Djahr felt her slide over him, wakening him to pleasure, yet he felt no remorse at this. His vow of celibacy, declared at the death of his wife, was taken to purge his mind of the distracting pleasures of the flesh. The Shadow Woman was not flesh, therefore he did no evil by accepting her attentions. ‘You are not always tender with me, my love,’ he reminded her, and heard her laugh.
‘Tonight, I am nothing with you,’ she replied, and instantly he felt her gone.
Djahr opened his eyes, took a sip of wine. His bed would be empty this night, but tomorrow his Shadow Woman would return. At devotions she would stand invisible beside him, whispering in his ear the sins of his petitioners which he would then denounce, proving to all the power of The Dark, while none knew she was the true source of his discernment.
The evening had gone well and with her help, the night would further improve the humour of his visiting enemy. For enemy Sh’hale was, no doubt of that. While both took the same path, and of necessity must make room for each other upon it, at their destination lay only one throne.
For there could be only one King.
CHAPTER FOUR
Talis’s searching hand was quickly followed by a second, yet it was only after he plunged his whole upper body into the pool that he discovered her limp form and dragged his Princess free. Blurred through his own wet lashes, he saw that her eyes were open and sightless. Though he felt sick with dread he thought quickly. Withdrawing his life-force from Magoria, he transferred it to her, barely noticing the crack like two mountains colliding which heralded the disappearance of the shimmering pool.
A quick prayer to the Great Guardian flitted through his mind, and then in the sudden silence that descended on the Plain, Talis began the Rite of Revival, murmuring age-old words that would take a portion of his life and make it hers.
Fear clutched at his heart. Fear and guilt. No Guardian had lost a life through the Sacred Pool before, and for this to happen to the White Princess …
Rolling her over on his legs, he pressed her pale forehead to the ground, to make her one with Ennae and receptive to its gifts. Long, wet strands of royal white hair dragged across the dirt and a trickle of water escaped her mouth.
‘… Thus do I give thee the life thou hath lost.
With a part of my own do I barter the cost.’
Talis swayed as he felt the weakening of his own body, but she remained still. Fearing the rite had failed him, he was about to try again when his Princess jerked and coughed, her retching a joy to his ears.
Not so to hers. ‘God … I’m going to die,’ she said.
Talis had no time to tell her she already had before the next convulsion gripped her and he could do nothing but steady her as she emptied the Magorian water she had swallowed onto the floor of the Plain. The Rite of Resuscitation had weakened his Guardian power or he would have used it to settle her stomach and end her discomfort. As matters stood he could only give her the comfort of his presence while he listened to her wretchedness with a sympathetic ear.
At last her convulsions slowed and though she trembled, he was able to help her sit before him, her pale, unsteady hand rising to push back the long strands of hair that had covered her face. In the same moment as she said, ‘Who are you?’ Talis realised he had made a terrible mistake.
‘My … Queen,’ he stammered, seeing her clearly for the first time. ‘I had expected … We had thought the Princess Khatrene would —’
‘Ca-treen?’ She shook her head. ‘My name is Catherine.’ Her gaze drifted to the near horizon of thickening mist and to the ground beneath them before darting to the heavy sky. ‘What is this place? The sky is brown.’ She looked back to him, his features, his clothing. ‘You’re brown. Everything’s brown. Oh God.’ Her hand came up to cover her mouth. ‘I’ve gone mad. I’m hallucinating about the brown kingdom.’
Talis raised a wavering finger and shook his head. ‘You are the Queen Danille. I know your face, your hair, your eyes …’ He touched his own chest. ‘I know about the scar that lies above your breast —’
Some of the horror faded from her eyes. ‘My mother had a scar. Her name was Danielle.’ Before Talis could avert his gaze she pulled down the neck of her strangely cut shirt to show smooth unmarred flesh that could not be the Queen’s. ‘Here,’ she pointed at her collarbone. ‘Did you know my mother?’
Talis simply stared as she pushed herself up to stand wavering above him. On her legs were warrior pants of a hue he’d only ever seen in the Sacred Pool, but a different hue from her shirt which was the same magic colour as her eyes. Royal eyes. Their King Mihale had returned from Magoria in similar attire, but to see pants on a woman shocked Talis. He fought to hide his reaction.
‘Who are you,’ she demanded, ‘and how did you know about my mother’s scar?’
Talis struggled to concentrate on her words.
‘Do you know my brother, Michael? I’m here to find him.’ She frowned then, and the intensity of her gaze was suddenly as familiar to Talis as the land was unfamiliar to her.
It was the Princess Khatrene, somehow grown older. And without the benefit of her memories, which he still held for her, she had no knowledge of Ennae or her place in it. This was her confusion, and his own did little to help her. In that moment he remembered his duty.
‘My Lady, I am Talis of the House of Guardians, First Man of your brother the King Mihale and Royal Champion to the White Twins of Ennae.’ By the time he’d reached the ending of this speech he had risen to one knee with bowed head. The thin warrior plaits on either side of his face, pushed by the wet hair behind, brushed the ground at her feet. She took a step backwards.
