Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1)

by YatesNZ, Jen

  When at last she placed the empty wine goblet on the table, he begged her, ‘Dance with me Princess. Make me a happy man and all these other arabo miserable!’

  Later she would blame it on the wine, but at the moment all she was aware of was how her feet itched to dance and that a pair of laughing black eyes made her feel wanted. Damn Princes of the Blood, anyway.

  They danced, they laughed. It was the most delightful interlude of the day. Her joining day. Somewhere in her wine-fogged mind Gynevra decided since Gotham had taken precious little care of her happiness she’d grab a little for herself.

  Paco, in true DragonBlood fashion, set out to score from his triumph. He had the most desired woman in the city in his arms, and damned if he wouldn't have at least a kiss before he gave her up. And if the God's smiled—!

  He lowered his head to taste of the Princess's honeymede mouth—and the stars fell out of the sky into his head.

  Gynevra stared at the man on the floor at her feet, a bruise welling along his jaw, then confronted a pair of searing blue eyes. She should’ve turned to ash where she stood. Without a word, Gotham grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows beyond the portico before the startled onlookers had moved. By devious paths he'd no doubt known since childhood, he led her away from the public terraces where the guests thronged, through secret courtyards, a gate in a stone wall. By the time they emerged onto a river landing hidden under a glass-roofed rock grotto Gynevra was not only lost but confused. She'd expected him to hit her after he'd felled Paco, or at least to berate her in some fashion.

  He’d not even spoken. But then, nor had he cared how she fared in the dark, on a strange path, being towed along by a fiery-eyed maniac. What had she gotten herself into?

  To her utter relief, Meryan and Hadan appeared out of the darkness, her sister with a pair of soft woven cloaks over her arm. Hadan held the mooring rope of a small, wooden boat.

  Her heart, already pounding like a runaway horse, began to buck and baulk in her chest. There'd been so much happening all day it had been easy to put this moment out of her mind. Now her feelings were deeply ambivalent. The thought of being alone with Gotham was nothing less than terrifying. Numbly she allowed Meryan to wrap the cloak about her and submitted to her brief, fierce hug. As soon as she was in the small craft Gotham followed, similarly wrapped in a protective cloak. Hadan saluted briefly as they pulled away from the landing.

  ‘May the Gods be with you,’ he called formally. Then as if the afterthought would not be gainsaid, he added, ‘You’d do well to remember who her father is, Go,’ by which time he and Meryan were lost in the shadows of dusk on the riverbank.

  Gynevra huddled deeply into the heavy cloak, chilled by the warning note in Prince Hadan’s voice. She'd known they’d spend their first night on the Isle of Ebbawen just inside the mouth of the river. The first Gotham of Trephysia had erected a tiny Temple there in honor of his sacred partner, Ebbawen, who, according to legend had been a mermaid. The legend was old and very sad, but the story of their son, Madoc, who'd found the love of his life in the tiny sea-girt Temple, was much more romantic. When Gotham's rabon had said the Prince insisted she agree to spend their first night together on the island, she'd been delighted, believing it indicated her Prince had a sensitivity she'd not dared hope for. Now she'd scoff at her naivety if she weren't clenching her teeth in determination he'd not hear them chattering with fear.

  With rage-fueled strokes Gotham pulled the tiny craft out of the low, glassed tunnel protecting the river landing. In minutes they were skimming across the surface of a poisoned river flowing beneath a toxic sky. The only light seemed to be reflected up from the malevolent waters. Gynevra clung to her seat as fragments of mariner's prayers floated through her mind. The leisurely appearance of the current was deceptive. The murky water grasped at the flimsy vessel with greedy tentacles and tossed them into the fast running stream. Her ability to swim was scant comfort when she considered entering the water would be akin to taking a bath in acid.

  But more frightening than the deadly river or virulent sky, was the fury emanating from the rigid back of the man who now held her life in his hands. He was an unknown quantity. Men were an unknown quantity, she acknowledged ruefully. The only experience she had to base any assumptions on were the stories circulated around the college at Qrazil. Not one of them was reassuring. The Temple taught fear was an energy with the ability to manifest the very thing one feared. Firmly Gynevra focused her attention on the shimmering light near the river mouth and visualized their safe arrival.

