Leyla took a deep, stilling breath, and he waited for her argument even as he appreciated the swelling of her chest against his. Recently she had been so set on hiding away for the remainder of their days. But instead of arguing, she whispered a very agreeable “Yes, dear,” before once again turning her thoughts to finer matters.
TRINITY sat with his back against a tree near the road, knees to his chest, stomach empty and growling a protest. He had no money, and he could no longer bring himself to hurt or even threaten innocents to have what he wanted and needed. Whenever he tried, he was beset by guilt, and the faces of those he’d killed in the past became clearer and closer. Their voices grew louder as they harangued him.
It was easier to starve.
The face of a hefty and balding merchant he had killed more than fifty years ago swam before him. “You could work for a living.”
“Doing what?” Trinity asked.
“You’re a strong man,” the merchant said. “There’s always work to be found on a farm or a ranch. Perhaps you could go south toward the sea and find work with a fisherman.”
“I hate the smell of fish,” Trinity whispered.
“Beg, then,” the merchant said. “Beg or starve, if you will not search for honest work.”
Honest work. He had done what anyone would consider honest work for the last two hundred years or so. He’d brought death to those whose time had come. He’d settled disputes in the only way he knew how, violently and decisively, for those who paid him. Since his profession paid so well, if he lived frugally he could take care of his needs for a long time with the proceeds from one job.
This most recent job would’ve seen him through at least two years, but the first half of his pay was in his saddlebags, and the other half would not be collected, as he had not been able to complete the job.
He had not been told the woman to be dispatched was a witch. She should’ve told him! Now he was ruined, unable to so much as strike an innocent.
Lady Rikka was not innocent, not at all. She had hired him to kill the witch, so did that mean he could kill her without pain or suffering? Did that mean he could make her pay for sending him to the witch unprepared? The thought had brought Trinity his only moments of peace in the days since the witch had cursed him. Yes, he only knew an edge of sanity when he thought of killing the woman who had sent him to his fate.
Trinity slipped deeper into the woods when he heard the clopping of a horse’s hooves. He didn’t want anyone to see him this way, not even a stranger. From his hiding place in the forest he watched the road, waiting for the horse and whoever rode upon it to pass. When the animal came into view, his heart almost burst through his chest.
“Gano,” he cried as he jumped up and ran toward the road and his horse. His fine, loyal, magnificent stallion. He pushed past limbs and bushes, not caring that his cheek was scratched along the way. It stung and bled, but not for long. “You found me.” Trinity threw his arms around the animal’s neck and held on, taking comfort from the feel of the warmth against his cheek, reveling in the comforting heat and the familiarity. He thought he might cry again, but managed to push the tears away.
It was a sign. Just as he’d been thinking again of making his way to Lady Rikka and committing one last murder—a woman who was anything but innocent—his companion and transport arrived.
He searched the saddlebags for money or food but found none. The witch had taken it all, but she had not been able to keep Gano. Somehow Gano had escaped and found his rightful owner.
Trinity hefted himself into the saddle. He had not been fond of the idea of hard work to earn food and shelter for himself, but he would gladly work to earn food and shelter for Gano. He patted the horse’s neck and sighed in relief. “It might take us a while to get to her, but together we will make Lady Rikka pay for what she’s done to us. She’ll pay, in more ways than one.” And then he and Gano would head for the mountains, where once again Trinity would hide from immortality and loneliness and a world that could not accept him.
As Trinity rode down the road, nearly a hundred souls followed, chattering to him endlessly about the pain and suffering he had brought them. He wondered for the span of a few miles if Lady Rikka would haunt him as the others did, but soon decided it did not matter. What was one more voice among so many?
BELA had never known three days could be so long. She did get to see Merin, but they were always chaperoned by some diligent member of her family. He’d managed to steal a kiss or two, but those kisses had been too quick and too few. She wanted more.
But he did woo her quite properly, which was nice. He brought flowers, the exact wildflowers she preferred, and he was always at her door at sunset to walk her about town—with Tyman or Clyn trailing behind them to make sure they didn’t have too much fun.
Tonight the wait would finally be over, and they would say the words which would make them man and wife. Again. Forever, this time, and without trickery or deception of any kind.
But like it or not, she still had doubts. What if Merin loved her only because the crystals of Forbidden Mountain directed him to do so? What if they married, and halfway to Arthes the love he’d thought was real faded away and he was horrified to find himself married to her?
Late in the afternoon, Bela found herself knocking on Rafal Fiers’s door. The seer’s small and solid cottage was located on the eastern edge of the village, where he had a perfect and unobstructed view of the mountain where she and Merin had lost days. Was that a coincidence? If anyone could answer her questions, it would be Rafal.
He answered her knock quickly, as if he had been expecting her. Maybe he had been, knowing Rafal and his tricks. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow as he invited her inside. Bela wrinkled her nose. The cottage smelled of bitter herbs and sulfurous concoctions.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your wedding ceremony?” he asked.
