"I am begging your forgiveness, Princess. My husband has been having too much wine. I am fearing only his bed will be the cure. Please, be staying and enjoying yourselves as long as you are liking. I am bidding you all good sleep." She gripped Lord Eli's arm. "Septon, my love, it is being time to go."
Achan stood and helped Lord Eli to his feet.
He jerked away. "I can stand myself." He stumbled through the dining room doors.
"I am thanking you, Your Highness." Lady Katiolakan curtsied. "I am praying we will be seeing you at breakfast tomorrow, and then, perhaps, to the temple?"
"Perhaps." Achan didn't want to make any promises. "Good night, my lady."
She curtsied and scurried into the dining room. Her voice carried. "My lord! Oh, Septon, you are being hungry? But we are being finished with dinner, my lord. Let us be going upstairs and be finding your slippers and pipe."
Achan stood awkwardly and listened to the sounds of their hosts' footsteps receding. Relieved, he turned to Jaira, ready to make his excuse to depart.
Jaira laid her gloved hand on Achan's forearm. "You should visit Jaelport, Your Highness. You have never smelled anything like Market Street. The spices alone intoxicate the senses." Her eyes widened. "I can show you. Look."
She removed a small purple pouch from the reticule at her waist. She opened it, her lips curved in a coy smile, and she beckoned with one finger for Achan to lean closer. "You must smell this. I promise you, it will not disappoint."
Sparrow stood by the door, looking half dead. Achan could indulge Jaira a moment longer. He bent over the pouch and inhaled. A sweetness he couldn't place filled his nostrils. Much more pleasant than what drenched Jaira's skin. It filled his head with an indescribable joy. He breathed in more and shuddered. Enchanting. Again he took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to live in the pouch, to roll in the scent.
He leaned back and blinked. Jaira hazed before him like a vapor. His head spun, rolled on his neck like a ball on a needle. He felt so light, so happy. His heart beat wildly as everything came into focus again. His breath caught in his throat.
Princess Jaira.
He'd never seen a more beautiful creature.
Her dark eyes widened, her full lips turned down. "Are you all right, Your Highness?"
He grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it.
He was in Shamayim. Heaven.
*
Vrell rubbed her eyes. She thought she had seen Achan kiss Jaira's hand. There! He had done it again. She focused on his mind, hoping his guard was down.
Jaira's amplified giggle made Vrell cringe. "Your Highness. Do you really think so?"
"Princess, what must I do to win your heart? Name me any task." Achan's tone was low and husky, burning Vrell's cheeks. "All I have I lay at your feet."
Vrell gasped. She called out using Achan's connection. Achan!
He shook his head as if trying to upset a fly that had landed on his ear.
Achan! She has done something to you.
Achan fortified his mind quicker than Vrell thought possible for his skill, leaving her pushing against a cold wall.
His rapidly developing skills scared her.
Jaira whispered in Achan's ear. He stood and offered his arm. Jaira accepted and they followed the eunuch through the servants' door, beaming like a pair of newlyweds.
Vrell crossed the room and called for help. Sir Gavin? They have done something to Achan.
Sir Gavin's voice yelled in her mind. Is he injured?
It seems not. But he is professing his love to Lady Jaira. Come quickly. They have gone.
Don't lose sight of them, Vrell.
Vrell slipped through the door and followed the eunuch, Achan, and Jaira down a cool, narrow corridor. Since Achan had closed his mind, Vrell could no longer hear them.
Jaira steered Achan up a circling staircase. Vrell followed a half level behind, stopping when they stopped, walking when they walked. Jaira's ongoing giggle fueled her anger. Vrell wanted five minutes alone with Jaira and a sword. She was certain she had learned enough to do the job right.
Seeing Jaira's blue train drag around the door jamb, Vrell waited a moment, then peeked down a wide hallway. Halfway down, the eunuch disappeared through a door, but Achan and Jaira stopped. Achan pressed Jaira's face to his chest like a cherished child. His fingers dug into her braids and pulled some loose. He lifted two handfuls to his nose and inhaled.
"Be my bride," he said. "If you'll wait, I'll build us a cottage in the mountains, hidden deep in the trees by a river or creek, a rocky one that sounds as beautiful as it looks."