  The wind stung her eyes, whipped the cloak from her shoulders, and twisted her hair into a banner behind her. Clutching the cloak tightly at her throat and snatching the emerald headband to safety, she shut her eyes against the poisonous dust and prayed to the Goddess for protection. When next she dared a glance toward the island a golden faerie temple, crystal-lit beneath its layered pyramid of glass, shimmered on the waters before them.

  With steady strokes the Prince guided the craft into the current so they were carried straight into the cunningly contrived net that held them against the stream so he could turn and pull the boat into the tunnel facing the river-mouth. Several more strokes brought them up onto the sandy beach. With the first awkwardness from his injury Gynevra had noticed all day, Gotham clambered onto the sand and held the boat while she alighted beside him. Taking her cloak, he stowed it in the boat with his own and pulled the craft onto the beach, securing the mooring line to a rock.

  Gynevra turned to survey their tiny domain. No more than a large rock, the Isle had been crowned with a miniature temple built of crystalline limestone. Crystal lights gave the building the appearance of having been dipped in shimmering gold. Fear was masked by the moment of wonder.

  ‘It's beautiful,’ she breathed, more to herself than to the grim-faced man who'd come to her side. It felt magical to stand at last on this historical dot of land where, so legend had it, Madoc, himself the child of Merwin, a Mer-woman, had found Ebbawen of the SeaDragons. In this place love had been born in Madoc's stony heart and from that love a distinctive race of golden haired, light eyed Children of the Dragon.

  Did he feel the magic? Gynevra turned to stare at Gotham. Generations later they'd come, descendants of those first two who'd found love on this spot, an offering from the harvest of the seed planted on this isle so long ago. The sense of grim, iron-clad fury was gone from him. His eyes glowed with a deep unearthly fire, and he gazed back at her with an expression which, if not exactly wonder, was at least, appreciation.

  Hope swelled in her heart.

  ‘Beautiful and magical both,’ he growled, gazing down into the glowing countenance of the woman whose life now joined his. Then he added slowly, huskily, ‘Shall we explore?’

  Without waiting for her answer, he dipped his head and took her mouth with his, tasted her wonder, drank of her enchantment. Their bodies melded spontaneously and the silk of her gown and hair entangled their limbs.

  He lifted his head. ‘From the moment I first saw you in that gown I've thought of little else but this. You don't know how close you came to social disaster on that confounded desk in the Halls of Justice, Princess.’

  Relief was headier than the wine she'd been recklessly imbibing. It was easy to block out the skeptical voice that whispered caution somewhere in the depth of her mind.

  ‘Cloaba! That breara Paco is lucky he still breathes. I'm so hot for you I'm in danger of expending the moment in one wild rush here on the sand. I'm astounded and delighted at what you make me feel, Princess.’

  The blue eyes were almost black with desire and his body taut and hard against her own. Words ground between his teeth.

  ‘I'd intended we greet the Spirits of our Ancestors first.’

  May the Goddess give her strength! Did it take so little then to make her forget her first duty, make her forget his inattention of the day? The first assignment a priestess must perform at the critical moments of her life, regardless of what
those moments were, was an invocation to the Goddess for her blessing. What more critical moment could there be than the occasion of her first joining with her sacred partner?

  Slipping suddenly from his grasp she fled up the steps carved into the rock and entered the building. The arched entry-way was the only opening and the interior was softly lit by crystal lamps set into niches around the walls.

  The twelve-sided structure was about thirty gladvenon in diameter. A wide linen-draped couch heaped with brightly colored ilobaron occupied the center, a side-table laden with food and drink under silver covers stood to the right, and a large copper tub steamed gently to the left. But Gynevra's gaze slid beyond all these to the life-sized statue of a naked woman with a fish tail instead of legs mounted on a plinth before the wall opposite the door. She couldn't resist crossing the room and running her hands down the translucent aquamarine of Ebbawen's shoulders to the lifelike scales of her tail. The soul connection was instant and powerful.

