‘The Light?’ She spoke in a frightened whisper. ‘Khatter? The White Princess is … The Light, whose child will join the Four Worlds?’
‘For once your daughter speaks the truth.’
‘She is the same.’ Djahr’s assurance came from his habit of repeating the Shadow Woman’s truths as his own. Never yet had she been proved wrong in the many thousands of auras she had read for him. So although he felt awe himself at this pronouncement, Djahr did not doubt it. ‘The prophecy tells us The Light will not live by the days and minutes of our existence,’ he reminded his daughter. ‘You have seen this with your own eyes.’
Lae nodded. ‘And her child will be a shadow through time.’
‘Did I not tell you the day approached when I would share you with another?’ His Shadow Woman moved through his hair, massaging his scalp with fingers of air. ‘You must woo and wed The Light if you want her child be yours.’
‘Of course,’ Djahr breathed. ‘The Light will find its quenching in The Dark.’
‘Father?’ Lae looked to him in consternation.
‘I must take The Light to wife,’ he said, staring blindly at his daughter. ‘Prophecy demands the child be mine.’
Lae’s hand rose to cover her mouth, her eyes searching his. ‘Then Khatrene will be my mother and the sacred child my kin?’
‘The Light cannot be claimed,’ the Shadow Woman warned. ‘She must be won.’
Djahr remained undaunted. ‘I have spoken. She will be my wife.’
His daughter stood before him, pale and trembling. ‘May I have your leave to retire, Father? This news has unsettled me.’
Djahr nodded and called to his Guard Captain, ‘Mooraz!’ then spoke again to Lae, ‘But join me for the evening meal. I will hear more about your meeting with the Princess. You will recall it all for me. Including her aura, which I assume you discerned.’ Though he should be pleased that the gift he did not possess had been inherited by his daughter, Djahr found resentment in his voice and wondered if it was this that caused her gaze to falter and fall away.
‘I saw … something, yet my powers are weak and unpredictable. You will see her yourself, Father.’
Djahr kissed her forehead. ‘We will speak again later,’ and she left his presence with only a glance at Mooraz who followed in her wake.
Restless now, Djahr descended the tower and strode to his own chambers, waiting only until the metal doors had clanged solidly behind him before questioning his Shadow Woman.
‘What do you mean that I must “win� her?’ he asked softly, moving past the thickly cushioned bed to the slatted light entering his chambers through a stone lattice wall.
A murmur came from behind his hair as she emerged from her hiding place: nothingness became vapour, then tincture and finally form. Where air had been moments before, now stood a beautiful woman, a woman designed solely for bedding. Even the cloth draping her lush curves was woven so finely and soft Djahr had never touched its equal.
‘The Light is already half-won, My Lord,’ the Shadow Woman murmured, her many-layered voice sunken to a timbre that would woo a blind man to passion. Her fingers, now solidly formed, brushed along his collarbone, her dark hypnotic eyes downcast, following their tracery. ‘Look at her with desire and she will fall under your spell.’
Djahr wondered why she came to him seductively. Was it a clue? ‘Shall I look upon her as I look upon you?’ he asked, slipping the robe from her shoulders to press her back against his thickly cushioned bed. Stripes of light illuminated her flawless skin.
‘Your destiny lies between her legs, Lord,’ she said, her breath sweet and hot on his face as he came to lean over her. ‘Plant your seed therein and your Kingdom is won.’ She peeled away his own brocade robe, rich with the swirling design of House Be’uccdha. A moment later her lips clung to his and he claimed pleasure there, feeding on desire that was as boundless as it was bountiful.
‘And if I plant my seed in you?’ he asked, when she let free his lips. ‘What bounty from that joining?’
‘No child,’ she replied, her breasts rising full and firm into his hands, ‘But a stilling of the reckless ambition I sense in you.’
Though his need was great, Djahr did not take her then, but instead gazed into her fathomless eyes, contemplating how his life had been enriched by her presence. A noble son of Be’uccdha, born without the discernment necessary to be The Dark, he could easily have died at the onset of manhood when his powers had failed to manifest. Yet instead of becoming the victim of his brothers’ ambitions, he had lived to see them die, sacrificed to Haddash to ensure The Balance. He had taken great pleasure in those pronouncements. And all thanks to the Shadow Woman.
‘Do you remember when you first came to me?’ he asked. ‘In the Hightower, when I was barely a man.’
She touched his cheek. ‘Your tattoo was fresh upon you when I came and soothed your pain.’
‘You soothed many pains that night,’ Djahr said, recalling his initiation to the pleasures of the bedchamber. ‘And continue to do so, yet ask nothing in return.’
She gazed at him silently, her hands moving in a practised erotic rhythm. Djahr felt frustration heighten his desire for her. In all the years she had served him, both in the bedchamber, and secretly at the King’s Council and performing his discernments, never once had she revealed either her sentiments or her intentions. Neither did he know her origin, though there were legends about such beings.
Djahr’s position on Ennae was second only to the King and afforded him great power, yet he could not make the Shadow Woman answer the simplest question, or be sure that any information she did offer was complete. Everything about her was a mystery, which both excited and maddened Djahr.