"But you are to be king. We must live in the palace at Armonguard."
"I'll live wherever you live, for I cannot imagine ever departing from your presence, even for a moment."
Oh dear. Vrell rolled her eyes. Jaira had cast some spell to muddle Achan's mind so he would pledge to marry her, just as Sir Caleb had feared. Esek would marry Mandzee and Achan would marry Jaira, assuring a Hamartano queen on the throne no matter which man won Armonguard.
Sir Gavin? Are you close?
We're in the game room. Which way? What's happening?
Take the servant's exit and follow the tower stairs up three levels. They are here in the hallway. Sir Gavin, Achan proposed. I think she has befuddled him.
Watch them.
Jaira led Achan through a door. Vrell raced down the hall and burst into an antechamber. Larkos, the eunuch, stood like a shield before a set of double doors, painted in black and gold swirls. Two fat candles on thick stands stood beside the door.
Larkos' bronze muscles bulged under the leather straps that held up his skirt. "I'm sorry." His voice came silky and low. "You must have the wrong room."
"I have come for my prince. Let me pass."
Larkos tilted his chin and the candlelight gleamed off his bald head. "What prince?"
Vrell tried to push past him.
He grabbed her arm. "The temple is occupied at this time. The pontiff does not wish to be disturbed."
"Release me!"
Larkos held Vrell against the wall and stared deep into her eyes. Thick black paint outlined his eyes. His lips moved as if he were chewing. He crunched down and blew hot sweet breath in her face. Flakes of wet powder stung her eyes. Her nose burned. She coughed and blinked. Larkos held her until their eyes met again, then he released her and crouched to grab the beam that would slide across the door to lock it.
Vrell drew her sword. Larkos turned in a crouch, and she bashed the pommel against his head. He fell to his backside and reached out to grab her weapon. She struck him again, and he fell onto his side.
He gasped. "You're a woman! Without the antiserum, that's the only way to stand against the anabas dust."
Vrell swelled with a combination of fear and anger and slammed the pommel of her sword against his temple once more. Larkos slumped to the floor, this time unconscious.
She pushed through the double doors and stepped into the temple of Avenis. It was a vast, square room with a vaulted ceiling, dark but for the hundreds of candles in all shapes and sizes flickering on the floor along a narrow, wooden aisle that ran all the way to the statue at the far end of the room. Avenis, crafted from bronze and draped in a purple velvet robe, stood almost as tall as the ceiling. His handsome face cast a flirtatious smirk in Vrell's direction. A wooden altar ran out from Avenis' right and left, covered in gold cups, coins, wilted flowers, and jewels. Achan stood alone before the altar on the right.
"Achan!" Vrell started down the aisle, her boots tapping on the wooden floor.
Achan's blue eyes met Vrell's. "What are you doing here?"
"I have come to save your hide, Your Highness."
His brows knit. "You've come to steal her from me."
The very idea. "I do not want her, and neither do you. Think, Achan. You hate Jaira."
Achan's pupils doubled in size. "You lie. You want her for yourself."
A door on the far left wall
opened, spilling a brief stripe of light over the dark floor. Vrell backed into the shadows.
Jaira entered with the pontiff. "You must agree this is what Avenis wants for Mirrorstone and for all Er'Rets."
"I see the benefits, Princess, yes. But I should like to consult Lord Eli, Seer Rheala, and the queen, of course."
"My mother said she has spoken to you already."
The pontiff sighed, his pudgy face flushed. "Yes…she did, but-"
"Marry us, then. Now."
Jaira and the pontiff reached Achan. Jaira left the pontiff's side and took Achan's hand in hers.
Achan released a ragged breath and fell to one knee. "You've seized my heart, fair lady. I beg you let me serve you. Give me a task. Nothing is too great."
Oh, for pity's sake. Vrell tried to knock and found Achan's mind open. What in all Er'Rets? Achan!
He jumped back to his feet, hand on where his hilt would be if he were wearing his sword. "Leave us in peace. We don't want you here."
Come out of here, Achan. This is a bad place.
"You are jealous!"
Jaira whirled, eyes wide. "What is it, my love? Do you hear someone?"
