and burning mud, moving through the volcano. They were under Dar's skin here, inside the goddess's sacred kingdom of darkness and light, intruding on such dangerous ground that even the mad zanareen and exultant praise singers didn't dare come here.
No... I can't stay here!
She surged against Cheylan in sudden panic. Whether or not he knew she was trying to escape, he chose to treat her desperate writhing as an expression of passion, and his hands were quick and ruthless on the silken ties of her tunic. Then he pulled apart the garment to expose her bare skin to the chilly heat and fevered coolness of this forbidden world where he held her prisoner.
When their eyes met again, Elelar was panting, undeniably afraid now. Cheylan didn't reassure her, nor was he gentle as he finished undressing her. She quivered in nervous indecision when he rose to shed his own clothes. She could see by his expression, as well as the tension in his body, that it would be very, very dangerous to thwart him now.
Surrender...
She had done this more times than she could count, with more men than she could easily remember. It was her weapon, her power, her means of conquest. This man was strange and unpredictable, and this place was as frightening as it was eerily beautiful, but the act was the same as it had always been. Surely, she could make Cheylan weak and helpless now, make him grateful that she gave what he wanted. Make him subject to her will and desperate to serve her.
I have always won this game. Surely I can win now.
The arms that came around her were hard, and much stronger than she had ever supposed. His weight pressed heavily down upon her, crushing her against the smooth rock beneath her back, smothering her, making it hard to breathe.
She found herself pushing him away, struggling against him, even though she knew it was a mistake. Cheylan seized her arms and pinned them beneath her, impatient and fierce. She fought him mindlessly for a few moments, and then their eyes met. Elelar froze, truly captive now. He held her gaze, his expression determined, his fire-rich eyes demanding that she accept him. Neither of them moved, or even breathed. Elelar sank into his gaze, losing herself in an enchantment she had never expected to experience, least of all with him. Feeling dizzy, she tried to draw breath, barely able to move beneath the hard weight of the man crushing her will with own. Her senses swam wildly as he kissed her, dragging her deep into the volcanic fury of his desire. She was so confused. If only she had time to think, to clear her head...
Cheylan's body was hot and urgent against hers. His long, gleaming hair tickled her as it slid over her shoulder, her belly, her thighs. His muscles bunched and flowed smoothly as he moved, and his knowing hands were ruthless on her flesh. The misty air around the two of them filled Elelar's throat and chest, clouding her mind as it sang to her blood.
You must surrender.
"No," she murmured weakly, but the word was drowned in the rasp of her frantic breath.
Surrender...
It would be the first time, in a way.
"Surrender," he whispered.
She shuddered, full of longing and fear, revulsion and desire. "I can't..."
"Yes, you can."
Elelar closed her eyes, hearing his voice echo around the cavern as the Olvar's words echoed inside her head.
"You must surrender."
Cheylan's eyes were like the heart of a fire, like she imagined the caldera of Darshon to be. His breath burned her skin wherever his lips touched, even as something deep inside of him chilled her with a cold flame as exotic and forbidden as the touch of a shir.
He arched against her, eager and bold as he sought to claim what he wanted, introducing their bodies to a dark intimacy while they themselves remained strangers. The heat she sensed, as he eased insistently past her defenses, was unbearable, unbelievable, unlike anything she'd ever felt emanating from a man's body.
Naked and vulnerable, pinned between her demon lover and the unforgiving surface of glossy rock, she still sought power over him. "Do you love me?" she asked, probing.
"Of course," he lied.
"No," she whispered, finally understanding. Now she realized the truth, and she panicked. She had lost this game the moment she'd decided to play. He had tricked her, from the very start. This was his dance, not hers. "Wait!"
"For what?"
Elelar's head banged briefly against hard stone as Cheylan claimed his victory. He filled her with such fiery power that she couldn't breathe or cry or even plead for mercy—and she wanted mercy, would have begged for it if she could. She wanted him to free her, to release her, to spare her... until she didn't want any of that anymore, until all she wanted was more of him, more of whatever he offered, even more of this darkly sinister defeat. By the time he flooded her womb with bitter cold and cruel heat, she was weeping with passion, with fear, with relief. By the time he was finished, she wanted mercy the way she had once wanted to live, the way she had once wanted to die.
By the time he abandoned her to lie alone in the glowing darkness, her body throbbing with pleasure and pain, she felt scalded down to her very soul, and the hot glow of life in her womb warned her that he had gotten what he wanted.
