And now Aryn was atop an elvish stallion, holding a weak and weary half-elf in his strong arms as Jaren lengthened the straps to accommodate his longer legs.
Aryn held her body cupped in the cradle of his thighs and shuddered, breathing the scent of her hair and body, closing his free hand into a fist and praying for strength. She didn’t need this from his body right now. And even as he was thinking it, she felt him, and stiffened. Resting his hand on her hip, he lowered his mouth and whispered in her ear, “Shhh. You’re safe—you know I would never hurt you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said weakly. And one hand came up and closed over his lightly.
“I’ve gone mad, this past year without you. You cannot know how mad. And when I discovered you were in danger, I was ready to tear all of Ithyrian apart to find you. But you’re safe with me, I swear it.” He nuzzled the black curls atop her head, soft and sweet-smelling once more, but still dull and lifeless from so much starvation.
“To Averne, where you will heal, become strong and healthy.” Jaren lifted his solemn eyes to his Princess and then turned away and mounted his own elvish steed, a tall, willowy stallion, golden, with a white mane, and blue eyes, a sharp contrast to his dark hair and dark clothes. He took off at a ground-eating run, with Kilidare in his wake. Aryn’s eyes widened, one hand gripped the reins tightly and the other held firmly to Tyriel’s waist, her tight little ass pressed snug against his cock.
He stifled a groan in his throat and chanced a glance at the ground, watching it blur beneath the stallion’s feet. Kilidare moved like the very wind itself. But so smooth, like rain sliding down a rock…or…or like the caress of her fingers on the back of his hand. Ahhh…what was he doing?
Her head shifted into the hollow just below his neck, and her fingers continued to absently play over the back of his hand. And her other hand went to his thigh. Just resting there. Lightly. Her body moved easily with Kilidare’s, even as weak as she was, and with Aryn holding her slight weight atop the mount, she didn’t have to do anything with her hands, or her attention.
What is she thinking about? Aryn’s thoughts were more to himself, but Irian’s answer didn’t really come as a surprise.
“Not one thing. She isna thinkin’ at all, about anything. She canna think right now, not much.” Irian’s voice was full of weariness and pain. “Your body, your touch, your presence, brings her comfort.”
So Aryn withstood the torture of her hands moving so silkily on his body, while his cock throbbed and ached like a bad tooth, as they rode nearly until dark, stopping only when Kilidare insisted that Tyriel needed a break.
As Jaren moved into the woods to fetch more of the mushrooms and foliage needed for making her brew, Tyriel stood staring up at the star-studded sky with lost, lonesome eyes. She was so awfully quiet, even for her. Things were broken inside her, and she wasn’t quite certain how to handle it.
Two large warm hands landed on her shoulders. With a sigh, she leaned back against Aryn’s hard, firm body. She felt him stiffen, and then relax as his arms came around her, cuddling around her waist and holding her firmly against him as he nuzzled his face against her neck, pressing a gentle kiss to her mouth. “I was a fool to leave the inn alone. I knew there was darkness, even without Irian’s warning,” she whispered softly. “I damn near died, but I endangered all my people, others as well.”
“Hush.” Aryn lifted his lips from her neck and kissed her temple gently. “Look…” He lifted one hand, and a gently glowing orb, filled with a swirling mist that cleared to reveal two figures, one that shimmered and wore the ancient garb of a long-dead warrior enchanter. Irian, as he argued with Aryn, to tell Tyriel. “He wanted me to tell you what is in my heart, what has been in my heart for years. You did not hear all.”
“Danger and darkness wait, and all for her.”
Like a play, it showed Aryn rising from his bedroll, weary, sleepless, frustrated. Hungry. Tyriel came to that conclusion on her own, after he kept sending her sleeping form long, narrow glances. He slid his hands to her hips and lowered his lips to her ear and whispered, “Aye. Hungry. For you.”
The orb showed him pacing far away from camp to avoid disturbing his partner, and Irian shimmering out of his resting place, and the words that were spoken between them.