‘King Ma-hale? White Twins?’ She shook her head. ‘I must be lying in a hospital bed drugged to the eyeballs.’ She looked around herself as though seeking an exit.
‘My Lady does not remember her childhood here —’
‘My childhood?’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘Well, that’s convenient. I lose my childhood memories in an accident when I’m ten and now you’re telling me I spent those years here?’ She looked around and shook her head. ‘I feel like I’ve stepped into a sepia photograph.’
‘My Lady, you lived here as a princess and I was your Champion, though you remember me not.’ Honour urged him tell her that the loss of her memories was an accident of his making, yet with no ready solution to that problem he set his mind instead to reassuring her. ‘There was a war. Northmen attacked and were aided by one of our own. Your father the King was killed by this traitor, Roeg. Together with your mother and brother you were sent into exile in Magoria —’
‘No.’ She laid a hand over her unsettled stomach and shook her head. ‘I am not the little princess of the brown kingdom fairytale. My father died in a car accident, the same accident where I suffered amnesia. I know that because my mother told me. She …’ The Princess glanced away. ‘She wouldn’t lie. The only time I’ve spent here is in my imagination.’ Her eyes focused inwards and a sadness seemed to come over her then. ‘If I’d actually lived here she wouldn’t have pretended it was a fairytale. She would have told me it was real. Although … now that I come to think of it, Michael did say it was real. But I thought he meant, real like Santa Claus. Real like the tooth fairy. Not …’
Her frown deepened and Talis could think of nothing to say that would help her believe him. And neither could he ease his own bewilderment. The White Princess should be only thirteen years old, the same age as his betrothed, Lae.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked and Talis quickly smoothed his expression into one of obedience.
>
‘My Lady, I am confused. You are the twin of My Lord and King who is … younger, than the years you obviously carry.’
‘You’re telling me I look older than Michael?’
Talis heard the tone. ‘I do not say this to insult you. My Lady.’
‘How old am I supposed to be?’
‘Thirteen, My —’
‘Well, he was fifteen when I last saw him and that was ten years ago.’
Talis did some rapid calculation. ‘When our Lord and King returned to us he should have been eleven and yet he appeared … older.’ As did the Princess Khatrene. ‘My Lady, I fear that Magoria turns five years for each one of ours.’
‘Magoria?’
‘The Otherworld where you lived in exile. You will not remember, but it is a brightly hued world of illusion and dreams. A waiting place —’
‘Oh, I remember it all right. And trust me, there’s nothing illusory about it. In fact, it’s more real than this place.’
Talis felt his beliefs battered yet again. ‘My Lady remembers Magoria?’
‘If it’s the place with drive-through McDonald’s and the disappearing ozone layer then yeah, I remember it well.’
‘No other …’ Talis’s words dried in his mouth. She was staring into the haze, but with a listening attitude. ‘Do you hear something, My Lady?’ He turned in a circle. Nothing.
‘No, it’s just …’ She tapped her forehead again. ‘He’s telling me I should trust you. That we need to get going. That you’ll take me to my brother.’
‘Indeed, My Lady —’ he broke off at the expression on her face, his questions put aside for the moment as she turned away, hand low on her belly.
‘I think I’m going to —’
Talis winced as her stomach clenched on itself again and more of the water she had swallowed resurfaced. ‘The journey from Magoria is hard, My Lady,’ he said, to comfort her. ‘Your own royal brother slept for two days afterwards.’ She was on her knees now and he crouched beside her, holding her thin shoulders. ‘Such trials on the weak body of a woman —’
‘Oh, spare me, will you?’ Her body trembled and the sickness came on her again. She spat several times before taking the flask he offered to rinse her mouth. ‘God I feel sick.’ She raised the flask, then spat out its contents and retched again. ‘What the hell is that?’ she demanded when she could speak. ‘Custard?’
‘My Lady, it is water.’ Talis frowned, then remembering the air-thin water of the Sacred Pool said, ‘Perhaps the water of our world is thicker than that of Magoria.’
She raised her head and fixed him with a wavering stare. ‘Or perhaps this is just a bad dream and if I try really hard I’ll wake up.’
‘I shall take you to the King,’ Talis said quickly, and pulled off his cloak to lay it across her shoulders. A heartbeat later she wavered and he caught her.
‘I want … Michael,’ she said, then went limp.
‘I can carry My Lady,’ Talis said as though to reassure himself of his intention as he pulled the cloak around her and cradled her to his chest.
Then he stood and a hot breeze brushed his cheeks, stirring the drying strands of white hair around her face. Her lips parted and her tongue, which was not brown, came out to wet them. So much of the White Twins was not brown that Talis could have stood in silent awe marvelling over the obvious divinity of the royal line whose stark colouring differed from every other race on Ennae. Only her eyes opened and they gazed into his, the magic colour of them deep enough to see into his soul. And then she smiled.
Talis himself remained still, but in that instant his soul was swept away. His arms, which held her, felt suddenly not his own, and the body that would bear her up, weak and unsure. An unsettled ache a hundred times fuller than first-longing overcame him, saturating his body and his mind until he felt his skin would burst.
