by YatesNZ, Jen
For a fleeting second Gynevra wondered which frightened her more, the anonymous men in the gathering whose hot eyes devoured her or the man at her side who should have had eyes only for his azanon but who seemed scarcely to be aware of her presence. What would her life be, with this man? What had she done by her determination to escape the Temple?
Concentrating on the crystalline quality of the light and the modern decor of the Trephysian Palace slowed the beating of her heart but couldn’t stop her from dreaming that the man at her side had hair as black as obsidian and a helmet adorned with the golden horns of Nyalda. Panic filled her breast and she knew a sudden need to run like a fawn from the hunters. As her body poised for flight, a woman wearing a cloak in the red and black of Poseidonia approached her through the phalanx of guards, her hood thrown back to expose her bright golden hair.
Mery! All thoughts of flight or black haired warriors fled her mind. Never had she been so pleased to see anyone. Her arms were moving to embrace her sister, her face transfusing with joy, when Mery's voice spoke in her mind.
‘Be still. You must appear as regal as Agapa, as mysterious as Ianthe, and as perfect as a Princess. We will hug each other to shards later. But for now, I'll walk at your side as your handmaiden as you requested.’
As no one else could have done, Meryan reminded her of who she was, what was expected of her. What she'd chosen for herself. Biting down on her lip, Gynevra closed her eyes for the briefest moment, dragged in a deep calming breath and gazed lovingly at her sister.
‘Thanks be to the Goddess you're here. I was about to disgrace myself and run!’
‘Never show them weakness or they'll rend the heart out of you.—Give me your cloak. Let them see a real Princess.’
A whisper of sound escaped Meryan's lips as she lifted the concealing cloak from Gynevra's shoulders, revealing the transparent gown beneath. Gold encrusted panels of peacock hued silk floated from a gold necklet set with pearls and emeralds. Mery folded the cloak over her arm and stepped back, her gaze meshing with her sister's.
‘Hold your head high, Gyn'a. You look absolutely stunning. There are none here who can compete with your beauty this day.—And they know it. Be strong.’
Turning to the colorful throng of people gathered in the vast reception hall, Gynevra concentrated on recalling the inner power that had enabled her to stand before her parents and demand the right to life outside the Temple. That she stood before these people as azanon to their future King was her own choice. She'd feel a little easier however if Prince Gotham would make some acknowledgement of her presence.
As if he'd heard her thought, Gotham, possessed himself of her hand and bending over it, touched it to his forehead.
‘Welcome to the Glass City, Princess Gynevra. It is good that the Houses of Poseidonia and Trephysia strengthen their connection once again.’
It was the first time they'd spoken to one another since she'd checked on the healing of his wound over a month before. All the negotiations for their contract had been carried out by the raboni of the two royal Houses. She didn't even know whether the Prince was happy or otherwise about the union, only that he was apparently recovered and had satisfied King Ahron with regard to his virility. But before she could utter more than a formal thank you, Ianthe approached them.
Gynevra stood stiff and unsmiling as the Archinus shook out the filmy folds of her gown. With long elegant fingers she adjusted the gold band circling her daughter's hair, the center of which dipped low on her forehead and was set with a square-cut emerald.
Standing back, Ianthe surveyed her daughter with a critical eye, and Gynevra knew there was something in her mind burning to be said. Mindful of her earlier admonition to regal rectitude and her ability to pierce the mind, Gynevra closed her inner shutters tight and gazed with what she hoped was majestic hauteur at a spot in the air somewhere beyond her movuon's elaborate head-dress.
‘Electra appeared to me in a dream the night you were born and informed me of your signature stone.’
Gynevra nodded. It was normal for Ruling Class Atlanteans to choose their own signature stone at age seven and it was thereafter worn about their person in various adornments crafted from either gold or silver. Electra had informed her grand-daughter in a vision that the child she carried was of the rare emerald vibration, as she herself had been.