She kissed him then and he lost himself in his own turbulent passions. Their joining was fierce, the pleasure at its end an echoing roar in his ears, and only later, when he was sated and the Shadow Woman lay above him gazing into his eyes, did he think again of her instructions.
‘I must not he reckless in my pursuit of The Light,’ he said.
‘Patience and persistence will win over her doubts. Remember, she must come to you willingly.’
‘Is there more that I should know?’ he asked, thinking how much easier the task would have been if the Shadow Woman had forewarned him of The Light’s arrival. Just as she should have cautioned him three years earlier that his Northern allies against the throne would retreat before the King was killed, leaving Djahr to carry out that unpleasant task and cast blame onto the King’s Champion Roeg.
Yet recriminations served no purpose as they would only meet the implacable wall of her silence. Still, had the Shadow Woman told him The Light was coming to Ennae he might have waylaid her journey and brought her to Be’uccdha. Now he must travel to the Volcastle and woo her away from the affections of her twin: a difficult task, knowing the bond between them.
‘Do not fear that you will fail,’ his Shadow Woman said, her breath against his throat as warm and real as his dead wife’s had been. ‘You will take The Light to wife and she will be as eager for your love as her mother was not.’
‘An ugly truth,’ he replied, yet treacherous satisfaction sung in his veins. How sweet such a union would be, to combine ambition for her brother’s throne with revenge on their mother who had scorned him.
‘What of the barbarians from the north?’ he asked. ‘They are timed to return —’
‘Stop them. They must not interfere.’
Djahr saw wisdom in this, yet he wondered if it could be accomplished.
His northern allies were only now acceding to his demands to return and complete their invasion, and like a large, clumsy boulder rolling down a hill, once set on the course of destruction, they might not easily be diverted. Three years ago, the might of the combined great Houses had cowed them, and fearing decimation they had retreated over the mountains. Matters were different now. The disbanding of the King’s Council and the seeds of division Djahr had sown in Houses Sh’hale and Verdan would ensure the King’s allies did not rally to him as eagerly as they had in the past. A fresh invasion was assured of victory and Djahr would then take the throne, yet if that victory interfered with the destiny of The Light, there would be no worlds left to rule.
That the vessel of the sacred child had appeared in their world at this time meant the Maelstrom would soon be upon them. Unchecked, that Maelstrom would tear the Four Worlds apart, for only the child of The Light could control its power and mould it to his will. Djahr felt awe knowing he would father that child, yet he also felt frustration in equal parts, for only after the birth could he pursue his own ambitions. It would be foolish to claim a world, or even four, which would soon be destroyed.
‘You will succeed’ the Shadow Woman declared, and Djahr felt the surety of it flow through his veins. His agent at the Volcastle would work to ensure The Light succumbed to his courtship. Soon enough he would be King, then more.
‘And you will be my Queen,’ he promised, caring nothing for the woman he must woo and wed, she who was merely the pathway to his future.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Khatrene sat at the banquet table beside her brother. The celebrations had been in progress for six days and she was starting to wonder if there was a single thing in the Kingdom she hadn’t eaten. Yet despite the fact that she’d been in the public eye for almost a week, people still cast her wide-eyed glances, awed by the appearance of a legend. The Light.
Khatrene wasn’t happy with the promotion and had been having ongoing arguments with Mihale about it. Among other things. The subject of a husband had been non-negotiable on both sides, yet Mihale still appeared to believe that she’d marry whoever he told her to. Short of a screaming match, she was simply going to have to stand firm.
Yet strangely, she got the impression he didn’t want her to marry. It was odd. And so was Mihale. She’d thought they would pick up their relationship where it had left off but she’d been wrong. Something was different between them and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Was it because she was The Light? He certainly didn’t look at her the same way as he always had. Every so often she intercepted a glance that made her uncomfortable and she had no idea why.
Another thing she didn’t like was being treated like a prize cow. Mihale’s insistence that she sit near the window and not wear a cloak was getting on her nerves. Day after day she radiated rainbow light in all directions, albeit not as fiercely as she had in full sunlight. But enough to make her feel like she was the centrepiece of a freak show. The elaborate gowns Ghett laced her into every morning were starting to get on her nerves as well. They rustled with every movement and were damned uncomfortable to sit in. Given a choice she’d be back in her jeans in an instant.
‘I’m just not buying this prophecy thing,’ she whispered to Mihale out of the side of her mouth. ‘There’s some perfectly logical explanation for this. You said yourself that no-one else had spent as much time in Magoria. Maybe Ennaen physiology reacts to Otherworld sunlight differently. A cumulative affect or —’
‘You are the one prophecy foretold,’ he said for the hundredth time. ‘You have retained your memories of Magoria when no other exiled royal has. Does this not prove —’
‘Are you sure no-one else has ever …?’ She wriggled her fingers and a kaleidoscope of colours shimmered across the banquet hall. Smaller than the Main Hall, it was none the less impressive with its rows of House banners along each wall and an open-ended rectangle of narrow dining tables covered in rich fabric and laden with spectacular bronzeware. Khatrene hadn’t seen the kitchens but had to guess there were hundreds of staff if the amount of food they’d produced was anything to go by.