  ‘She greets us and welcomes us. She knows who we are and why we've come. She offers us her blessing.’

  Gotham joined her before the statue. Breathing heavily, and obviously under a precarious restraint, he took her left hand in his right and placed his other on Ebbawen's shoulder.

  ‘Greetings Queen Ebbawen, whose blood flows in both our veins. Thank you for your blessing on the union we contracted this day.—Now if you'll excuse us, I have a woman to bed.’

  Gynevra gasped with indignation and leapt to the opposite side of the couch.

  ‘Will you first share the cleansing ritual with me?’ she asked grittily.

  The Prince swore.

  ‘Is that the price I'm expected to pay for joining with a priestess?’

  ‘I'd be obliged if you'd accommodate me in this,’ she responded frostily.

  Gotham scowled, then said ungraciously, ‘I will forbear if I must.’

  Gynevra walked across and tested the water in the tub then began removing her emerald adornments.

  ‘I'm reliably informed forbearance brings greater ecstasy,’ she muttered defiantly over her shoulder as she carefully placed the precious gems in an empty wall niche.

  The Prince ripped off his kirt and strode round the couch wearing only his light leather dress boots.

  ‘At some later date I might be suitably grateful that you're ‘reliably informed’ of many things. Right now one thing interests me.’

  ‘The cleansing ritual. Of course.’

  ‘Princess, make it short,’ he barked, kicking off first one boot then the other.

  His eyes smoldered darkly, his desire starkly obvious. The Golden Stallion of Trephysia. The familiar epithet definitely referred to more than the heraldic symbol for the royal house of the province! Excitement volcanoed within her belly and Gynevra found, to her chagrin, she was no less impatient to have the ritual completed.

  ‘Certainly, my Lord.’

  Slowly she raised her arms and released the jeweled clip fastening her gown at the neck, letting it whisper to a silken pool about her feet.

  His only response was the movement of a muscle in the granite jaw as if he ground his teeth. Their eyes locked and a tremor of excitement shook her visibly from head to toe.

  ‘Can you remember the words, Princess?’

  The husky tones of his voice caused the tremor to reverse. The rippling awareness scorched her toes, quivered every nerve shaft upward through her body, set her lips trembling, and widened her eyes.

  ‘What?’ she whispered.

  ‘The invocation.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her breath seared her lips as it sighed out of her mouth. ‘Um—no.’

  Reaching for her, he swung her into his arms, and stepped into the steaming tub. Bending his knees he took them to their chins in the water then rose again to let it pour off in splashing puddles all about the tub.

  ‘Great Goddess Ist, Great God Asar, we are cleansed before you. So mote it be!’

  Gynevra wanted to giggle. It was the shortest cleansing invocation she'd ever heard.

  Stepping out onto the floor, he snatched up a folded drying cloth and thrust it into her startled hands.

  ‘Dry yourself, Princess.’

  He dragged another cloth across his chest and shoulders.

  ‘I'm not sure I remember how to do that either,’ she whispered, trying to manipulate the piece of linen with fingers that yearned only to touch warm, living flesh.

  Gotham growled somewhere deep in his chest, raced the cloth over his body in a cursory salute at drying it, dragged both cloths summarily over Gynevra front and back, then cast them aside. Swinging her into his arms once again he fell among the silken ilobaron. Rolling onto his back, he clasped her against his chest.

  ‘Madoc and Ebbawen might have appreciated this had the Gods thought to provide it for them. They had to make do with the sandy floor. Holy Cronos, I can wait no longer.’ He sought her mouth hungrily, his hands roaming freely with enough urgency and dedication to finally satisfy Gynevra. ‘You radiate the golden promise of fire and passion I've only ever encountered in women of the Dragon Blood. Do you keep that promise, Gynevra of Poseidonia? Does your emerald fire burn as brightly in your blood as it does in your strange golden Dragon eyes?’

  He rolled again and pinned her to the cushions with the challenge, and the weight of his body. Eyes locked, elemental fire to elemental fire. Bodies cleaved, breast to breast, navel to navel, mouth to mouth.