‘She also informed me your life would have an important impact on the future of Atlantis. When I considered that alongside the prophecy she made regarding the demise of Atlantis, I believed it meant you were destined to be Archinus after me. Alienor is young, and while her soul is mystical enough her heart isn't as strong. It's been many years since an Archinus took a Sacred Partner because balancing a home life with the demands of the Temple is extremely difficult. It has been done however.—Electra did it.—But a Queen has never been Archinus and it would be very difficult to fulfil both roles with the dedication each should be accorded, especially in different provinces.
‘Ahron thinks it more important to ensure the preservation of a strong Dragon bloodline in the royal house of Trephysia than to give credence to the ‘feverish ramblings of a sick old woman’. Electra was near death when she made that prophecy but her visionary powers were phenomenal. Thus, I warn you, daughter, not to neglect your promise to continue to evolve through the Mysteries of the Goddess.’
‘I have vowed to continue the studies,’ Gynevra said, holding her head as straight as any Queen ever had.
Electra had died only ten years before her birth and her emerald jewelery had been placed in a vault of the Healing Temple. When she'd appeared to Ianthe at Gynevra's birth she'd commanded her to remove the flawlessly faceted jewel from the center of the ring she'd worn until her death and have it made into a stud for the child to wear in her upper lip. This had been done on the occasion of Gynevra's seventh birthday.
Ianthe fixed her dark, implacable gaze on that glowing gem now and said in a low hard voice, ‘You wear her stone. You cannot escape the prophecy.’
‘The Goddess is ever my protector,’ Gynevra answered calmly and turned to gaze out over the pageant of moving color. There'd been several times on the ten day journey from Poseidonia when, plagued by doubts, she'd have been vulnerable if the Archinus had approached her with the tenderness of a movuon. The blatant threat simply hardened her resolve.
Turning to the Prince who'd watched the exchange with a haughty frown, the Archinus asked, ‘And you, my Lord Prince? Are you still prepared to accept the sacrifice you'd be called on to make should Princess Gynevra be required to fulfil the duties of Archinus of Poseidonia?’
Anger flared in the intense blue eyes, then the Prince said stiffly, ‘I believed negotiations completed.’ He waited until Ianthe dropped her eyes, before continuing. ‘It was agreed the greater good of Atlantis must be served.’
Abruptly he turned his back on the Archinus and gripping Gynevra's hands turned her to face him. Rakishly lifting one dark brow, he pressed a fingertip to the emerald in her lip and said, ‘I’m told the emerald vibration which makes you such a powerful healer also makes you a very desirable—sacred partner. I expect any possible future sacrifice on my part to be amply rewarded in the present.’
Gynevra felt a frisson of excitement riffle across her nerve endings. This was more in line with her dreams.
‘That's as may be,’ Ianthe argued tersely, stepping round to stand between them. ‘But the emerald ray comes with a price. By the law of the universe you cannot recognize the ecstasy without also experiencing the agony.’
In a moment, future and destiny hung above them with a gloom as dense as the thickest Dorian ash cloud. Gynevra suppressed a shiver as her glance slid from her movuon to the narrowing gaze of the Prince.
Then squaring her shoulders, she said, ‘Whatever the future holds is of the future. We are here in the present and this is a day of celebration. If there is to be agony, or even ecstasy, it will await its own season.’
Deliberately turning her shou
lder on the Archinus, she slipped her arm through Gotham's and asked, ‘How is it you know so much about the emerald ray?’
‘I know much about many things, Princess,’ he boasted, walking her a few steps away from Ianthe, ‘but I admit when I contracted to unite with you I studied its properties. It's a rare vibration and I wished to fully appreciate the gifts you'd bring to our union.—I think I'm going to.’
His glance raked from her head to her feet. Feeling a flush heat her cheeks, Gynevra withdrew her arm and put a little space between them.
‘I'm honored,’ she said, contriving to maintain a haughty tilt to her head.
‘You will be,’ he promised, the confident words reminding her suddenly of another Son of the Dragon whose belief in his prowess was equally sure.
She'd always known the emerald signature stone meant she'd been singled out by the Goddess for a special purpose. But now she wondered if her awareness of the vibration of the gem had become more acute since she'd come to equate it with a pair of fiercely shining emerald eyes?