Chapter Seventeen
The smaller the minnow, the greater
the hope of becoming a dragonfish.
—Proverb of the Sea-Born Folk
There were distinct advantages to being famous and feared, and Tansen made full use of his reputation as he confronted various clan leaders in the eastern mountains.
The Marendari, who were Viramar's clan, were inflamed by the m
urder of a woman of their own blood, but also ashamed enough of her behavior—caught by her husband in bed with Kiman shah Moynari!—to agree to a temporary truce so that Tansen could attempt to repair the collapsed Lironi alliance. However, their price for once again cooperating with the Lironi, they warned Tansen, would be very high. Honor demanded it.
Kiman's clan, the Moynari, were more stubborn. As Tansen had feared, they blamed him, in part, for the current disaster. Knowing there was no way to avoid it without causing even worse problems, Tansen agreed to settle his own differences with the clan in formal combat. He really didn't want to kill the swaggering young man whom the Moynari chose as their champion; but if Tansen refused to accept their challenge, he knew they'd simply attack him at random, and he'd wind up killing a lot more of them that way. Besides, there was Zarien to consider. Tansen didn't want his son facing a bloodfeud with the Moynari.
He also didn't want the clan deciding they had chosen the wrong champion and demanding that Tansen fight yet another one, so he didn't kill his opponent as quickly as he could have. Only when he judged that the Moynari had seen enough sweat and blood to feel satisfied by the outcome did Tansen finally execute the young man.
Even after they accepted Tansen's victory and reaffirmed their friendship with him, however, the Moynari still clung to their bloodlust with hot passion. They had lost their clan leader with Kiman's death, after all. Tansen's discussions with them were long and frustrating, and only came to a successful conclusion when he promised the clan a satisfactory peace offering from the Lironi... and a bloodfeud with Josarian's own clan, the Emeldari, if they wouldn't honor Tansen's status as the Firebringer's brother and attend the truce meeting to which he invited them.
Yes, it was hard work, but the Moynari and the Marendari, along with several other clans engaging in this destructive feud, could be convinced to make peace and return to devoting all their energies to defeating the Society. But only, Tansen knew with weary certainty, if the Lironi agreed on the price which the rest of the clans had set.
Thanks to the internal feuding of Verlon's enemies, the old waterlord had already regained some territory which he had previously lost. And that was just the beginning, Tansen knew, if he couldn't quickly reverse the situation here.
But the waterlords had taught him to be ruthless. So Tansen invited Jagodan shah Lironi to meet him in Gamalan.
Najdan stood as far away from Mirabar's enchanted fire as possible while still remaining close enough to guard her. The logistics were tricky, but he was accustomed to it after all this time.
When Mirabar finally slumped in weariness and turned away from the woodless flames she had blown into life, he asked, "Anything?"
She shook her head. Ever since they'd left Elelar's estate, she had Called shades several times a day in hopes of learning where to find Cheylan and the torena.
"Nothing." The sirana's voice was dark with fatigue and frustration.
"And the Beckoner?" he prodded.
Mirabar shook her head. "He does not answer."
Feeling rather irritable, Najdan clapped a hand over the shir tucked into his jashar. He was used to the way it quivered in Mirabar's presence and shook so wildly near her fire magic, but the shivering was getting on his nerves today. He supposed he was a little tired.
"We can't protect Elelar if we can't even find her," Najdan said.
"I know," she snapped.
"We'll never—"
"I know."
He fell into a moody silence that matched hers.
"I wish Faradar would return," Mirabar grumbled after a while. "I'm hungry."
They had sent Elelar's pretty maid into a nearby village for supplies. Mirabar's disguise wouldn't protect her identity upon close scrutiny, so she and Najdan remained camped far from the village awaiting Faradar's return.
"I'm hungry, too," he admitted. He was also relieved that Mirabar had apparently passed the phase of her pregnancy which made her vomit every day. Not that her temperament seemed to be improving all that much. However, he acknowledged, these were unusually trying circumstances.
Aware that she was looking a little pale, Najdan picked up the waterskin and suggested she have something to drink.
She shook her head, gazing into her fire with a distracted stare. A moment later, a peculiar expression crossed her face. She made a soft sound and pressed a hand over her womb, looking a little dizzy.
Najdan suddenly felt the sides of the waterskin sag as water floated abundantly out of its mouth. Startled, he dropped it. The water kept flowing—through the air, across the clearing, and straight toward Mirabar.
Water magic.
Mirabar gasped when she saw it and leaped to her feet.
