Mystic Rider
Page 31
Lissandra ought to be here, Ian thought. Her future was at stake as well. He had seldom fully understood his sister, and if she possessed their mother’s need for power, it did not bode well. But Orateur was likely to lead an uprising if Ian waited for her any longer.
He did not bother stepping to the podium. Gathering a powerful psychic surge, Ian nudged the room’s occupants to respectful silence. They stared at him in confusion, since he’d never bothered to use his gifts so forcefully before. But with Chantal to balance him, he no longer feared the result of expressing his full power.
“The sun rises in a different position every morning for a reason,” he said into the sudden silence. “The tides ebb and flow for a reason. Without their constant movement, the water would stagnate and marine life would die. For this same reason, we cannot expect to do things as we always have. Instead, we must correct our actions to make our land productive again.”
His mental abilities did not extend to keeping everyone immobile forever. Dylys slumped against the arm of her chair and shook her head in what Ian assumed was despair. His gut knotted in anxiety at her weakness, but he had to concentrate on listening to his audience. Murmurs rose in the back of the room and flowed forward like the tide.
“She’s coming,” he heard whispered repeatedly.
His heart ought to sink in dread at the anarchy those words could represent. Instead, a deep thrill of pleasure caused him to hold his speech. There could be only one “she” who would so capture the Council’s interest.
He’d wanted to protect Chantal from the political side of island life until she’d learned to love his home as he did. But he was still remembering the delicate lady musician he’d first encountered, and not the courageous woman who’d ridden a battle charge off a cliff.
He waited proudly, watching the entrance, so that his entire audience turned to look as well. His mother hissed her anger but remained seated. Even she knew better than to interrupt the drama.
Interpreting his nod correctly, Kiernan and Nevan leapt to open the chamber doors.
Chantal entered, displaying his family colors as she’d once worn the cockade of solidarity for the rebels in France. The gown had once belonged to Ian’s grandmother, and he’d left it out in hopes that she would wear it for him. Even Alain grunted his approval as his daughter walked up the aisle, her golden hair streaming down her back, her head held high, her eyes steady on Ian.
She was terrified, he knew. It took immense courage for her to walk through a storm to be by his side. She had to have heard the anger and fear threatening to tumble the walls and known they were directed at her as well as at him. He thought he’d burst with love and pride and joy that his proper Parisian lady dared this public display for him. He opened his mind to let her in, and she gifted him with a radiant smile that reflected her equal love and determination.
He held out his hand to help her up to the raised platform where he stood. When he bent to kiss her cheek, the whole room murmured its approval.
“You color my world with joy,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Don’t be,” she rejoined, planting a kiss on his jaw. “I have a feeling that like Murdoch, I’m about to make the earth tremble.”
“Then so be it. May the gods speak through you.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and faced the people whom he was meant to rule.
“May I present my wife, with the Council’s approval, my amacara, and mother of my child, Chantal Orateur Deveau, daughter of Alain Orateur.”
Gasps erupted in the front rows when he mentioned his child. The Council must formally approve his marriage for those vows to be legal, but only the gods controlled amacara bonds. Dylys could refuse the marriage, but an Olympus heir would be impossible to deny.
“You are manipulating them,” Chantal murmured.
“And your father does not? And you? Would you speak now?” He tried not to laugh at her grimace. Point and counterpoint.
“The marriage can be postponed until we are certain of an heir,” Dylys pronounced from her chair, looking more gray than she had earlier. “That is not a matter for today.”
“I am sorry for your grief and the loss of your loved one.” Turning to face her mother-in-law, Chantal spoke in polite French, which not all the Council could understand.
Her sympathy caught Ian by surprise, but he’d already said his piece. He did not interfere.
“It is impossible to replace a great man like your late husband,” she continued, addressing Dylys. “But he lives on in your son and daughter. Would you deny him his place in this house?”
Dylys clutched the chair arm to hold herself upright, and Ian saw her overwhelming grief and frustrated anger. He sensed an outpouring of compassion and understanding from those in the audience who understood Chantal’s sentiments and translated for those who did not. Chantal opened whole new avenues of connection between him and the rest of the world, and in fascination, Ian studied the results, letting his wife continue without his aid. This was what it was like to be Chantal, to act on understanding and passion instead of coldly observing. Terrifying.
When Dylys uttered no response, Chantal turned back to their audience, even though she must recognize the opposition against her. As she spoke, her father stepped up to translate.
“I am here today because Ian taught me I must act when I see injustice. He has told me my observations can make a difference. I do not claim to be a leader or a ruler or a princess or any of the titles people give to those who lead instead of being led. I would far rather be sitting down there with the rest of you. And from what I’m hearing in your voices…”
She looked over the room full of rising murmurs and tilted her head as if listening to a symphony. “Many of you believe you could lead this discussion more fruitfully than we are. Perhaps that is where you must make your first change.”
