Now with Vartan dead, Gaius Prospero’s first order of business when spring came again would be to invade the Outlands once more. Vartan and Lara had been the heart of the Outlands’ resistance. With the Lord of the Fiacre dead and his wife driven away by Adon, the Outlands would fall into Hetar’s hands. Oh, there had been a message to the High Council that an Outlands lord named Rendor was now their council head, but this fellow, whoever he was, would not have Vartan’s influence. And he would be the first of the lords to be executed when Hetar claimed the Outlands.
In the meantime, it but remained for Hetar’s High Council to make Gaius Prospero their emperor once the winter recess was over. Emperor Gaius I — he liked the sound of it, the Master of the Merchants considered with a cold smile. Once, long ago in its very distant past, Hetar had been ruled by a line of emperors. It had been one land then, and not divided into the four provinces. It would be one land again, and the Forest Lords, the Shadow Princes of the desert, the Coastal Kings, and the Midlands governor, Squire Dareh, would pledge him fealty and do homage to him. The Crusader Knights would be his personal army, and the Mercenaries would fight under them and police the land for their emperor. And they would all obey his will, for what Gaius Prospero desired was for the good of Hetar. The emperor would be Hetar incarnate.
The touch of a gentle hand on his sleeve startled him.
“What?” he demanded.
“It is late,” the lady Vilia said. “Your guest has gone, Gaius, and yet here you sit while your two wives eagerly await your coming. Anora says you must be punished for your neglect of us. She says your bottom must be whipped most thoroughly, Gaius. Come.” She drew him up, and led him from the dining chamber.
Gaius Prospero’s heart began to thump with excitement. He had first been drawn to Anora because of her skills at punishment, and she had taught Vilia some of her art.
“Will you both beat me?” he asked hopefully. He loved it when together they plied their custom-made whips on his bare flesh. Each of the dozen thin strands of leather flowing from the carved wood handle was tied with several knots. The knots bit into his tender skin, arousing him greatly.
“Yes,” Vilia said to his delight. “You are deserving of both of us tonight, Gaius. I hope you will be up to the task ahead,” she murmured with distinct meaning.
Gaius Prospero’s breath was already coming in short bursts as his emotions were hotly kindled. Could his life be any better? he thought happily. Everything was happening as he had planned it. Vartan was dead. He would soon be emperor. And tomorrow, Arcas would return to the coast to do battle with his own father over the beautiful Lara, who would then be forced to seek refuge elsewhere. Arcas was doing his bidding, and he did not even realize it.
And while the Master of the Merchants gloated with the success of his schemes, Arcas lay awake in his bed in the Council Quarter considering all that Gaius Prospero had said that evening. Alone, his emotions cooling, he considered that the wily Gaius could very well have been baiting him. He was a very manipulative man who did nothing not to his own advantage. Arcas’s father, Archeron, was an elder. Surely he was not truly interested in Lara as a lover. Yet Lara’s faerie magic could possibly convince Archeron that he did love her. Was his father potent enough to create another son? Would Lara’s faerie heart give him that son? Arcas tossed restlessly. The dawn could not come quick enough.
In the years since the Winter War the Shadow Princes had made an arrangement using their own magic that allowed the diplomats from the other provinces to go and come from the City immediately. Times had changed, and these representatives could no longer spend long days of travel between their own homes and the City. Each of the council members was assigned a time, and then transported to his own province on the assigned day. The last to go were the Shadow Princes, and the transport was closed by the final traveler. This prevented misuse of the Shadow Princes’ magic.
Arcas and his fellow king, Balasi, arrived shortly after dawn. They would enter the transport together, but each would reappear in their own home. With a nod of thanks to the Shadow Prince in charge Arcas stepped within the conveyance, and a moment later found himself in his father’s Great Hall. He nodded pleasantly to the servants sweeping the hall. “Good morning,” he said.
“Welcome home, my lord king,” they chorused.
“Where is my father?”