"Sparrow wants to take you from me." He pushed Jaira behind him. "Go away, Sparrow. I don't want to hurt you."
Vrell stepped into the light. "Achan, be serious. Come away at once."
"Frell, isn't it?" Jaira asked, stepping out from behind Achan. "How did you get in here?"
"The door was open," Vrell said.
"I don't like the way you disrespect the prince," Jaira said.
"Well, I do not like how you have stupefied him. It is my duty to protect him, and you have crossed the wrong squire."
Jaira giggled, throwing her head back so that the beads on the ends of her loose braids clacked together. "Your little squire is quite loyal, Your Highness, isn't he?"
Achan's lips twisted in a frown. "He's annoying, as usual."
Jaira sauntered down the aisle. "But he's such a brave young man." Her fingers slipped into the reticule on her belt.
Vrell backed toward the door. "Do not come near me. I saw what that dust did to him."
Jaira merely smiled. "Achan, would you hold him for me?"
"As you command, Princess."
Vrell clicked her tongue in disgust. "Achan, you fool! She has misted you. Do not do this. Pontiff, do you see the lady has bewitched my lord, the prince? She uses magic."
The pontiff shook his head. "Princess Jaira, this is most irregular. I beg you allow me to consult with Lord Eli."
Achan strode over to where Vrell stood and gripped her in a bear hug. Her feet lifted off the floor and her face pressed against his neck. He smelled like honeysuckle soap.
"The other way," Jaira said, "so I can see his face."
Achan dropped Vrell, spun her around, and gripped her from behind. Jaira lifted her hand.
Vrell squirmed, hoping the eunuch spoke truth and the powder would have no effect. Still, she lowered her head and bit Achan's arm through his thick brocade sleeve. He groaned but did not release her.
Jaira blew silvery powder in Vrell's face.
Vrell held her breath as long as she could, but when she could hold it no longer, she gasped. It smelled different from the eunuch's dust. Like spices and baking and flowers all at once. She smiled.
Jaira met Vrell's eyes and her red lips twisted in a smirk. "Release him."
Achan's grip vanished. The room spun. Vrell slumped to her knees, wishing to smell Jaira's powder again.
Jaira's voice came from above. "Now kill him. For me."
Achan's boots clomped away from Vrell. Praise Arman. Achan had refused.
"My lady!" the pontiff said. "I must protest. This is the temple of Avenis. Murder is disrespectful to the true nature of beauty. Don't touch that, Your Highness!"
Steel scraped against steel then more boot steps clomped, nearing. A sharp point pressed against Vrell's throat. "Must I kill him? Can't I knock him out?"
Vrell tensed at the prick against her neck. Achan must have taken a weapon from the offerings.
"Do you not love me?" Jaira asked.
"More than my own breath."
"Why, then, do you question me?"
Vrell drew in a long breath and refocused. Achan stood over her, facing Jaira. He clutched a long machete in one hand and had taken Jaira's face in his other.
"Forgive my foolishness. You're more beautiful than the stars." Then he kissed her.
Fire shot through Vrell. She leapt up and yanked Achan's braid.
His head snapped back and he spun around. "You little fox!"
"Kill him now!" Jaira screamed.
The pontiff scurried back to the side door, glancing over his shoulder every few steps.
Achan lifted the machete.
A tremble seized Vrell. She inched back. Sir Gavin!
"I told you. You can't have her!" Achan swung the machete.
We're in the third floor corridor. Where are you?
The temple!
The blade passed so closely Vrell felt wind on her nose. She backed up two steps. Achan pressed forward. Vrell pulled out her own sword, sad as it was against the machete.
Achan swung a powerful attack that knocked Vrell's sword from her hands. It clanged on the flagstones. He swung again. Vrell jumped against the wall, knocking over several candles. The machete struck the gilded plaster, splintering a jagged gash in the smooth surface. Achan growled when the blade would not come out from the wall. He let go and gripped Vrell's throat in one hand instead. He squeezed. A flame licked at the toe of Vrell's boot.
The door burst open. Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, and Inko thundered inside. All three men drew their swords. Jaira screamed.