The chamber exploded with outrage and speculation and bursts of pure delight. Aware that Lissandra had crept in the back door and stood beside the platform, Ian signaled for her to join them. She resisted. Understanding her bitterness and disappointment better now that he knew she and Murdoch might be amacaras, he glared at her and gave his sister a mental swat.
She glared back and climbed the stair to stand beside him.
Unable to raise her voice, Dylys goaded Ian with a fierce frown. He obediently nudged the crowd to silence. With a strength of will that had marked her reign, his mother pushed from her chair to speak. “We are here to vote on whether or not Ian is the steady influence we need to lead us, not on whether we want chaos to rule.”
Relieved that his mother was recovering from her momentary weakness, having made up his mind and no longer worried about who ran the Council, Ian wrapped his arms around Chantal and Lissandra’s shoulders. In astonishment, every eye turned to him. He never hugged. He’d always stood aloof and gone his own way. His action now was a signal of change in itself.
“I am not at all certain I want to lead,” he announced. “Not if leading means standing here arguing and tearing the island apart when I need to be searching for the chalice. Recently, I have discovered a preference for doing instead of talking.”
For the first time in living memory, one of the Council’s oldest widows rose from her chair and dared interrupt an Olympus. “We need someone to act as judge in questions of law. Is your chosen bride capable of that?”
“Without a doubt, better than I am,” he admitted, aware that Alain quietly translated his Aelynn speech for Chantal’s benefit, “but whether my bride is willing to act in judgment is another matter entirely. She has a gift for knowing when we speak truly, but there are others here who may have equal insight and certainly more experience with our laws. We refuse to assume leadership based solely on family name and wealth.”
Gasps of horror and disbelief passed around the room, not the least of which came from his mother, who grabbed her arm again and used the chair as a prop to remain standing. Without flinching, Ian continued.
“There are three of us. We can do all that as we have been,” Dylys rasped weakly, gripping the chair with one hand. “An Olympus has always fulfilled those duties.”
“They should only do so if qualified,” Chantal said pleasantly. Her words, and her father’s translation, rang over the clamor and confusion rising in the audience. “Inherited power is not the strongest or the best means of leadership. Nor is power based on riches, or power for its own sake. You should choose your leaders on the basis of their ability to carry out their duties.”
A cheer rang out from the back of the room where those of minor position stood. The elders in the front rows looked less certain.
“How can you allow me to lead if you do not believe me when I say the Outside World is part of our future?” Ian asked over the growing din in the chamber. “How can I be a leader if I have no experience or understanding of that world?”
“Please…,” Dylys whispered with a note of panic.
Before Ian could whirl around to see what was wrong, Lissandra shouted “Mother!” and pushed past him to the chair where their mother had been standing.
Slowly, as if pressed beneath a heavy weight, Dylys was crumpling to the floor. Lissandra had felt the disturbance first. Now, without consulting the stars, Ian felt the impact as his mother lost her grip on consciousness. Grief welled inside him. Squeezing Chantal’s shoulder, he abandoned her to help Lissandra lower their mother. Shocked silence filled the chamber —
Then Chantal’s clear, high voice broke into a hymn of prayer that rose high to the rafters and spread like wildfire.
She did not even speak their language. The island hadn’t heard music for as long as Ian could remember. But her voice conveyed the power of prayer, and tears stung Ian’s eyes as others slowly picked up her refrain and began to repeat it in voices rusty with disuse until the chamber echoed with pleas to heaven.
Even Alain joined in, translating rapidly for those who did not have an aptitude for language. That the man who’d been scorned and driven from his home by their Oracle could join in a prayer for her well-being spoke of a character strong enough to stand in Ian’s place for as long as was needed.
Glancing at Lissandra, Ian saw tears streaming down her face as he lifted their mother and carried her from the room.
As predicted by the gods, Chantal had brought change and possibly rebellion to their quiet life. Whether it was for good or ill remained to be seen.
For once, he did not need to see the future. He believed Aelynn’s wisdom in choosing her for him.
That was enough.
Epilogue
“I feel like an assassin,” Chantal murmured, leaning against her husband while they watched the schooner prepare for departure. “No wonder your family banned ours from this paradise.”
“My mother has been unwell for some time. And she is alive yet. You have not killed her. That you have changed me is for the better.” He hugged her tightly and pressed kisses in her hair.
“Do the stars tell you that?” she whispered hopefully. “I am tearing you from your home when they most need you. How can that be better?”
She’d had months to adjust to Ian’s home while he and Lissandra had helped develop a new political structure, and the island’s most skilled physicians tried to save their stricken Oracle. Chantal understood why Ian loved this place of peace and prosperity. Her father had grown stronger and been elected to Council leadership. With no opposition from Dylys, Ian’s marriage had been approved with little debate. She was a wife in all ways now, with so much to lose….
