Though Pagan would stand close to her all night, and closer if he could, the wretched honour his father had instilled in him bade him say, ‘My Lady needs rest,’ to which he added a pointed glance at the dried grasses he had laid on the floor for her comfort.
She patted his arm and said, ‘I am tired now. Will you tell me some battle stories, Pagan?’
‘Indeed.’ Pagan was ready to do that. ‘The thirty day war is a stirring tale, My Lady.’ He turned to stoke the fire quickly, while considering how best to begin. At the first blade-strike? Or earlier, when a Northern scout had been found and tortured? Yet just when he had the tale clear in his mind and the fire blazing steadily, he turned to find that the Princess was already asleep.
Biting back disappointment, Pagan returned to sharpening his blades, settling himself to wait for his cousin. Yet as time passed he found himself watching the Princess as she slept, smiling when she murmured or wriggled on her thin bed. Though he had not had the training of a Champion, in those quiet moments he felt strongly the satisfaction his cousin lived for, the sure knowledge that the life he protected was safe in his care.
Soon enough Talis would return and take back the duty he had temporarily given to his kin, and that was as it should be. Pagan was a born warrior. He ate the battle, and leading a life like his cousin’s would make the hours creep like shadows. Yet, he still envied Talis. To be near to the Princess every day of his life was a valuable reward for boredom. Although, if Pagan were to become a Champion, his ill-luck would likely see him guarding the dreaded Lae of Be’uccdha. Would he then feel such sweet satisfaction to be trapped for eternity at the side of a disrespectful shrew?
A shudder passed over him and he returned to his blades, sharpening them with renewed purpose as he lost himself in dreams of bloody battles and glorious triumphs, and anything that took his mind from the memory of Lae’s scathing insults and thin, scornful lips.
*
By the side of a fronded Handwood, Talis stood gazing across the sea of undulating leaves that was the Forest of Desire. Men despairing of love were known to walk into its depths and never return. The youngest of their warriors were taught to fear its entrapment. Yet Talis entered the forest this night of his own free will, trusting his Guardian powers to control the passions that would be awoken and divert them towards his betrothed, to whom they rightfully belonged.
There would be risks. The Princess’s resuscitation at the Sacred Pool and his own recent wound conspired to weaken his powers, but the memory of her hands on his flesh still burned him, and a battle such as Talis had never before waged roared inside him. Even as he’d told her to wait with Pagan at the Sanctum, her concern had not moved him. His eyes had seen only that her gaze lingered on his, that her lower lip was caught between her teeth, a gentle scoring that in his recklessness he imagined soothing with a tender kiss.
Yet beside this tenderness, like a restless bedfellow, dwelt jealous passion. When there was talk of her marriage, or she glanced at another, even his cousin whom she herself called ‘boy’, Talis felt a stirring of such violence that he feared for his sanity. And that such emotions should bedevil him was worry enough, but to feel and think such things about the person of a Princess Royal filled him with anguish and self-loathing. No choice remained but to rid himself of the misplaced longing or stand aside and let another serve her.
‘Talissssssss,’ the leaves seemed to whisper, rubbing against each other. It was time. Before his resolve deserted him, he unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it to the ground, his clothing and boots falling after it. Naked now, he stepped to the edge of the Forest and the sea of vegetation undulated towards him, straining to claim him. The air around him pulsed with the promise of what was to come.
‘Lae of Be’uccdha,’ he said, creating the vision of his betrothed inside his mind, altering the image to bring womanhood to the girl. ‘This is the wife of my choosing,’ he said, his voice strong. ‘This is the woman whose bed I will claim.’
Holding fast to the image of her, Talis took three steps forward, girding himself against loathsome dread as the Forest closed around him, dragging him down. Soft, pulsing plants enveloped his body, sliding over his tingling skin, welcoming him into their clinging embrace. The pleasure of it took his breath away, but with a singleness of purpose honed over years of Guardianship, he thought only of Lae, seeing her dance for him in the private bridal ceremony that would follow their wedding, her lithe arms raised above her head, hands undulating seductively, breasts swaying to entice him.