“It is his custom of late to break his fast with the lady Lara, my lord king,” a servant answered. “You will find him in her apartments in the guest wing.”
So, Arcas thought, irritated, he eats the morning meal with her. Is that after he has spent a night of passion in her arms? He hurried to the part of the palace to which he had been directed. An attentive servant flung open the door to the apartment. Arcas followed the sound of laughter through the chamber and out onto the terrace.
“Arcas!” His father arose from the table smiling, and embraced him warmly.
“Father,” he said, but his eyes rested upon Lara. She was even more beautiful, if such a thing was possible. He returned his father’s embrace, then releasing him said, “Greetings, widow of Vartan.” He quickly caught her hand and kissed it.
Lara withdrew her fingers from his grasp. “Welcome home, King Arcas,” she replied. “I know how very much your father has been awaiting your return.”
“Sit down! Sit down!” Archeron invited his son. “Eat! If I know you, Arcas, you rushed to get home, and have had nothing since last night’s dinner.”
“Which I ate with Gaius Prospero,” Arcas volunteered. He reached for the bread, and tore a large piece off the loaf on which he spread fresh butter. A servant put several hard-boiled eggs, a bunch of grapes and a slice of salted meat upon his plate. Another servant filled the goblet by Arcas’s hand with sweet frine.
“And how is the wily Master of the Merchants?” Lara inquired.
“Soon to be created emperor,” Arcas said softly.
“Your High Council is made up of fools that they would give Gaius Prospero such power,” Lara replied bluntly. “He will abuse it, for he cannot help himself. His ambition knows no bounds, my lord king.”
“She is right,” Archeron spoke up now. “If we must all answer to Gaius Prospero as the supreme ruler of Hetar then what will happen to us, my son? Will our secret remain safe then?” The older man looked very concerned.
“You have told her?” Arcas demanded. Then he laughed. “Of course you have told her. You are bewitched by her. All men are.”
“Your father told me because I asked what was on the other side of the sea,” Lara explained. “Any stranger remaining in your kingdom for a time would wonder, Arcas. There are no manufactories here, so from where do your luxury goods come? You are the most distant province from the City. Few except the Taubyl Traders have ventured here, and they remain but long enough to sell their goods and purchase yours.”
“You are clever as well as beautiful,” Arcas replied.
“And you are as bold as you ever were,” Lara noted. She then concentrated upon her meal. This young Coastal King had irritated her the first time she met him, and it would seem that nothing had changed.
“Hetar will be stronger under a single ruler,” Arcas told them.
“I think you are wrong,” Lara said. “A High Council with all the provinces represented gives a greater voice to the people of Hetar. And there is no danger to us.”
“The Outlands presents a danger,” Arcas quickly said. “They must be subdued.”
“The Outlands present no danger to Hetar,” Lara snapped. “That is Gaius Prospero’s excuse to take what is not his. Do you think we have not heard that the City is riddled with poor? That the soil in the Midlands no longer produces enough crops to feed the people? The farmers have pushed into the forest, felling trees and clearing the land to plant. That must sit well with the Forest Lords. And Gaius Prospero has even dared to venture into the sandy grass of the desert as well. Do not tell me that his nefarious plans for war are because Hetar is threatene
d, for it is not!”
“How can you know these things?” Arcas wanted to know.
“Do you think Gaius Prospero is the only one with spies?” Lara taunted him.
He laughed. “I suppose not,” he said. “This is a high-stakes game that is being played. The future of Hetar depends upon who wins.”
“You have land here in your own kingdom that lies fallow and unused,” Lara said to him. “I have ridden across it on many an afternoon. Why will you not share your lands with those who feed Hetar? You would not have to give it away, or even sell it. You could lease it to the farmers, and those who did not produce would not have their leases renewed. And the purpose of the land would not be for settlement, but only for growing. The Midlands farmers coming here could not bring their families. They would only work the land. They would pay their leases yearly, and then from their profits give Hetar’s government a quarter share.”
“Lease our land?” Arcas looked horrified. “It is ours. We do not want strangers coming onto it.”
