Danae buried her face in her hands.
Alekhsiy was a great guy—strong, caring, great sense of humor. Heck, she knew him pretty well, thanks to writing about him. He wouldn’t lie about loving her.
But that was not the same as agreeing to spend one’s entire life in another world. As an author, she knew all too well that she only glimpsed parts of life in the universe she wrote about and then exaggerated them.
How could she leave Earth? She might be able to recite entire passages of the Torhtremer Saga by heart but that didn’t mean she knew how to live there. How did one shop for groceries, anyway? But that was trivial, compared to big picture stuff.
And to go without dancing . . . Never, ever again to hear the orchestra come up on a Robbins ballet or wait in the wings, heart beating just a little fast, for the first syncopated beat of a new piece? Or spend hours in a studio, her legs burning, until the choreographer finally declared he’d found his vision for his new work? Or stay late after class so she could help a young dancer practice?
And never, ever see her friends again? Not Nora, nor Larissa, nor their children. No more shrieks of laughter and stupid gossip from Larissa, mixed with dozens of baby pictures. No more wickedly dry political cartoons from Nora or tales of her sons’ exploits in the Boy Scouts. To say nothing of her friends in Europe and New York, too.
Or visit her family’s grave on the anniversary of their death?
Maybe somebody better than she was could do it but she had too much here to walk away from.
She shook her head and looked up.
“I’m sorry, Alekhsiy, but no.”
“Is it that you don’t love me?” A muscle in his jaw jerked hard.
She started to deny caring for him, then stopped. She owed him the truth, however painful, if nothing else.
Nobody was watching, right? Good. She took the plunge.
“I’ll miss you like hell when you’re gone. But Torhtremer is too damn far.”
“You’ve written about us for years,” he insisted and caught her fingers.
“That’s not the same thing as giving up my life and friends here to make a home there.” It was all too easy to let her hands lay limp and unresponsive in his grasp.
The lines around his mouth deepened before he nodded and let go of her. “As you wish.”
“Sorry.” She gave him a meaningless little smile. The night had not suddenly turned cold, dammit, and she did not need to retrieve that blanket.
“Ma’am? Detective Brown would like to talk to you now.” The rumpled policeman nodded to her, his experienced gaze coldly impersonal.
She blinked at the interruption, then nodded back. Oh yeah, she had to put on the mask of just another poor, innocent passerby who’d happened to be caught in a shooting. It wasn’t a lie, just editing a few things that a little luck would keep them from asking her about. Hopefully they’d think any fumblings in her story were due to her recent—and undoubtedly well-witnessed—lovers’ spat.
Alekhsiy folded his arms and waited, for once less troubled by facing the local police than his dealings with Danae. He’d played a big country yokel before during a few spy missions with Ghryghoriy. His ability to do so was part of why he’d been asked to come here.
But Danae? He couldn’t believe she’d willingly harm Torhtremer but the stakes were so high. If Turner forced her to choose between Nora’s sons and writing a book that savaged Torhtremer, which would she choose? Or between Larissa’s little baby and Torhtremer?
Would the danger to Torhtremer be as real to her as it was to him? Of flooded fields and people begging for sun to dry their grain that their children might eat and not burn to death of fever?
Of Mykhayl, blood streaming down his throat from the ice serpent’s bite, yet lifting Dragon’s Breath again to strike another blow?
Or the nightmare of his nephews’ battered bodies, lying crumpled in the queen’s garden under Azherbhai’s monsters’ claws?
He could not take the chance.
She pushed her long dark hair back from her face, baring her lily white neck.
His breath hung in his throat for an instant. His heart’s delight, even if he’d never tasted her carnal liquors and bound himself to her for life.
He forced himself to drag in another taste of the sour, machine-tainted air. It was another aspect of her world and therefore something else to remember her by once he was gone.
Marriage would have bonded her through him to Torhtremer but she’d refused.
His High King had ordered him to kill her, the dreaded sorcerer. The only option left to bar Turner from Torhtremer was Izmir’s Curse.
THE PLAINS OF VASYUGAN, THE NORTHERN BORDER OF TORHTREMER
Igoryok drew his horse to a halt on the hilltop and sourly studied the craggy peaks looming ahead. The day was fair and sunny, as if the gods mocked them with clear sight of the difficulties to come and the homes they’d left behind.
“Are those the Biysk Mountains?” Zhenechka stopped beside him. Her horse sniffed the air, clearly little troubled by the hard pace they’d set. If they returned—no, when they returned—he’d trade for more of its kind to add stamina to his breeding stock.
“Aye. There’s the famous five-pointed peak, with the broken rocks underneath.” He’d studied the ancient scrolls during too many long winter storms not to recognize that formation.
The river below them was broad and shallow, little troubled with rapids, and bordered with a wide, pebbled beach. It flowed gently toward the south, its source hidden by white snows and gray clouds.
“Truly the gods have favored us to bring us this far in safety.” She sighed ecstatically, a remarkable sound from those perpetually pursed lips.
Igoryok flashed a sharp glance at her but could find no hint of blasphemy in her expression. Indeed, they’d only lost two men on the journey and those to a drunken fall. Their horses had survived and Zhenechka had promptly searched and confiscated all other potentially dangerous liquors and drugs.