Ignored by his mind, the plants moved over his body and he strengthened to their touch. Lae danced closer, her velvet brown skin glowing, the jewels that were her only adornment glittering in the burnished light of their bridal chamber. The scent of her heated skin came to him as her lips brushed his own; a fleeting touch that did nothing to satisfy him.
The ever-bond he would construct with Lae could only be forged amid the terrible joy of two bodies joined. His father, a Guardian before him, had taught him this way of strengthening the marriage vows by focusing his powers, and he had planned that happy duty for his own wedding night. As matters stood, Talis knew he must create the bond now.
In his mind, he reached a hand to his dancing wife, her swaying body made more alluring to him by the curves of womanhood, curves he deliberately imagined fuller than —
A strange light flooded his vision just as his hand closed over the arm of the woman who was his by right of marriage. In his mind, Talis blinked, then found the arm he grasped was slender and pale.
Horror coiled though him. ‘No,’ he groaned, spreading his fingers wide as though to release the vision. But to mock his pain, the Forest took his hands, small sucking leaves on his palms, between his fingers. His strength grew and he struggled for Lae, but the hair that fell around this woman’s shoulders was white and the eyes that held him entranced were of royal hue.
I am the wife of your heart, she said in a voice that bewitched his ears. Talis fought to still the vision, yet as she touched soft lips to his, resolve melted within him. His breath came hot as she pressed herself against him, the scent of her hair and her skin a dizzying elixir. Your destiny is mine, she whispered, close to his hungry mouth, and with a last effort of will he held himself back from her. But she would have his soul yet. Her pale arms twining round his neck, she pressed her own hungry lips to his and tasted the heat of his desire.
Talis was lost.
The hands that rose to touch her were a husband’s hands, and they took all that a husband would claim. In an agony of bliss, he felt each touch, each kiss, as though it was real, and in that illusion of nuptial rapture, Khatrene of Ennae returned his ardour with a passion that scorched his soul. Frenzy fed on itself and his mind reeled even as his body shuddered towards exquisite delight.
Then came a moment of stillness. Lying captive beneath him, Khatrene looked up with love-drugged eyes, her hands slipping from his body to lie at her sides. Talis let his gaze cherish her pale beauty, even as he poised himself to cleave to the woman of his heart.
I know you will not hurt me, Talis, she whispered, and he paused. Holding his strength in its grasp, the Forest urged him on, but Talis knew he must stop. If he followed his vision and took the fierce pleasure the Forest offered him he would be bound to the Princess more surely than if they had exchanged a wedding vow, and in the world they must inhabit, that could never be.
‘I will not,’ he gritted, teeth locked together, but he could not stop the onrush of sensation the Forest had teased from his loins. Like a river dammed too high, it lay ready to break past its captor and flood liquid warmth to the far reaches of its domain. In desperation he shouted, ‘I call on the intercession of the Ancestors!’ clutching at the threads of his self-control as the incantation caused the forest to fall quiet around him.
Mercifully, the Princ
ess faded from his view and he found his eyes were open, staring up into the night sky. The clarity of the air stung his tensed nerves and he trembled as he made to rise, knowing he had only moments before the Forest awoke. A shudder passed over him as the clinging plants slid from his body and their more intimate embraces fell away. Then he was on his knees, stumbling forward to clear land where he struggled into his breeches, fighting the powerful forces leashed within him which still ached for release.
The chill of Rue Marsh drifted around him and Talis let it seep into his bones as he lay trembling on the ground. An hour passed, perhaps two, then at last, with the deadening of his desire, came rational thought.
Despite the weakness of his body, the Guardian power was strong within him and he had not succumbed to the temptation of the Forest. Thus the bond between himself and the Princess was not solidly formed. And yet neither was it destroyed as he had hoped. The too real vision of her willing surrender made him believe Khatrene his, when soon enough she would belong to another. She would bond with another, as he should … must bond with Lae.