‘You are The Light,’ Mihale said simply, and Khatrene dragged her attention back to the argument at hand. ‘In the history of Ennae, you are unique.’
She glanced across to the other side of the rectangle where Talis sat and her gaze snagged on his. There’s that albino crow comparison again, she thought, remembering their conversation. Which of course brought the tattooed man to her mind.
‘Have I met all the nobles?’ she asked her brother, knowing she hadn’t. Talis had told her the tattooed man was a noble.
Mihale’s glance passed over the company. ‘I believe … not.’
‘Not?’ Khatrene forced herself to look away, to appear casual. ‘Who are we missing?’
Mihale remained silent.
‘So don’t tell me’ She smiled and nodded at one of the few nobles she’d met whom she liked on sight. Barrion Verdan looked like an extra from a Viking movie, but he had a great belly laugh and hadn’t been frightened of her at all. ‘I like him,’ she said to Mihale. ‘That Barrion guy.’ She nodded in his direction and waved. Barrion waved back. ‘Is that a king-size bedspread he’s got wrapped around his shoulders?’
Mihale made a noise which he quickly suppressed, ‘It is the honour cloak of his House. I have not seen it worn before.’
‘Thought I could smell mothballs.’
‘I meant that it is worn only on the most important occasions,’ Mihale whispered close to Khatrene’s ear. ‘Verdan does you great honour by wearing it here, as do the others.’
‘Of course.’ Barrion was the lord whose castle lay under the magical lake. Khatrene was surprised about that. She’d imagined it would take a sensitive soul to commune with sentient water. Barrion looked more like the type who’d go fishing with a shotgun. Except, of course, that there were no fish on Ennae.
Khatrene transferred her smile to Barrion’s younger sister Ellega, who sat like a cocker spaniel next to her St Bernard brother. Ellega’s attention, however, was all on Mihale. Khatrene glanced at her brother and decided he either hadn’t noticed the girl’s adoration or was ignoring it. Interesting. She turned her attention to the other honour cloaks. They all looked like bedspreads to Khatrene. Then her gaze was caught by a narrow face whose dark eyes had been watching her. She frowned. ‘I don’t like this one,’ she whispered. ‘Kert Sh’hale.’
‘It’s lucky then that he will be my new Champion and not yours,’ Mihale replied.
Khatrene turned to her brother. ‘What’s wrong with Talis?’
‘He cannot be in two places at once and we are not children who will spend our days together.’
‘We’ll be close,’ she argued. ‘Surely he can guard us both in the Volcastle.’
Mihale looked at her for a moment, sadly she thought, and when he spoke again his voice was soft. ‘We shall not both live in the Volcastle.’
Khatrene stared back at him. Oh no. He’s not going to —
REMEMBER YOU ARE A PRINCESS.
‘The Light of Ennae will bear the child to join the Four Worlds,’ he said, and despite his firm delivery of these words she could see sadness in his eyes. He didn’t want this any more than she did.
‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘We’ve discussed that. But it’s not going to happen in the near future.’
Mihale shook his head. ‘Destiny cannot be ordered to suit your whims.’
‘This isn’t a whim.’ Peopl
e turned towards them and Khatrene lowered her voice. ‘It’s my life. My life.’
Mihale turned to look over his shoulder at the doorway behind them. Khatrene watched incredulously as he raised his hand.
Oh God. This is it. Mihale had chosen a husband and was about to introduce her to him right this minute.
‘Don’t do this, Mihale,’ she warned, grabbing his arm.
He disengaged her hand and stood, clapping his hands to gain everyone’s attention.
Khatrene lowered her head and stared blindly at her poached irtin soup. If there was going to be a scene she’d simply have to handle it with as much dignity as she could muster. Then strangle her brother later in private. At least she knew it was no-one she’d met. It wasn’t Kert Sh’hale, or Barrion Verdan with his bear-rug chest.
The murmur of conversation around the tables stilled and Khatrene tried to concentrate on her breathing. She needed to be calm. In control. Assertive.
‘My lords and ladies of Ennae …’ her brother said in the ‘regal’ voice he used for pronouncements. ‘This day I bring you joyous news. Who among us does not know the destiny of The Light?’
Khatrene kept her head down but raised her eyes high enough to see Talis who was looking at her brother. She tried to decipher his expression. Definitely not happy. His frown told her that much. But what else. Fear? Foreboding?
Khatrene could think of a few ‘f’ words herself.
‘… The wonder that lies within her, waiting to be born.’ Her brother paused. ‘And destiny, in the form of a husband, would hurry that wonder.’ There were chuckles around the table and a loud thumping from Barrion’s direction.
Talis flinched at these words and Khatrene felt the kick of adrenalin. Fear. Talis was frightened for her. She should be frightened.
‘The ancient prophecy will be fulfilled. Know you all now, that The Light shall find its quenching in The Dark.’
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