‘Don’t drop me. I bruise.’
Talis could only stare at her.
‘The Royal Champion is a Guardian,’ she said and Talis forced himself to nod. ‘I remember, Michael told me that. Guardians have powers and they protect people.’ Her smile faded and they stared at each other before she said, ‘You are going to take me to my brother?’
He nodded again, unable to speak.
‘Okay. Just do the genie thing and wake me up when we get there.’ Her eyes slid shut and Talis found himself needing breath. And answers. The Princess Khatrene appeared closer in age to himself, near three and twenty. Not a girl with a chest no bigger than a boy and no shape to curve a palm into. This Khatrene was a soft, warm, beautiful —
Talis slashed at the thoughts that would dishonour his position. He had expected to escort a child and now carried a woman. Such were the facts. But duty was still duty.
Serve, honour, obey.
He told himself this as her eyes fluttered open and focused over his shoulder. ‘We’re still here?’
‘My Lady, yes.’
‘What was your name again?’ Her gaze wavered towards him.
‘Talis, My Lady. ‘Talis of the House of —’
‘Talis,’ she cut over him, her eyelids sliding shut. ‘Are they with you?’
Instinctively, his hand moved to cover the face of the Princess. A second later he felt the chill of a blade pressed to his throat.
CHAPTER FIVE
Noorinya rose from her mat at the whistling call which marked the patrol’s return. She nodded for her Left Hand to follow and pushed out of the fibre shelter her sisters had built for her the night before. Though she had risen to become leader of all the Plainsmen and should feel pride in that position, it galled her that their numbers were so few that they must all live together for protection. The old way of family tribes had caused far less dispute over leadership. And now one came towards her who seemed daily to want to battle for that role.
Yet before she greeted him, Noorinya turned in a circle to probe the near-mists with her mind as the old women had taught her. No other objects were close. Only the shelters of her people and the incoming patrol. Safe then to speak aloud.
‘Ho, Monit,’ she called to him as his patrol emerged from the thick haze of noon. ‘What do you bring?’ She nodded at the warrior in their midst carrying a draped figure, then signalled with a forward fist to add an imperative to her question.
Monit shrugged, the subtle intonation in his movement indicating lack of fear. ‘Entertainment? Slaves?’
They drew closer and Noorinya felt her skin prickle. ‘I think not,’ she said as they came to a halt before her in the centre of their camp. ‘One does not make a slave of the King’s Champion.’
Monit made a sound and the others of the patrol fell back a pace, hands on their weapons. Their cloth was a pale drab to blend with the surrounding mists. A trick to mislead the eye. A trick that would not normally gull a warrior of such high rank.
The Champion met her gaze, ‘Noorinya,’ and bowed his head to acknowledge her leadership. ‘How is it with you?’ The bundle in his arms moved and he tightened his grip. ‘I see you have recovered well from your wounds.’
Noorinya smiled. Clever of him to remind her of the debt she owed him. ‘I am a fed and fearsome opponent now, Guardian. I do not fall to the first warrior who crosses my path.’
‘Kert Sh’hale was not the first warrior to cross your path, I’ll warrant.’
She nodded. ‘But he was the first to best me, and would have killed me if you had not stayed his hand.’
This she said for her men’s benefit, as much as the warrior’s.
Talis held her gaze steadily. ‘I had not thought to call in the debt, but,’ he glanced at her forces and then back to her, ‘my King requires me elsewhere.’
Noorinya inclined her head to acknowledge his petition, but was not yet ready to grant it. She moved closer to the Champion and marked how his hold on the bundle tightened. Curious. Strange too was the warmth that came to her from the memory stone which hung on a thong at her throat. Ignoring the Champion, she raised a hand and clutched the stone, closing her eyes the better to gather its message. Yet nothing clear came to her. A stirring of fate and … a child’s cry? What portent was this?
She opened her eyes and concentrated on the problem before her. ‘How did you come to be taken so easily, Guardian? And what do you bear?’ she asked. ‘A wounded fellow —’
‘My burden is my own concern, Plainswoman. I bid you release me and let me continue on the King’s business.’
Noorinya’s hands moved in the missed-clap signal to show the Champion his bluster had not affected her.
She spoke to Monit. ‘What is this … King’s business that the Champion bears?’
‘I did not see,’ Monit replied. ‘Nor did I care. A woman by the shape, but the warrior’s quick hand concealed her from us.’
She turned back to Talis. ‘I will see this King’s business.’ She pointed at the bundle. ‘There may be profit in it for us.’
A murmur of approval ran through the patrol and Noorinya flicked a glance to Monit, who stilled the sound with a gesture.
Talis did not move to obey but simply held her gaze. Noorinya liked his bravado. She raised a spread-finger fist and smiled. He was brave and strong, this son of the House of Guardians. And not unattractive. For the second time in as many meetings she found herself wishing for a man like this at her side. Was that the message of the memory stone? A child with this Guardian?
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