Ian patted the slight swell of her belly. “Because I want this as much as you do. We’d be foolish to believe life is meant to be a cheerful rainbow. Paradise must be earned. Our purpose is to share our plenty, to work at making the world a little better for everyone. And you are doing that by carrying my child and helping me to understand how your world works so I know better how to help mine.”
“In England,” she said with only a hint of regret.
“Because the chalice is there and France is not safe,” he reminded her. “It is still my duty to find the chalice or understand why it has left. You can help me understand Other Worlders anywhere we live.”
“I love you,” she murmured into his shirt. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m never letting you go.”
He chuckled and swept her into his arms. “Oh, you’ll come around and want to argue with me just as everyone else does. I’m counting on you to remind me that I’m not the only person in the world.”
She clung to his neck as he carried her on board. “I doubt I can cure you of arrogance. If you mean to breed my father’s racehorses while learning about my world and chasing Murdoch and the chalice around England, you’ll learn quickly enough that you cannot control the fates. I can, however, teach you etiquette so you behave in a more civilized manner. I believe even the English require some degree of politeness these days.”
He snorted. “I am not the only arrogant one in this family. You’re a snob.” He set her down on the deck and turned her to face the beach.
Lissandra stood alone, watching from the edge of the jungle.
“She is so strong,” Chantal said in admiration. “I’d be in a fit of hysterics if you left me to lead the island all alone.”
“She’s not alone, but she’s lonely,” Ian acknowledged. “Your father will keep the Council in line so she need not roar at them. But she needs a partner as much as I do.”
Chantal wrapped her arm around her husband. “You need a keeper to prevent you from diving headfirst into trouble. Lissandra needs someone to take up the burden of power and allow her to be the spirit of peace she’s meant to be.”
She was aware of Ian’s sharp look, but she resisted returning it. Instead, she waved her hand in farewell to the woman on shore.
“Spirit of peace? Lissandra?” Ian asked in disbelief.
Uncertainly, as if not accustomed to a friendly exchange, Lissandra waved back.
Satisfied, Chantal smiled up at her omnipotent husband. “She is strong because she must be, not because she wants to be. Come along, now, let’s see if Trystan has gathered enough food to feed your babe. Surely he knows by now that a pregnant woman must be fed regularly. I wish he’d brought Mariel on this journey.”
Ian laughed. “He knew he would have to surrender his cabin to us. You don’t really think I’d wait until we reached England to celebrate our glorious adventure?”
She cast him a coquettish glance over her shoulder. “Oh, is that what you think? Perhaps it’s time for your lessons to begin.”
With that, she lifted her skirt and ran for the companionway.
Whistling leisurely, Ian arrived at the stairs before she did. Looking sufficiently rakish in loose shirt and breeches, his dark hair streaming down his back, he hauled her into his arms and carried her down to the captain’s cabin.
“Consider yourself kidnapped and ravished by a pirate captain,” he warned. “You will be a ruined woman by the time we land in England.”
Chantal laughed. “Ruin me as you will, my pirate, and I will rule your ship before we land!”
Above, Trystan and Kiernan exchanged glances and snickered.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Trystan sang as he signaled his sailors to cast off.
On his way once more to track the elusive chalice, Kiernan leaned over the rail and waved to the lonely figure who slipped back into the woods. But Lissandra failed to see him.
There was always tomorrow.
Author’s Note
Much o
f the period of time recorded in this book contained terrible coincidences or events incited by master manipulators who have no place in a story that is, after all, about one couple and not an entire revolution. In addition, European politics and geography prior to the Napoleonic Wars were drastically different from those of modern times, so for the purposes of my story, I have oversimplified some aspects of history.
For readers interested in knowing more, I recommend beginning with Christopher Hibbert’s The Days of the French Revolution. For further references or questions, I would be delighted to hear from you at www.patriciarice.com or you can stop by my blog at www.patriciarice.blogspot.com.
Copyright & Credits
Mystic Rider
Mystic Isle Book 2
Patricia Rice
Book View Café Publishing Cooperative Edition March 18, 2014
ISBN: 978-1-61138-362-1
Copyright © 2008 Patricia Rice
First published by Penguin Putnam, Onyx, New York, July 2008
Production team: Proofreader: Lisa Waters; Ebook Formatter: Vonda N. McIntyre
Cover illustration © Hot Damn Designs
Cover design by Kim Killion
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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About the Author
With several million books in print and New York Times and USA Today’s bestseller lists under her belt, former CPA Patricia Rice is one of romance’s hottest authors. Her emotionally-charged contemporary and historical romances have won numerous awards, including the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice and Career Achievement Awards. Her books have been honored as Romance Writers of America RITA® finalists in the historical, regency and contemporary categories.