“I have plenty of time,” Bela said. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“Perhaps.” He gestured to a small wooden chair, but Bela shook her head and told the seer she’d prefer to stand. She was much too anxious to sit!
The small man raised his bushy eyebrows, and Bela obediently—if impatiently—took the chair. Rafal placed himself in front of her, for once looking down upon her rather than tilting his head back and looking up.
“A woman in your delicate condition should not exert herself overmuch. Sit and rest when you can, Mother.”
Bela swallowed hard. She had suspected that it might be true, especially after she and Merin had compared notes on their “dreams,” but she had not known with any certainty, not until now. “So, it is done.”
Rafal smiled. He did not do so often, and the expression was strange. “Yes, it is done.”
All Bela’s fears rushed to the surface, and at this moment those fears were not only about whether or not Merin loved her. “How can I keep her safe? How can I protect her? It is absolutely terrifying that a demon-child wishes to take the life of this daughter who has not yet been born.”
“Half demon,” Rafal said with a shake of a bony finger. “And you will not have to worry about that one for many years to come. She has retreated into the mountains, where she will remain for a long while.” He wrinkled his nose and spat on the floor, as if he had smelled something bad as he spoke about the child who had gotten Nobel to do her bidding. “Her time to stop what was meant to be has passed, and she knows it well, just as I do.”
That was a relief, one that washed through Bela as strongly as the mountain river. She swallowed, and forced herself to ask the other question which had been on her mind for the past few days. “Does Merin really love me, or is what he feels a trick of the crystal?”
Yes, Rafal could smile. “If the crystal was able to make Merin experience an uncommon affection for you, it might’ve done so until the child was conceived. Now that it is done, there is no reason for them to attempt something so . . . impossible.”
“Impossible? ”
&nbs
p; “For as long as magic has existed, which is a very long time, many wizards and witches and others of their type have attempted to create a true love potion. All have failed. Lust can be created, and has been, but love is of the heart and soul, and cannot be created magically.”
Bela was glad to hear this, but was not surprised. And still, she could only be relieved. Merin did love her; his love was real. Her own love was so real and unshakable, she did not know how it could be created from nothing. “So, the crystals could’ve made him want me, but there was no way for them to make him love me.”
“None. The same is true for you, Bela. The affections you have found are real. No sword, no crystal, no enchanted cavern can make such power grow where there is none.”
Everything Rafal told her was what she wanted to hear. That in itself was suspicious. How could she be certain he was telling the truth? “Are you sure my daughter will be safe?” Their daughter, hers and Merin’s, a woman destined to do battle. The seed already planted inside her, growing.
Rafal’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and his smile faded sharply. “I have told you once. Do you not believe me?”
“It’s not that . . .” Though it was exactly that . . . “You seem to know so much, but you never liked the fact that Kitty chose me. Now it’s clear that she could not have chosen anyone else.” Could he explain that?
“I always thought it would be best if the sword remained secreted until your daughter was ready, but those more powerful than I did not agree. She was made for your daughter, not for you, and there is so much power in that weapon . . . yes, I was concerned. You can be quite imprudent at times.”
She could not argue with that. “You might’ve warned me what was coming,” Bela accused.
“No, I could not. You would not have believed me.”
She twisted her lips. “Well, I believe you now.”
“Good. Then hear this.” Rafal’s voice grew deeper, flatter. “The daughter you carry is more than his seed and your womb, she is more than human. She was conceived in the waters of the mountain and has a touch of that water in her blood and in her eyes. Your daughter, our warrior, she will be nigh indestructible. You need not worry about her.” His eyes and his voice changed, turning more normal, and he shrugged. “No more than any mother worries about her daughter.”
“Our warrior?” Bela asked, standing so that she could look down on the seer. “What do you mean, our warrior, and how do you know about the water?” She had come here for answers, that was true, but Rafal knew too much! Surely some moments were meant to be private!
“You could not leave the mountain until they knew the child had taken hold,” Rafal said. “We have waited for her for too many years.”
We? Bela felt the blood rush from her face. “Kitty. The carvings. You?” She glanced down at the old man’s battered and gnarled hands, and she could imagine, too well, a younger Rafal standing in the cavern, etching her life onto a stone wall; she could see younger hands carving stone and forging steel.
“I did not work alone,” Rafal said, “but I did my part.” Again, he gave her that unexpected smile. “Do not worry, Bela. All will be well.”
“Truly? ”
“Truly. Now, go get married. Your husband is waiting anxiously, I suspect.”
A bonfire shone bright on a perfect spring night. Summer approached, and the coming season could be felt in the warmth of this night. Music played and people danced. Bela smiled, and she was gorgeous in her red, white, and black dress. Merin loved her in that dress. Even more, he could not wait to get her out of it. He had spent three long days without her constantly beside him. In a way he could not explain, they remained connected, as surely as they had when they’d been physically bound.
He did not doubt that, destiny aside, their love was real. As real as it gets.
Bela was whispering something to her friend Jocylen, but her eyes cut to him often. And she smiled. What a smile his wife possessed. It could grab the heart of any man; it could brighten the darkest night.