There’d been no trouble since. Even so, he’d be more comfortable if he thought such luck would hold.
The rest of their little army gathered around them, filling in the line along the hilltop.
“Do you think the enemy is watching?” Jeirgif asked quietly, running a soothing hand along his big dapple’s neck. He was one of the best at looking after his mount.
“Undoubtedly,” Zhenechka answered, equally softly. “But probably only the monsters can take physical shape.”
“Only?” Jeirgif managed a credible snort.
Igoryok’s mouth quirked over his remaining teeth. But as much as such chatter warmed the heart, it was time for deeds, not words.
“My people!” he raised his voice slightly and the faint clatter of weapons and gear immediately died down.
“As you can see, we have reached the farthest borders of Torhtremer. Those are the legendary Biysk Mountains and beyond them rolls the Tungur Sea. There, on the Chulym Beach, is where the Imperial Terrapin will come to spawn. I will force none of you to come with me.”
Some of his troopers broke into shocked murmurs. One startled horse sidled when its master nearly stood up in the saddle. Another bucked when his rider yanked on the reins in astonishment or far too understandable fear.
Despite all the commotion, nobody broke the line to turn south. Most troopers simply went a little whiter about the mouth.
Igoryok wryly watched all his nightmares pass through their eyes. It had taken him weeks before he’d been driven to send out the summons to come here. His people were faster about accepting its inevitability than he’d been.
Zhenechka made an ancient rune and her lips moved silently.
Igoryok waited patiently. They’d need all the protection the gods would grant if anyone was to have a chance of returning.
“This river will lead us into the mountains but we must leave our horses behind,” he announced.
“But . . .” Zhenechka began, then stopped.
“Th
ey cannot go where we must,” Jeirgif said simply, his gaze tracing the high snow blowing off the needle peaks like smoke. He stroked his beloved mare’s neck. “They are far safer here.”
She sighed and swung herself down.
ATLANTA SUNDAY MORNING
Danae rolled over and pulled the comforter higher over her face. But the single ray of daylight glowed like fire behind her eyelids.
She grumbled and flopped onto her back. Surely Alekhsiy would close the curtains tighter and she could go back to sleep.
Alekhsiy. Sleep. He’d needed to rise early so he could reach the tournament on time. She’d been such a supportive girlfriend that she hadn’t even tried to seduce him after they returned to the hotel so late last night. Well, this morning actually.
She grunted discontentedly and pushed the covers away from her face.
A broad gold bracelet on each wrist dragged across her skin. Her fine hairs prickled at the unaccustomedly heavy rub, since she wore very little jewelry except her father’s ring. But her sleep-dazed brain refused to consider it.
Of course, there had been the scene when she’d refused his proposal. But he hadn’t mentioned that later when they were alone, just seemed glad to go straight to bed. He’d even cuddled her like an angel.
She shoved her hair back from her face and sat up. Hugging her knees wasn’t nearly as much fun as holding him but it was better than being totally empty-handed.
She’d have liked to wish him good luck this morning.
Dammit, why hadn’t he woken her up? Okay, so she slept hard—enough that her brothers had always teased her about it—but she’d have been very willing to get up for Alekhsiy. They still had a day or two left to enjoy their friendship. She wasn’t about to give that up.
She swung her legs over the side. She’d go down to the gymnasium and wish him luck there. Nora would tell her how to get into the back room or maybe bring him out for a couple of seconds. Yeah, that should do it.
She stretched luxuriously, her eyelids falling over visions of their reunion. Just a few more hours to dodge Turner’s machinations and enjoy Alekhsiy’s company before everybody went their separate ways. Anything felt possible today.
Her arms came down and pointed at several sheets of hotel notepaper, covered in Alekhsiy’s bold handwriting.
For the first time, ice whispered across her skin. But surely that was folly. Alekhsiy wished her only the best, right? Of course right.
Even so, she picked the note up very gingerly and held it at arms’ length. Hotel stationery was notably boring from a style perspective but this didn’t smell like good news.
My dearest Danae—
I came to Earth to destroy the future catalyst. But you have never asked me how he can reach Torhtremer. Dragon’s blood and a spell of power are needed to cross the void in the flesh, both of which the Imperial Terrapin lacks. The future catalyst needs a sorcerer who can perform this magic, a sorcerer as rare as the catalyst.
You, my love, have crossed to Torhtremer before. You are the key that can unlock its gate.
Crossed to Torhtremer before? Did he think one short story where she’d witnessed the Muster of the Clans qualified her to haul somebody else across the void?
Danae glared at the innocuous bit of paper as if it was a laptop throwing sparks.
Heck, she’d been such a newbie author, she hadn’t bothered to make up a character. She’d just written it in first person. She, Danae Livingston, had seen and done everything connected with the Muster of the Clans.
Oh, shit. Maybe that was what he meant.
If being an author meant she was a sorceress, as proven by her ability to tweak events in Alekhsiy’s life, maybe she could tweak things in her own life and somebody else’s.
It still seemed crazy. She’d have to prove she could work magic here on Earth before she’d really believe it.