And how could she concentrate on this ceremony of joining with Prince Gotham if those eyes kept glowing in her mind?
Chapter 12
After the solemnity and sacred ritual of their Temple vows the signing of contracts in the Halls of Justice reminded Gynevra of the Plaza at festival time. The wealthy Paggi of the city crowded into the vast building, the women in rich, revealing gowns and the men mostly in no more than a fine linen kirt beneath the protective woolen cloaks which were discarded the moment they entered the building.
Meryan had taken her cloak and now as people pressed close to be introduced to their future Queen, Gynevra felt vulnerable. Did her new sacred partner have any idea how she felt? Did he care? She'd joined her life with a complete stranger—who lived and breathed because of her healing powers. That had to count for something—surely?
Standing close to him, her back straight, chin held high and a polite smile curving her tense lips, she fought to still the trembling of her knees. None should guess at the depth of her unease. A trickle of perspiration ran down her back and her hands felt clammy as she resolutely met the hot desirous gazes of the men and the heated envious stares of the women.
One of the first in the line to offer felicitations was the city governor and his red-haired sacred partner. There was a high color in the woman's cheeks and her eyes glittered as if she'd been imbibing wine since the welcoming reception.
‘You've chosen a Princess worthy of your status, my Lord Prince. Congratulations,’ Governor Ehad stated gallantly then turned to Gynevra. ‘We offer our best wishes to you both, Princess, and hope you'll be very happy here in Trephysia.’
‘Speak for yourself, Ehad,’ the woman snapped petulantly. Then to Gynevra's shock, she grabbed Gotham's arm and swore.
‘Arabo! Am I not enough for you? Why did you have to take a sacred partner?’
Ehad disengaged her hand from Gotham's arm and gently folded it in his as if she were a deranged child, and said, ‘Craelia is not well you know.’
Gynevra felt her whole body go rigid with anger as the man led her away. Expressionless, Gotham put his arm round her shoulders, and said calmly, ‘Don't let Craelia bother you. Everyone knows she's a little unhinged—and it's obvious she's been tippling at the wine-pot.’
His arm dropped to her waist and he turned back to the line of goggling well-wishers. That there was something between the beautiful Lady Craelia and Trephysia's Prince had to be obvious to a blind man and Gynevra vowed inwardly she'd not react by so much as a twitch of an eyelash. Lifting her chin a little higher and cultivating a cold, bored demeanor, she inclined her head slightly as each guest filed past. Suddenly she realized her training would stand her in as good stead as a Queen as a priestess.
Then came a group of women she'd been aware of for some time off to one side of the Hall and she discovered nothing in her Temple training had prepared her for this.
How did she get her hair that color? Why did she have a stud in her lip? Since she was a priestess, did she enjoy altar rituals and was she intending to offer herself as Adonai in the next Sacred Joining of the Gods? Did she know what to do with a stallion, since she'd just joined with one?
When the third woman in succession asked her if she had plenty of angel's salve because of Gotham's stallion-like proportions, a rush of energy up her spine stripped away the sense of awe that had overshadowed her natural straightforward self since the beginning of the day. Princess she was, and priestess of no ordinary achievement. Young she might be, and different on account of her coloring and signature stone but she was human, she was a person, just like any one of them out there and it was time to show them that.
The next person in the receiving line was startled to be shown the Princess's back, as she turned to Gotham and said, ‘Help me up on the desk.’
‘What for?’ he drawled, boldly and visually ravishing her body through the transparent folds of her gown. ‘Can't you wait till we're alone?’
The import of what he'd said slowly sank in. Gynevra glared stonily back at him then, dropping all presence at hiding her feelings, stormed round the massive piece of furniture, climbed onto the high judge's chair and from there onto the desk. A startled hush fell over the assemblage.
‘Citizens of Trephysia!’ Her voice rang loud and clear into the absolute silence. Even Gotham was staring with his mouth open. ‘My hair is my own. I am one of the blessed Daughters of the Dragon to have inherited Isidor's golden locks. I was born with it. The emerald in my lip was implanted there because Electra, my great-grandmother, commanded it when she appeared to my movuon in a vision on the night I was born. I’m a priestess because my female ancestors for generations back have been Archini of Poseidonia and I’ve been trained to do my duty on the altar as is required of all priestesses.