Tyriel and Aryn watched the orb as Aryn turned and met the eyes of the long-dead enchanter. “Tyriel is in danger?” he asked doubtfully. “She can handle any blasted thing that comes her way.”
“Not this time. Turn back, before she is lost to you.” Irian’s voice was like a deep, rolling rumble that both of them heard quite clearly.
“Why do you insist on talking like the woman belongs to me?” Aryn growled, advancing on Irian. “She is not mine. Not ours.”
“She could be yours. Take her. Keep her, love her.” Irian’s eyes were dark and haunted, tormented it seemed, by more than he had wanted to tell Aryn. What secrets haunted the enchanter? What had led him to trap his soul inside a metal casing, enchained for millennia?
In the orb, the echoes from the past played on. “Love her? Her? Keep her?” Aryn sputtered, but Tyriel was almost afraid to believe what her eyes told her. What her heart was telling her—it just didn’t seem possible. For what she saw on his face—loving her, keeping her, was just what he wanted, not something foolish and repulsive as she had thought all those months ago.
Irian cocked his head, studying Aryn with eyes that were dark with frustration. “Aye. The girl loves you, madly. The need is an ache in her belly to be with you, feel you.”
“You’d tell me any damn thing it took if you thought it would get me to climb atop her and fuck her,” Aryn growled. They could see the strain there, but it was evident as well, just how much he wanted to do exactly as the enchanter wished. His eyes were dark and burning with his own hunger, a love he had never shown, and refused to let out. “She is not for me. I am not for her. We are partners, nothing more. We will never be more.”
“You deny that she is in your heart. You will admit you want her, because wanting a woman is easy,” Irian said softly. “You want to touch her, taste her, fuck her, love her. Do it.”
“No. If I need a woman, want a woman, I’ll find a fucking whore in Ifteril.” And through the orb’s enchantment his own thoughts were loud and clear as well, his emotions, how his body felt, it all filled and pulsed through them—how his cock throbbed against his belly, how his heart ached with need for her and how all he wanted, all, was lying in her bedroll, not far away. Yes! All I want lies there. All.
Her body shuddered in his arms. That hunger, that need, all focused on her. That yearning, so very similar to her own—was it real?
“I was more foolish than you,” he murmured softly, lowering his head to kiss her mass of curls. “By far. If I had listened to my heart, my soul, even my companion, none of this would have happened. I need to beg your forgiveness, but I do not feel I have that right after how you have suffered.”
Slowly, almost afraid to look, she turned and stared up into his eyes.
Tyriel saw a reflection of what she felt deep inside her heart—a deep, burning need that was etched forever on her soul, for this one man, for all of eternity. “Why did you not tell me?” she whispered in a voice thick with tears, her throat tight, her chest burning and aching.
He caressed one gentle hand over the curve of one ear. “Tyriel, you are the beautiful daughter of an elvish Prince, a royal Princess of the kin. The daughter of gypsy chieftains, the offspring of the most valiant and proud people this world will ever know. And you are a creature of magick who will walk this world for centuries to come. I expected I would die within decades. Why wish such grief upon you?”
A sob rose and built in her chest. “I didn’t care–I don’t. I just wanted…” Her voice trailed off as he covered her lips with two gentle fingers, his dark sapphire eyes staring into hers.
“I cared. I could not bear the thought of you suffering any pain for me.” Then Aryn’s eyes lowered, clos
ing briefly before they lifted, revealing a swirling morass of blue glowing lights. “But something inside of me is changing. Irian has seen to that. I do not yet know if I will live the length of time an elf lives. But I will not fade away and leave you alone in a handful of years either.”
Tyriel gasped as she placed one hand on his chest and felt the throb of power inside him. Though her magick was gone, she could still feel it, still sense it. The power that ebbed and flowed in him was new. Burning bright and powerful—and enough to sustain him for centuries. “By the Blood, where did this come from?” Her fingers flexed against the gleaming pale wall of carved muscle there and she shuddered as an unwelcome flood of need started to pulse inside her.