“You would rather involve Hetar in another war to try and take land from the Outland clan families?”
“The Outlands are populated by savages,” he said. “They do not deserve the land. It should belong to Hetar.”
“You know you speak foolishness, Arcas,” his father said. “You are more aware than most on Hetar that the Outlands are populated by peaceful people who simply wish to be allowed to live their lives as they see fit, and as their customs dictate.”
“I will grant you Rendor is a fine fellow,” Arcas admitted, “but as for the others —” He stopped.
Lara was shaking her head. “Did you find my husband a savage, Arcas?” she asked him. “I found more civility and kindness among the Fiacre than among the good people of Hetar. Did not the mercenary Wilmot tell the High Council the truth of the Outlands when he spoke before them? For Gaius Prospero to persist in the fantasy of savagery, and to use it as an excuse to invade the Outlands, is just wrong!”
“You speak treason,” he said in a threatening voice. “You are Hetarian.”
“No, I am Lara — widow of Vartan, daughter of Swiftsword, half mortal, half faerie. I was born in the faerie realm and raised in the City, but I found my greatest happiness in the Outlands,” she told him. “I use the small magic I possess only for good, Arcas. I will speak against intolerance and injustice while there is breath in my body.”
“How can someone so obviously meant for pleasure debate on such things?” he asked her.
“You are hopeless,” she told him.
He did not understand her, Arcas thought irritably, but he found he still wanted her. Yet in the days that followed she grew no warmer toward him despite his many compliments. But her sweetness toward his father seemed to grow. And as Gaius Prospero had told him, Archeron and Lara rode out together almost every afternoon. They did not ask him to join them, and on one or two occasions he had suggested going with them his father had said no. Arcas had been amazed by the refusal. Was Gaius Prospero right? Was his father Lara’s lover? Still, Arcas could find no other evidence of such a relationship. And he had easily learned that his father spent his nights in his own bed, and not in Lara’s arms. This knowledge made him want her even more. Perhaps she was one of those women a man must force to his will. Of course! That would have been the way the Fiacre lord, Vartan, obtained her. Lara was a strong woman. She needed a strong man to tell her what to do, and how to do it. Then she would melt with passion.
IN THE DARK of an early winter’s night Arcas made his way to Lara’s chamber. He entered quietly, making his way to her bedside. Flinging off his chamber robe he gazed down at her sleeping form. She was exquisite. Perfectly made with lovely breasts, and just the faintest swell of belly. Her skin was like white silk. Her golden hair like thistledown. His male member was hard with his deep longing for her. He was about to climb into her bed and take her for his own when suddenly her eyes opened. Even in the dimly lit room he could see the icy green glare.
“Get out!” she said quietly.
Arcas was about to bluster a refusal when he became painfully aware that his male organ had suddenly gone limp, and was shrinking at a most alarming rate.
“Get out,” Lara repeated, “or do you wish me to make it disappear entirely, Arcas?” Her cold voice matched her cold eyes.
The Coastal King turned and fled, not even bothering to gather up his robe. Looking at it, Lara pointed a finger, and the garment disappeared. Then turning over she went back to sleep again. But when the morning came, she found she was very angry. She would not tell Archeron of his son’s breach of good manners. It would hurt the man who was sheltering her so generously, and drive a wedge between father and son. She could not do that. It is time for me to move on, she thought. But where? She listened to the roaring of the waves as they pounded upon the beach below.
To Lara’s surprise Arcas sought her out that morning. He knelt before her.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly. Then he sighed. “I cannot help but desire you, Lara, and I have presented my case badly. When we first met I offended you, and now I have done it again. I apologize.”
“What is it you want of me?” she asked him quietly. “I only share pleasures with those whom I choose, Arcas.”
“And I am not one of those fortunate, am I?”
“Vartan is gone from me but six months, Arcas. I am not ready yet to love again, or even share my body again. I am sorry,” Lara told him. “Get up now.”