‘Furthermore, I’m a healer and a qualified pharmacist. In Fyr Poseidyr the delilahs and philidoras came to me for angel's salve for my brew was considered highly efficacious. I’m well-equipped to take care of the problems of mating with your Prince, with which you all seem so well-acquainted. Are there any further personal questions you wish me to answer for you? Like how many men I've lain with, do I believe in fidelity, how often I like to mate, whether I habitually wear transparent gowns, who was the greatest lover I ever—’
Before she could say more Gotham leapt on the desk, pulled her into his arms and stopped her words with his mouth. At the same time his mind connected directly with hers.
‘You make me so hot Princess I can scarcely restrain myself from throwing you down on this desk and showing you just what a stallion does when his mare displays herself as you just have. There's not one man in this Hall who isn't fired to do the same. Now I suggest you get down off here and let me spirit you out of this place before you start a riot with yourself as the centerpiece. There wouldn't be much of you left for me after they'd finished with you.’
He lifted his mouth from hers and seared her with the smaltine blaze of his eyes. Neither heard nor acknowledged the ragged cheers, jeers, and whistles from the crowd below. Gynevra had never been so incensed in all her life, first with the people around her for their insensitive, crass behavior and secondly with herself for losing her royal demeanor and allowing herself to react. But her bitterest disappointment was in Gotham for showing her the facade of the Golden Prince was simply that, a well-polished but very brittle mask.
He leapt to the floor, swung her unresistingly after him, and barked an order to Meryan to cover her with the cloak. Then he turned and yelled across the vast Hall to the warriors at the door, ‘Guard! Fall in!’
Cold with fury and shaking so badly she knew her legs wouldn't carry her, Gynevra struggled to gather the scattered remnants of her courage and pride.
‘I'll not walk another step in this degrading—and degraded—city.’
Gotham bared his teeth at her, gripped her arm and hauled her through an anteroom to a side entrance where several bearers were waiting with
their reicani. Stepping straight into his, he left Hadan and Meryan to see her into hers.
‘Well done, Princess,’ Prince Hadan said gently, giving her a warm, encouraging smile. ‘Not clever. It could easily have had a different outcome, and it's that risk you took which angers my brother. But seeing the outcome—well done.’
Meryan's troubled face bobbed behind him. Gynevra could only force her mouth to shape a rueful grimace. Falling back onto the cushions, she closed the curtain. Tears threatened and she'd allow none of them to witness that weakness, not the people of Trephysia and especially not their Prince.
At the palace wine and lengthy speeches ran freer than water. As the afternoon wore on into evening Gynevra wondered if she'd ever be able to chisel the nonchalant smile off her face. Somehow she'd had it fixed in place when she'd alighted at the reception hall and had managed to maintain it through lengthy castigation by both her parents, lecherous winks from Gotham's father, King Orestes, whenever he caught her eye, and the disappearance of her Golden Prince once the feasting and speeches were over. At least she'd been able to talk with Mery who'd introduced her to Gotham's sister. Several years older than herself, Lady Anya was Archinus Elect of Temple Ceabryn and Gynevra was delighted to know she'd find a friend within the Temple when she honored her vow to continue her studies.
Weary of the fight to maintain her dignity in the face of an absent sacred partner and his avidly curious subjects, she cast about for Meryan. She was sitting with Hadan at one end of a large table, talking to several handsome young warriors whom Gynevra remembered from their escort of the morning. All bore the unmistakable stamp of Sons of the Dragon.
Gynevra took a glass of wine from the table and slipped round the men to stand beside Meryan. All five immediately honored her by dropping their chins to their chests, then Hadan suggested they introduce themselves as he was sure they'd do it better than he would. Nothing loath, each man stepped forward, possessed himself of her hand and told her his name and connection. The boldest, Paco of Trephysia, with thick dark hair that gleamed like rubbed bronze, and black eyes dancing with laughter and mischief, was clearly well endowed with the legendary charisma of the Dragon.