  Manhood to womanhood.

  With a cry of exultation Gynevra arched back. Gotham reared into her, rigid with the ecstatic power of the moment.

  ‘Now truly,’ he cried as he withdrew and thrust even more deeply into her womb, ‘is the royal House of Trephysia joined with,’ and he withdrew and thrust again, ‘the royal House of Poseidonia!’

  Joined, fused, vulcanized. Whatever the words were Gynevra couldn't have uttered any one of them as her body channeled every atom of energy to attaining the heights with Gotham she'd discovered with Taur.

  ‘Just as well you weren't a virgin, Princess. That could hardly be called the delicate approach,’ Gotham rasped into her hair when he was able to draw breath again. ‘I can only plead the passion of the emerald ray is everything I was told it would be—and beg your indulgence while I prove I do know how to—appreciate—a beautiful woman.’

  He nuzzled at the delicate skin beneath her ear, then on down the curve of her neck to an urgently thrusting golden breast. The only response Gynevra was able to offer was an inarticulate moan but it seemed to be all he needed. Perhaps this time the fireball of ecstatic fulfilment would keep even the merest shadow of the King of Nyalda from her mind.

  Chapter 13

  ‘She's carrying his baby?’

  The cry of protest leapt from Gynevra's mouth with the force of an archer's bolt. Her hand flew to her lips, and she stared at her sister.

  It was a tonn since her Sacred Joining and this was the first day Gotham had left their apartments. He'd said he needed to get back in training to ensure no other DragonBlood arabo won the right to play Rafid if she were a chosen Adonai.

  Taur had won their last fight. The thought had been in her mind before she'd realized what it signified. She'd only hoped Gotham believed the thought of them performing together on the altar had generated the sudden heat in her cheeks. Her continued happiness with the Prince of Trephysia depended on the King of Nyalda staying out of her mind.

  It had been a happy ten days. Gotham had made up for any lack of attention on their Joining Day. Nevertheless she'd been looking forward to spending this time with Meryan. Inevitably their talk had turned to Phryne. When Gynevra shared the whole of what had transpired between her and Phree, Mery wept and gave substance to the knowledge that had lurked untenable in her subconscious mind for many days now.

  They were sitting on large soft ilobaron in the enclosed courtyard of Gynevra's apartments. Hearing pain and denial in her sister's voice, Meryan's hands fluttered over her cup of mint tisane then back to her lap to twis
t anxiously.

  ‘Gyn'a, it's a Child of the Gods, Ist and Asar. You must remember who we are and why we do what we do as Priestesses of the Temple. It's not Taur's babe she carries. It’s Asar's. And in that same sense, she's not Phryne, she's Ist.’

  ‘I know that! I don't want to feel this way. It's so demeaning. I know what Taur and I did was wrong yet—when I think of her bearing his child, I—want to—’

  ‘What of Gotham?’ Meryan interrupted. ‘You could already be seeded by him. You could be carrying a future King of Trephysia. You must put Cadal Isidor out of your mind.’

  Gynevra gnawed on her lip and rested a hand wistfully on her abdomen. ‘Gotham is certain I must be pregnant by now. He says his seed always takes instantly.—But, Mery, I think I'd know—I mean, I just don't feel I am.’

  Meryan smiled and patted her own slender form.

  ‘I know what you mean. I knew the moment I was seeded.’

  Gynevra squealed and leapt across the ilobaron to hug her sister.

  ‘Oh Mery, here I've been bleating on about my stupid feelings and you have this exciting news. I'm so happy for you.’ Leaning back she studied her sister closely. ‘You are happy about it, aren't you?—Oh what a stupid question. I should've known when you arrived. You're positively glowing!’

  Meryan laughed. ‘We're both very happy about it.’

  ‘And you're happy with Hadan?’

  A delicate color touched Mery's cheeks and her eyes misted.

  ‘I just hope you and Phree can be as happy as I am. I'm so fortunate in Hadan. We complement each other in so many ways—and Gyn'a, he's a wonderful lover. You know, everything naughty Lauriana used to tell us about DragonBlood lovers—is true. You must have found that out by now.’