And yet now, he could not.
Lae was as dear to him as any sister would have been, and she deserved the love of a husband. Talis, with no love, no desire to give her, could not be that man. All that he had belonged to the White Princess, and though she would never be his, he could do nothing to change his heart.
While Khatrene lived he would not lie in the bed of another woman. This was the harsh truth the Forest had given him, and it was best known early, before their marriage vows brought Lae anguish.
Born a warrior, sacrifice was not unknown to Talis, but the depth of what he must now relinquish lay heavy on his heart. It would be difficult enough to release Lae from her betrothal vow, but to tell his uncle he would not father sons to continue the Guardian line …
Then came the unwelcome thought of watching his Princess find love and children in the arms of the husband destiny had decreed should be hers. For all the years she lived he must stand at her side as her Champion, coveting what belonged to another.
In that moment only duty stood between Talis and despair. That and his Champion’s vow.
Serve. Honour. Obey.
To this he must hold fast. And so he did as he donned his clothes and set off for the Deep Sanctum, there to face the woman who had won his heart and would never know.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘The vapours of Rue Marsh lie heavy on the heart,’ Pagan said to Khatrene, nodding at his cousin who trudged through the clinging mud ten paces ahead. Talis’s short blade rose and fell, hacking a path for them through rope-vines that hung like Christmas tinsel from thick fungus trees. An odd, clinging mist lay on the water and hovered just above their heads, narrowing their field of vision to man height.
Khatrene and Pagan followed behind Talis, Pagan occasionally having to catch her arm when one of her boots stuck and she overbalanced. She hadn’t toppled over yet, but if they didn’t reach dry land soon Khatrene was sure she’d collapse into the cold slush and never be seen again.
‘So that’s his excuse for being grumpy?’ she said. ‘Rue Marsh?’
Pagan shrugged and Khatrene went back to watching her feet. Their conversation had kept her mind off her aches and pains but she didn’t believe for a minute that Pagan knew what was going on in his cousin’s mind, and she sure as hell didn’t. Her usually charming Champion had woken up on the wrong side of the stone floor and all she’d been able to get out of him were monosyllables.
He was acting as though there was a space around her he didn’t want to penetrate. It was almost as if… ‘Pagan?’ she said, then paused to concentrate on her foot which had become stuck. She wrenched it out and began moving again. ‘Is my breath getting furry?’
Her young companion smiled and shook his head, his own feet rising and falling with none of the exertion hers seemed to require. ‘My Lady,’ he said, ‘Your breath is as sharp and sweet as the nesdai you consume.’
‘That reminds me.’ Something else to take her mind off her aching legs. She held out a hand and he rifled through the bag slung across his chest before handing her four small, soft leaves. Khatrene popped one into her mouth and munched as they slogged forward. ‘This is so like peppermint,’ she said, then stopped talking for a moment to catch some breaths. ‘If I could blow bubbles with it I’d feel like I was back home.’
‘Home, My Lady?’ Pagan gave her a slow, thoughtful glance. ‘Do you speak of Magoria this way?’ His hand came out to steady her as the same boot stuck again.
‘Yeah.’ She frowned, wrenching the boot out and continuing. ‘I guess I do. I know this is supposed to be my home, but it doesn’t feel like it.’
‘I was sorry to hear from my cousin that your memories were lost, My Lady,’ he said and was silent a moment. Then he added brightly, ‘But there is good in that. I was caught once taking a lock of your hair and —’
Khatrene realised she had enough energy to grin. ‘Why on earth would you want some of my hair?’
‘I would have been a man among boys with such a possession,’ he said, his chest rising to mock himself, ‘but you were so vexed with me you ordered my father to beat me twice.’
Even though she was laughing, Khatrene put a hand to her mouth in shock and stumbled into Pagan. He righted her and they looked at each other. ‘Did I? Talis told me I was a sweet child.’
Pagan shook his head. ‘Perhaps with your Champion, My Lady. But to his apprentice cousin …’ He trailed off with an elaborate sigh.