Unwelcome…her body was still too afraid, she couldn’t handle those desires yet.
“Irian. His magick is forcing its way completely inside me. Before long, it will all be there.” Aryn forced his eyes to open wider and he stared into hers, reveling in the heavy, sexual feel of the magick, and the feel of her hand on his bare skin.
But her face was dark and troubled.
“And when all of his magick is there, what of Irian?”
* * * * *
Irian drifted.
He let the memories pull him back, centuries and centuries, until he was once more staring into dark sloe-eyes as he thrust deep within a woman’s body, her pussy gripping his cock greedily while she screamed out his name.
Her name had been Fael and he had loved her with all his heart and soul, but he had never told her of his love.
She had been mortal, and ungifted, and he wouldn’t bind himself to a woman who would die before he even aged.
But she had died in a raider’s attack within a season after he turned her away. She had refused his offer of sueta, a lover and companion, for a time, to a magick maker. She had accepted an offering from a Jiupsu warrior in another clan many weeks away. They had been traveling to their home when the raiders attacked.
She had been young, lovely, and the raiders hadn’t killed her or the other young women like her. Which was their ultimate downfall. Too many of the women were magicked and they sent up cries even as they fought off their rapists.
By the time Irian found her, her spirit had been broken, her body bruised, torn and bleeding inside, death slowly laying its hold over her.
He had robbed them of decades together…and now she had only moments, for her spirit was drifting further and further away as she stared into his eyes, smiling. “Irian, my handsome brave warrior…did you fight well?”
“Fael, I’m sorry…”
“Shh, you did not do this to me. I did, with my pride. I could have stayed…persuaded you otherwise…”
“So sorry…” and tears fell down his face. “I love you, my lovely lady, beautiful, strong woman.”
“My handsome warrior, I love you as well. I have always loved you and always will. We will meet again. Our souls are one, they belong together…” Her eyes went dark and she was gone.
And then he was on the cliff, as a massive fire raged higher and higher. Asrel was primed for the ritual, the hilt wedged between two huge rocks, strong enough to take his weight. Until all the wrongs are righted… He lifted his eyes skyward, searching for the star that must hold Fael’s soul. Our souls will never be together, for I cost an innocent her life. But I cannot meet the dark one, even him, with this taint on my soul.
Such a powerful enchantment never had he worked. The circle of salt was as thick in width as his thigh, and the diameter was easily the span of a lodge tent. He slashed his wrist deeply with a magicked knife, one that would keep his own enchanted body from healing itself as he paced the blood circle thrice.
Until the wrongs are righted, inside the sword I dwell.
And inside the circle of salt and blood he rammed his body home on the blade.
As his body died, his soul was trapped inside the sword.
He drifted on, but this time to a place he had not traversed before. And to a face he had not seen in all the millennia that he had walked the earth—not since that night had he seen her outside of his memories.
“Fael…” he whispered hoarsely.
“Irian.” Her husky, warm voice stroked over him like a satin caress and her inky-black curls fell over his body as she leaned down to kiss his stunned face. “Love, why must you torment yourself? Have you not chained yourself to your own guilt long enough?”
“Fael? Are you really here?”
She smiled and lifted his hands to her face. “I am really here, love. Lover. My heart,” she crooned in the Jiupsu. “So many years you have walked this earth, buried inside a metal body, carrying out vengeance for people you know not, with your broken heart and your aching loneliness. Let it go…rest.”
All around them a gentle silvery light glowed and pulsed, and a soft wind played with their hair.
“‘I cannot change the enchantment. Until all is done, until all wrongs are righted—”
Her lips, soft, warm, sweet as cynaber wine, covered his and Irian groaned roughly, burying his hands in her hair and crushing her tightly to him. She whispered softly, “The only wrongs are in your heart. Let them go…and come to me. Find me. I long for you…”
Irian was jerked into awareness.