He arose. “Do you deny that you are my father’s lover?” he asked half-angrily.
“Yes, I do,” Lara told him. “Your father is my dear friend, but he is not my lover, nor is he ever likely to be. Is that why you did what you did, Arcas? Because you were jealous?” Her tone with him had softened.
Hearing it he nodded, lowering his head as if in shame. The bitch had refused him twice now. He would have his revenge on her. He had but to find a weakness in her character he might exploit. “Will you forgive me?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she told him. He could never know she did it for his father’s sake, and not his. Arcas was a fool. She had known it the first time they met, and he had but confirmed her belief with his behavior last night. “It will please your father we no longer quarrel.”
“Yes,” he answered her. “We should be friends, and allies. My father tells me that you are interested in our trading partners from the Dominion.” He smiled.
“I am!” she said enthusiastically. “Tell me what they are like, Arcas? What do they look like? Do their women travel with them? Are there faeries in the sea?”
He laughed. “Would you like to see for yourself, Lara? I had planned to captain one of my ships to the meeting place while I was home. Travel with me, and you can meet some Terahns for yourself. And I swear to behave myself,” he concluded with a rueful smile.
Could she trust him? she wondered. Her instinct warned her no, but instinct warred with her curiosity. “Perhaps another time,” she said. “I have never traveled upon this sea of yours, and I am quite in awe of it. It is a powerful force, Arcas. I don’t think I am yet ready, or even brave enough to sail upon it.”
“Then another time,” he responded. “I will take a second voyage before I leave again for the City. Mayhap you will come with me then, Lara. It is not because you are still angry with me, I hope.”
“Nay, of course not,” she lied facilely. And she even gave him a smile.
He departed the following day, and returned ten days later. She enjoyed the time Arcas was away. She did not like the man, and he had obviously become an ally of Gaius Prospero, which did not please Archeron at all. They had quarreled the night before Arcas had gone to sea. Archeron feared a more centralized authority could endanger the monopoly the Coastal Kings had on the secret of their sea trade. But Arcas had assured his sire that he was not that big a fool.
“Do you think I want us powerless?” he demanded of Archeron.
“Of course not, but if the secret is made k
nown we may have no choice, Arcas.”
“We are the only ones who can build sailing vessels or man them,” Arcas responded. “The magnates in the City have no talent for that, nor a way to accomplish such a task, my father.”
“The wood we need to build new ships we have always purchased from the Forest Lords,” Archeron said. “Now the City allows the Midlands to encroach into the forests.
“Gaius Prospero plans a new invasion of the Outlands. Once he has accomplished that what is to prevent him from invading our lands, building his own ships and launching them into the sea? My brother kings and I will not cooperate in this planned incursion into the Outlands, Arcas. And do you truly believe that the Shadow Princes will allow an army to cross their territory? So your powerful friends must either push into the mountains once more, or go through us. Given what happened last time what do you think they will do, Arcas? And will you help them?”
“The clan families in the mountains of the Outlands were weakened by the Winter War. They were easy to subdue the first time, and will be easy once again,” Arcas answered his father.
“The Outlands will not be easy to subdue this time, Arcas, and if you think they will be you are badly mistaken,” Lara joined the discussion.
“What do you know of it?” he asked her.
“What I know is not for your ears, Arcas, for you would immediately send off a faeriepost to Gaius Prospero. You have, I note, kept in touch with the City since your return.” She smiled sweetly, teasing him, “Unless, of course, your correspondence is poetry being sent to a favored Pleasure Woman.”
He laughed aloud, but neither confirmed or denied her suspicions. And then he had gone the following morning, and Lara had been glad to see him go. But Archeron was yet concerned by his son’s attitude, and fretted to Lara.
“If only he would choose a wife. But each year on his birthday he admires the young women presented to him, but chooses none to wed. He is older than I was when I chose Alina. If he does not marry, and beget children our line will die out,” Archeron said. He looked at Lara. “My son admires you greatly.”
A Distant Tomorrow Page 9