“Turi custom is not so silly now, eh?”
Merin turned to look down at the village seer, the oddly grinning Rafal Fiers. “Perhaps not.”
“I knew you would come around,” the little man said. “What was meant to be, cannot be denied.”
“What are you talking about?” Merin asked sharply.
“You are awash in destiny, General Merin. The warrior girl-child you have made will be born amid the snows of winter, and with her will come a time of peace followed by a time of turmoil. Such is the way of life. When the time is right, she will find the enchanted sword . . . or it will find her, no matter where you make your home, no matter how you try to hide. She will play an important part in the war against the demon-daughters, a war which cannot be won without one born, one created, and one . . .” He wrinkled his nose. “One hatched.”
“Hatched?” Merin asked, horrified. “What does that mean? ”
“I’m not sure. Not yet,” Fiers added.
He did not ask about the one who would be created. That was almost as alarming as one to be hatched—but not quite.
Merin was not surprised to hear that the child already existed within Bela. He had suspected as much when they’d discovered the lost time, but it was more than that. He felt as if he already knew of the girl’s existence in this world, as if she were already here—and his.
He would not fight this destiny—as if it could be fought. When the time was right, his daughter would learn to wield a sword. As a child, she would know every trick Merin had learned in his lifetime, and more. She would fight with grace and ease and remarkable skill. He would see to it.
“You know more than you have shared with me,” Merin accused.
“I know more than I have shared with anyone, General. Knowledge alone is not enough. The gifting of that knowledge must be made at the correct time, or else it is useless.”
It was true enough, he supposed. Merin knew that if he had been told upon arrival that he and Bela were destined to create a warrior daughter who would use Kitty against the daughters of a demon he had fought very hard to destroy, he probably would’ve run in the night. Now it was too late for that. Much too late.
“Did you know all along that I would love her this way?” Merin asked. “When you bound us together and did your little dance, did you know?”
Fiers only smiled and walked away, just as Bela skipped toward Merin. “Another dance, husband,” she said as she threw herself at him.
“One,” he said, catching her and moving in time with the melody that was played so sweetly.
She stuck out her lower lip. “Only one?”
“One, and then we are going to say good night and go to bed, where I will slip that dress from your body and make love to you until dawn breaks and neither of us is capable of movement.”
“Oh,” she said, quickly replacing her pout with a sensual smile. “I do like the sound of that.”
“So do I.”
He took her in his arms and began to move.
“We have not had much time to talk tonight,” Bela whispered as he held her close.
“I’m not planning on much talking as the evening progresses, either,” he said honestly.
“Still, you should know . . .” She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “I had a long talk with Rafal Fiers this afternoon.”
Interesting.
“I got pregnant during those lost days. In the water, he said.”
“I suspected as much.”
“She’s going to be very different, our daughter. Very . . . strong.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He pulled Bela’s head to his shoulder. “I talked with the old man myself. I suspect we should compare these conversations and see if we can make some sense of what lies ahead of us.”
“I suspect we should.”
The music did not end, but Merin stopped dancing. He tipped Bela’s face up and looked into her warm green eyes. “But that conversation can wait until morning.
Tonight is just for us.”
Bela smiled, too wide, too bright. He loved that smile.
With villagers and family watching, Merin lifted Bela off her feet and carried her toward their little cottage which was home for one more night, or perhaps two. In the distance, a gentle glow throbbed briefly from Forbidden Mountain, as if the crystals there were celebrating in their own manner, as if they were saying good luck or well done or . . . finally!
There was no time to waste, but Merin would not be rushed from his marriage ceremony to the road, not so quickly, not without a proper wedding night or two. Maybe he and Bela would reach Arthes by the first night of the Summer Festival, and maybe they would not. At this moment he did not care.
Emperor Jahn would not be pleased when Merin arrived with one of the potential brides as his wife—and their child. Still, Jahn should get over the disappointment quickly. Bela was not the type of woman he preferred, and he would have five others to choose from. He could choose one of those suitable women; he could not have Bela. The scandal might cost Merin his position in the palace, but he did not care. He suspected that within five years, teaching and training his daughter would claim a goodly portion of his days.
At that time they would probably be back here, in this Turi village, within call of the mountain where his daughter’s weapon waited. Maybe they would live in this very cottage for a while, he thought, as he kicked the door closed behind him. They could not stay here for very long, though. This cottage was just right for two, but not suitable for a family.
“I believe now,” Bela said as Merin set her on her feet and began to carefully remove the dress she had worn when she offered him a sip of wine, accepted a bouquet of wildflowers, kissed, and danced. Simple as the ceremony had been, it resonated in him, in a soul-deep way. The ritual spoke of give and take, of passion and joy.
“You believe in what?” he asked.
“The white,” Bela said. “The pureness of love that exists to fight against the black, and to mingle with the red. I did not believe such a love was possible, until you showed me it was real. It is real,” she said earnestly. “It’s real and important.”
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