"Sirana!" Najdan seized his shir and lunged toward her.
The water stopped flowing when it reached her face, then just hovered in the air right in front of her. Najdan sliced at it with his shir—which was pretty foolish. He circled Mirabar, his back to her as he looked for the imminent attack.
"Najdan," she said softly.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Mirabar hesitantly touched the hovering stream of airborne water. A moment later, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. A few quivering drops separated themselves from the stream and danced onto her tongue.
Mirabar closed her mouth and swallowed.
Their gazes met.
"My daughter," Mirabar said after a moment, her voice a little shaky, "thinks I should drink something."
Najdan grunted, too stunned to say anything. His heart was still pounding as he crossed the clearing and picked up the fallen waterskin. He dropped it again when he heard a footstep behind him. With his shir ready for the kill, he leaped at the intruder—
"Don't do that!" Faradar shrieked.
Najdan sighed and turned away without apologizing. "I think I'm getting too old for my work."
Mirabar said to Faradar, "He's a little tense just now."
"So I see." Faradar lowered herself shakily onto a fallen log. "I feel ill."
"Did you bring food?" Mirabar asked.
"Yes," Faradar replied. "Also news."
"What?"
"Good news." Faradar took a calming breath, then announced, "Tansen is here in the east."
"What?"
"He has summoned the leaders of some feuding clans to a truce meeting," Faradar said. "In Gamalan."
Mirabar looked at Najdan. "Maybe we should find Tansen—"
"Before we find Cheylan." Najdan nodded, feeling a little better.
Cheylan studied Elelar in the dim light of the cavern. She looked different already. It was as if she glowed from within. "Prophecy is indeed an amazing thing," he murmured, pleased. Nothing had ever confirmed his destiny as thoroughly as the woman standing before him now did.
I will have it all.
Mirabar would take it from him if she could. He had seen that in her reaction to the Calling at Belitar. Once Elelar was pregnant, Mirabar would oppose the sire.
You will have to be stronger than he, Daurion had said to her.
Well, Daurion, reaching across the centuries through that rusted sword which Baran had given to Mirabar, might want Mirabar to oppose Cheylan; but he knew that Dar, at least, cherished him. Dar and the mysterious Beckoner had shown Cheylan, through Mirabar's visions, that he was chosen for something special. It all became clear to him after that Calling. His secret lair, seen but never understood in Mirabar's visions, sheltered all his ambitions now. He had known, upon going after Elelar, that he was meant to create his future here with her; and he had been right. He'd sensed it the moment it happened, a mystical act of procreation which left him burning with Dar's searing favor.
Cheylan would deal with Mirabar in time. When it was too late for her to come between him and his child. Between him and undisputed rule of Sileria through his son.
Now he gazed at the woman who bore his future in her womb.
Her dark, long-lashed eyes studied him suspiciously. She kept
her distance, as if afraid he would attempt a repetition of their previous encounter here. Memorable though the experience had been, Cheylan had no interest in repeating it.
"How can I make you more comfortable, torena?" he asked politely.
"Let me go," Elelar snapped.
Amused, he came closer. "I'm afraid that's not among your choices."
"If you ever touch me again," she warned him, backing away, "I'll kill you."
"I thought you enjoyed it," he said silkily.
"Men always think that."
"I'm wounded." Cheylan smiled. "And you are being less than entirely truthful."
"Then we have that in common."
"In any event, torena, I confess that your pleasure, while well worth the effort I invested, was not my primary goal."
She went very still. "You know, don't you?"
"Of course."
"That's why you brought me here. Why you told all those lies, confused me... trapped me here." Elelar looked around. "Wherever this is."
"I assure you, you'll never find your way out. Not without me."
"In other words," she said coldly, "don't try to escape, and don't try to hurt you."
He casually ignited an explosion of fire practically under her feet. Elelar screamed and flung herself away from it. He winced as she landed hard on a jagged volcanic boulder.
"My mistake," he acknowledged. "I had no idea you'd be so careless in your current condition."
"You've made your point," she said. "I can't hurt you."
"Only my tender feelings," he assured her dryly, knowing full well that that was precisely the sort of battle Torena Elelar would try to wage, if she intended to fight.
"What I don't understand is: why?" When he didn't reply, she placed a hand over her smooth, silk-covered stomach and looked down at it. "Or how. I thought I was barren."
"Dar did not intend your womb for the offspring of the drunken Valdan you married," he informed her. "Or the many other men who've shared your bed."
The Destroyer Goddess Page 31