I have sworn to destroy both the catalyst and the sorcerer, lest my home be cast into war once again. I cannot end your life, even though my High King expects it.
Kill me?
Danae sank into a chair, her legs too weak to hold her. Alekhsiy was strong-minded enough to kill a woman, if he felt it necessary.
At least he’d decided not to slay her but her heart wasn’t beating very strongly yet.
Therefore, I have placed Izmir’s Curse around your wrists. Please believe I have taken this step to protect you. I cannot accept any chance that our enemy might compel you to harm my home. But I cannot kill you, either.
Izmir’s Curse? He’d locked her up in Izmir’s Curse? The pair of handcuffs that kept mad wizards from killing themselves or anyone nearby? But that was a pair of bracelets.
Weight dragged down her wrists.
Two heavy, wide, gold bracelets, covered in runes, looked back at her.
She ran her fingers over them but found no seam. She could get her little finger under one but nothing more.
Five minutes of hard work with the bathroom soap left her very clean and the gold still gleaming above her hands.
The damn jewelry was there to stay.
You bastard! She threw the washcloth at the mirror. It hung there for a moment before sliding down and blurring the glass behind it like the path to her future.
The cuffs will stop you from working magic of any kind and can only be removed by me or the High King. However, you will still be able to enjoy a happy life and love whomever you choose.
You should be safe to move through GriffinCon if you remain close to Larissa and her husband, Sasha, who’s a policeman. He is already wary of Turner.
Please believe that I will always love you.
Alekhsiy
The arrogant bastard!
Danae balled up the note and threw it at the TV.
Who’d appointed him god and ruler of her life? Didn’t he understand she’d never do anything for Turner? That she’d rather die than hurt Torhtremer?
Son of a bitch! Well, maybe not, since she really liked his mother—but goddamn prick at the very least!
She dropkicked a pillow across the room to relieve a little more of her anger. He’d better not show his face anywhere around her again or she’d give him a real piece of her mind.
Besides, Izmir’s Curse was high magic, which had been made by the White Sorcerers long ago. Surely it wouldn’t work here on Earth, unlike the wizards’ low magic that powered his armor.
Goddammit, the least he could have done was say good-bye to her face, instead of leaving a stupid note.
She snarled again and stomped back into the bathroom. If she broke something there, she could at least flush the remains down the toilet—which was exactly where Alekhsiy belonged, too.
TEN
“Thanks, Sasha, for being such a good workout buddy.” Danae gave him a genuine grin, her key poised above her lock. He’d actually helped her forget about Alekhsiy for five minutes of the last sixty.
“I should thank you for educating me. I always forget dancers do so much cardio.” He tousled his sweat-soaked hair, his hooded cops’ eyes seeing far too much inside her face.
“Five hours of class per day, plus performances. How do you think we fuel all of that?” She gave him the old tease. “Heck, right now, I’m on vacation.”
“Just blowing away some cobwebs or some nightmares.” His mouth thinned.
“Something like that.” Larissa had mentioned his bad dreams. Danae patted his arm. “You’d better get into that shower so you can take your old lady down to brunch. She gets cranky when she’s hungry.”
“Doesn’t she just? No matter how much she talks about dieting, that girl loves her food.” He chuckled, genuine amusement ringing out for the first time. Then his hard fingers gripped hers. “Thanks for providing our room, Danae. We couldn’t have made it this year without you.”
“Hey, where would I be without my favorite wardrobe assistant?” She tried to keep the tone light. “And gossip source?”
“You know we’d do anything for you.” His gaze bore int
o hers.
“Feeling’s mutual.” She squeezed his hand. “Now go on and look after your wife, will ya?”
“Glad to. Give us a call when you’re ready to show off the last hall costume, okay?”
“Sure thing.” She waved at him and escaped into her room. Last night’s flameout in the parking garage had obviously left him with a bad case of overprotectiveness.
Or maybe he was worried about what she’d say to Alekhsiy when they met again. She had most of a really good speech already drafted in her head but she needed to let it simmer.
She leaned against her door and considered her options. She could wander through GriffinCon without Sasha—which was a very bad idea, given Turner’s track record. That meant she had to stay up here for the next few hours.
What could she do? E-mail? Maybe but nobody expected to hear from her during the Con. Write? Not when she was in this mood.
She should have something packed somewhere in her trunks to keep her busy. She sauntered forward to take a look.
The curtains were open, allowing brilliant morning sunshine to spotlight every object, whether it was on the table, desk, or floor. For the first time, Danae saw her pad through Alekhsiy’s eyes and she shuddered. Her father would have killed her.
Crap. What was half this stuff? Could she even walk in here? She’d have to pile things up to reach her trunk and clearing off the table probably meant dumping stuff onto the floor.
What a pigsty. At least housekeeping had made her bed but she couldn’t just lie around. If she did, she’d start thinking about Alekhsiy, the sweet talking son of a bitch who was so damn good in bed.
Maybe she could do a workout in the sitting room, using one of her exercise DVDs. She was accustomed to five hours or more of class and rehearsals, plus performances, each day. She’d never spread out her junk in the other room, since Larissa had used it for fittings.
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