‘Poor Pagan,’ she said, patting his arm and then hanging on to it as she wrenched a boot out and started forward again. It suddenly seemed a whole lot harder to keep her legs going. ‘And I’m sure you didn’t deserve a bit of it.’
He had the decency to shoot her a guilty grin. ‘Yet now to my joy,’ he said, ‘I find you have no memory of my trespass and likely bear no grudge for past ills.’
‘Ills? Plural? So cutting my hair wasn’t the only thing?’ She kept a hand on his arm now, not sure if she could stay upright without it.
‘All behind us now, Princess,’ he said cheerfully.
Khatrene had to agree. ‘I certainly can’t hold grudges for things I can’t remember.’
‘So I am pleased that you do not remember your childhood.’
‘I wish I could say the same.’ She glanced at the stiff back of her Champion, wondering whether his silence was because of something she’d done or some expectation she hadn’t lived up to. Not that she should care. She barely knew Talis. Still, it hurt. And she didn’t want any more hurt. She simply wanted to be taken to her brother so she could feel loved again. Was that so much to ask?
Tiredness suddenly overwhelmed her and she came to a swaying halt. Pagan was forced to hold her shoulders to keep her from falling.
‘Princess, your footsteps grow weary,’ he said softly. ‘Your strength is at an end. You must be carried if we are to clear the swamp.’
Khatrene couldn’t even raise her head.
‘Cousin,’ Pagan called, ‘the White Princess grows weary. Shall I carry her?’ Or will you? was the silent question Khatrene heard in his voice.
At that point she couldn’t have cared less. Pagan was right. She couldn’t walk another step.
Talis sloshed to a stop beside them and she dragged her head up. He was looking at Pagan’s hands on her shoulders. ‘I will carry the White Princess,’ he said, not even looking at her.
Good for you, she wanted to say, but instead she closed her eyes, thinking this whole undignified episode would be better experienced asleep. Kha
trene barely felt herself being swept up into his arms, just blessed relaxation as her limbs realised they no longer had to support her. Without conscious instruction her body went limp and within seconds she was taking the soft even breaths of sleep.
Talis stood with Khatrene in his arms, feeling the complete surrender of her body to his care. Her cheek lay against his chest, her lips hung partly open and her shoulders curled towards him like a child to her pillow. Such trust lay in that surrender. More than he’d held in himself.
In fear of touching her and racked with a violent jealousy that would not allow his innocent cousin to carry her, Talis had forced his Princess to far exceed her reserves of energy. He could feel how depleted her strained resources were through the small tremors that ran down her leg muscles, even while she slept.
Pagan moved ahead to clear their path but still Talis looked at his Princess, his heart not full of the fierce desire he had feared, but a rush of sweet tenderness. Her physical vulnerability weighed heavily on him, and he thought to gift her some portion of his own strength to ease the burden on her slight body.
A palm against her forehead would hasten the rite, yet he paused to brush away strands of loosened hair, pale and soft against the darker skin of his hand. A smile touched his lips and it took him a moment to concentrate on his task, so content was he to stand with her cradled safe in his arms. Finally he began, drawing first to himself the power within and then channelling that to his hand, and on to her mind.
‘With Guardian power do I bestow the strength that you have lost.
Into your body, take it now. My own to bear the cost.’
The glow of gathered strength departed from his mind and he felt a moment’s weakness. Instantly, the tremors in Khatrene’s legs ceased and he felt her vitality grow stronger. Yet he felt something else, a sense of wellbeing that was caught fast to a memory.
He made to leave her mind in privacy, for a Guardian may not use his powers to satisfy his own curiosity, but only to heal. Yet before he could withdraw, a vision came to him of The Dark. This surprised Talis who had thought his Princess devoid of childhood memories and he bade himself watch, half in fascination, half in guilt. In the shadows of a darkened room, Djahr of Be’uccdha moved towards her, yet though his mouth moved, no sound came to Talis with the memory, which was strange in itself.
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