It was morning and they were heading out.
“Come to me…I long for you.”
Fael. Sweet Fael. Ahh, so long. Is it possible? Was it possible that after this was all done, he could be with her?
He settled his presence around Tyriel, feeling her weariness, her fear, and then her acceptance of his presence. Her gratitude.
First, the elf. He had failed one woman he loved. He would not fail another. But once he knew she was safe, that she would be well—then he would seek out Fael.
And see.
Chapter Twelve
The mountains of Eivisa rose tall and majestic in the air. Spiraling into the sky, dipping low to give way to deep, mysterious valleys where magickal creatures flitted about. The wards on the land made Aryn itch as they crossed over, as Jaren had warned, but once he simply stood and absorbed it, the land seemed to almost open and accept him, and it rejoiced in his burden. It rejoiced until it detected her injuries, and then the mountains trembled and shook, the skies darkened, and the wind howled furiously through the trees.
“My lord Prince knows she is coming, and he knows now that she is not well,” Jaren said flatly.
“What in the hell was that?” Aryn asked as the storm slowly blew itself out.
“Me.” Tyriel’s head fell back against Aryn’s shoulder and she snuggled closer, achingly cold. He wrapped his cloak more firmly around her and secured her against his body with his forearm. “It reacts to what is inside. And I am a storm.”
Jaren’s face went grim. “It will be an earthquake once my Lord Prince sees you.”
“Da has better control than that.”
No. He did not.
But he had received them in an iron chamber, where his emotions could not leak to the world outside. Tyriel’s passing into the land had filled him with foreboding and he dared not rush out to meet them.
His wife, Alys, waited with him, clad in working leather of white, her hair braided away from her face, a simple golden coronet at her brow the only marking of her rank as they moved into the chamber, awaiting the arrival of the long missing princess. The iron walls were swathed with silks to dull the harming effects on the kin, and well-padded with heavy carpeting, so that none of the blasted metal showed. This room was solely used to protect the kingdom. Or to block spying eyes—no Fae creature could possibly trespass in any way in this room. Not by hiding, and not by craft.
Only a magick bearer of great means could tolerate this room for more than mere minutes. And none could tolerate it for hours on end, except Tyriel.
And since the room was locked by a true iron lock that couldn’t be opened with magick, hiding inside it was out of the question.
And using mind magick to peek inside was impo
ssible, since the metal blocked all Fae magick.
Except for Tyriel’s.
Surely she could have reached out to him by now.
“Why does she not touch me?” Josah said roughly, dragging a long-fingered, slim hand through his waist-length red hair. “What troubles the child?”
“Josah. Have a care, show some patience. We know not where she has been, or what has happened to her all these months. She is coming, she lives. We can handle all, knowing that.”
No. Not all, Josah thought as a tall, broad-shouldered mortal carried his daughter through the door some time later. His eyes were grim, his face stoic, but it softened with love as he gazed down at the woman in his arms.
But it wasn’t Tyriel. Was it?
The bright, glowing magick that had filled his child from birth was missing.
But the dark eyes that turned to face him were those of his daughter. And those eyes filled with tears, and her mouth trembled, like it had when she had hurt herself as a youngling, though she tried so very hard to be brave.
“Da…”
“Her magick is gone.”
“How does an elf survive without it?” Josah whispered to Alys some time later as she entered their chambers, her body aching and weary.
Her mind was troubled, very troubled. The girl had suffered too many torments, and she could not tell her father all of them, and had not wanted him told. And he would want to know. Her mouth quirked. At least she had the Healer’s vow to fall upon when her liege lord issued a direct order.
“If she was wholly elvin, she would not have survived. The metal alone would have killed her. The killing of her own magick would have killed her. But both—’twas an act of desperation and courage the likes of which I’ve never heard,” Alys murmured, nestling against his side. “Her man watches over her so fiercely. Elvish magick is too distracting to healing magick, but his augmented mine and he calms her so—speaking soothingly, and distracting her gently while I work.
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