Achan released Vrell, wrenched his machete from the wall, and backpedaled in front of Jaira. "No!" he cried. "She's mine, I tell you. She's pledged her love to me. If you're not here to support our marriage, be gone or I'll kill you all."
Sir Gavin scanned the room, brow furrowed in disbelief. "Enough foolishness, Achan. Lower the blade."
"To be making an alliance with Jaelport is being most unwise, Your Majesty," Inko said.
"This is no alliance," Sir Caleb said. "This is Jaelportian mage magic. I can smell it."
Achan yelled and swung the machete at Sir Caleb. The knight blocked the attack and drew Achan away from Jaira. Sir Gavin snaked around Achan's back and thumped him on the head with the pommel of his sword. Achan crumpled to the floor, writhing.
"Get him out!" Jaira screamed. "I knew he held a grudge against me. I knew it!"
Sir Gavin wheeled around, scanning the temple. "Who?"
"This man! The prince!" She pointed a thin, black-gloved finger at Achan, whom Sir Caleb and Inko were trying to pick up. "He attacked me as I was trying to leave an offering."
"Do not be absurd," Vrell said. "The pontiff and I saw the truth."
Jaira's dark eyes flashed. "All night the prince begged for a moment alone, claiming he loved me. I refused. And when I finally withdrew for the evening, he followed me here. Before I could finish my prayers, he barged in and tried to attack me, in the temple of all places. I shall be surprised if Avenis does not strike him down."
Vrell stormed up to stand before Jaira. "You are a mage. You used a love powder on him. The same powder you blew in my face. The pontiff witnessed this as well."
"Ridiculous." Jaira arrested Vrell with a cold stare. "You clearly have not suffered any powder."
Vrell poked a finger against the silky bodice of Jaira's gown. "I know what you did and why. Give up this foolish quest. He will never marry you. You are beneath him in every way. He hates deceit and control and lies. All that the Hamartanos hold dear."
"Vrell." Sir Gavin drew her name out in warning.
"You think tricking him to marry you will make you queen? It only exposes your deceitful nature for all to see. We are not fooled. You seek to marry the prince while your sister seeks to marry Esek. Know this, there will never be a Hamartano que
en. I will kill you first."
Jaira gasped and huffed. "How dare you threaten me, stray? Larkos! Where is Larkos?"
"Larkos has been detained," Vrell said. "And you will meet the same fate if you touch Achan again."
"Vrell!"
Sir Gavin stood in the doorframe. Sir Caleb and Inko held Achan's limp body between them, one of his arms over each of their shoulders.
Sir Gavin beckoned her with his hand. "Let's go, lad."
Vrell shot one more glare at Jaira. "Stay away from Achan or you will regret it." She spun away from Jaira and followed Sir Gavin out the door.
11
Achan woke, pulse pounding in this temples. He blinked until his bleary eyes focused.
His body lay sunken in a featherbed, tucked under warm furs. Where was he? He pushed up onto his elbows, struggling to sit, but pain rushed through his head and his stomach heaved. He collapsed back onto the mattress and breathed deeply, looking up through the open canopy at the flickering firelight dancing across the dark ceiling. When the nausea passed, he reached a leaden arm up and drew the curtain aside. Orange coals smoldered in the hearth beside his bed, sprinkling shadows over the carved birds and vegetation that ensconced the marble hearth.
This was his chamber at Mirrorstone. But he didn't remember coming in. There had been wine at dinner, and later, when they were playing one hundred. One glass couldn't have bested him, could it?
Achan reached out to Sparrow's mind for answers, but his head hurt too much to focus. He lifted a hand to caress his temple, but it was lost in his ridiculously long quilted sleeve. He rolled both sleeves to his elbows and traced the raw scar on his left cheek. A spicy scent lingered on his fingers. Jaira. Why did his hands reek of her? He'd barely touched her.
An image of him holding Jaira's face flitted though his mind's eye.
He sat upright and ripped back the curtains on the other side of the bed.
Sparrow slept on the floor, slouched against the wall beside his bed, one knee pulled up to his chest, an arm draped across it.
"Sparrow!"
The boy twitched, and his arm fell to the floor. He blinked wildly and clutched his pathetic sword. "Is she here?"
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