by April Reid
"That record has been altered.” His voice dropped to a menacing tone. “Nothing and no one, not even my family, will interfere with my plans. Once you are wed, it will be too late to tell him without you and all the family, even Jax and Drusilla, suffering his wrath."
Chills crawled down Ashlyn's spine.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nimbor go very still.
"Until your marriage you will tell no one our secret.” He opened the silk package and showed her a coiled bracelet inscribed with symbols. The lettering seemed to dance and blur when she looked at it closely.
"This will assure you remain in seclusion,” he said in a harsh tone. “Hold out your right wrist—your projective hand."
She hesitated, suddenly realizing the bracelet held a strong spell. Until this moment, the thrum of power from the node below this room had masked the magic vibrations. Now she was filled with an unknowing dread of that be-spelled bracelet.
"Father, please don't."
He took a menacing step toward her. “Ashlyn Marie Brightfire Toscano, by the power of your secret name, obey my command."
The spell of compulsion poured over her like liquid quist, draining away her ability to control her own body. Everything within her rebelled at the thought of allowing that cold metal to touch her skin, but her right arm rose.
Careful to hold one edge of the bracelet in the folds of silk, he flicked the metal across her arm. Sparks flared at the contact. Cold, stinging fire raced through her blood.
"N...” She couldn't even voice a protest.
Nodding, he spread the coil—fingers protected by the insulating silk—and wrapped the bracelet around her wrist.
She felt it close against her skin like the poisonous embrace of a deadly drago-snake.
"Listen closely, Brightfire,” he commanded—once more using her secret name to seal the spell more securely. “You will return to the house and remain inside until the night of the Grass Moons. Any attempt to move outside, even into the gardens, will cause you great pain."
He sketched a sign in the air releasing her from the paralysis, and she sagged in her chair.
"Daughter, I say again—you will keep my secret...” Lightning flickered around his fingers, scorching the marble tabletop. “or suffer a lingering, tortured death."
* * * *
Back in her suite of rooms, Ashlyn found she could breathe more freely. Here, inside the house, the magicked bracelet lay quiescent. She wasn't yet ready to test its limits.
Ashlyn gazed out the open window at the sea and sky, already mourning the loss of her freedom. While she bathed in the fresh breeze flowing in through the magical screen that kept out insects, her thoughts went back to her father's threat if she revealed his plans. She compared it with other times she'd defied him.
He sure likes to use the threat of death, she mused.
She'd forgotten the pooka had returned with her escort until he fluttered to the windowsill and stood there looking out, one hand braced on the frame.
"Well, Marama Ashlyn,” he said in his high voice, “was a roll in the herb garden with your outlander worth the painful restrictions laid on you by Lord Toscano?"
"Pooka snoop.” She turned on him so fiercely, he took a step backward, fell off the windowsill, and fluttered in place.
"Do you dislike me so much you had to fly to my father with the news?"
"I don't have a reason to dislike you, Marama Ashlyn. If anything, I agree with the other non-humans in the compound when they say you treat them with understanding and dignity. Your fairy-dragon adores you, and her mate is already praising your bravery."
Nimbor flew in a tight a circle in the air. “Even touchy old Sizzoff in the kitchen holds you up as an example of a worthy human."
"Then why did you cause me trouble?"
Still hovering in the air, he rubbed his chin, as if thinking. Then he grinned. “Hey, I'm a pooka, that's why.” He turned a quick somersault in the air. “Who do you think unlocked the gate into the garden for your Basil Greenstorm?"
* * * *
The days until the Grass Moons night passed quickly. Ashlyn had found by painful experiment that she couldn't set a foot or hand beyond the house walls, but news filtered in from Drusilla, Pepper and Hawthorne, and the servants who went home every night.
The tournaments to select the surrogate consort had begun and one challenger, Greenstorm d'Vortimer, dominated all the other contestants. For the first time since Maldoc's reign began, a man had appeared who might defeat the powerful king and win the right to bed the surrogate Goddess—Ashlyn—in the great Night of the Grass Moons ceremony.
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CHAPTER 8
Basil stepped back and watched the warrior he'd just defeated limp away from the challenge ring. After a week of swordfight contests between warriors from all over Avalonia for the right to be the consort surrogate at the Grass Moons ceremony, this had been the semi-final combat. At sunset tonight, the winner would cross swords with the king for the honor of bedding the Goddess surrogate.
As he cleaned his sword on a square of soft kut'n, Basil gazed across the trampled ring to the brightly canopied box seats on the grandstand, from which King Maldoc and his entourage had watched the series of encounters all day.
Basil's dragon senses tingled with the heavy presence of danger. Even before the first combat of today, he'd noticed the large number of soldiers stationed along the outer edge of the crowd. Was that usual for ceremonial gatherings here in New Caledon, or did the king expect trouble?
After saluting the king with his raised sword, Basil strode to the pavilion set up for the fighters at the opposite end of the challenge circle.
Earlier, the pavilion had been filled with combatants resting between bouts. Healers were there to treat wounds. Servants stood by with food and drink.
Now Basil and the fighter he'd just defeated were the only remaining swordsmen.
While he dabbed at a long cut on his arm with a clean cloth, he watched the healer bathe and apply salve to wounds on the other warrior's shoulder and left arm.
The fighter gave Basil a weak smile. “Hail to you, d'Vortimer.” He saluted with his right fist across his heart. “You defeated me in a fair fight."
"You also drew blood in a fair encounter.” Basil tipped his head toward the second healer who was cleaning his sword cut.
The fighter studied Basil with an enigmatic expression, then gestured at the healers and servants. “Leave us,” he commanded.
"Yes, my Lord Zenos.” The chief healer bowed and walked out of the closed pavilion, followed by the rest.
"Impressive,” Basil commented. “They went without a murmur."
The warrior gave him a wry smile. “One of the advantages of being the first son of the Chief High Mage."
He indicated the padded stool abandoned by the healer. “My name is Farrel. Sit down and rest before your duel with the king. I want to warn you about him."
* * * *
Once again Ashlyn waited in her father's office. Earlier that day he'd removed the bracelet that had kept her bound to the house. This time she awaited his approval of her appearance and his final instructions before she left the Toscano compound to go to the ceremony of the Grass Moons and her life mate.
Life mate, she mused. If only it were Basil, but that she wouldn't know until she stood on the sacred circle and watched the high priestess crown the victor. Her father had put a spell on the house preventing any mention of the challengers’ identities.
In spite of the restriction, Pepper had brought the latest news. ::The man from the ocean waves has won the honor to fight the king,:: she'd said, identifying Basil as surely as if she'd said his name.
Now, as sunset and the final combat to choose the consort surrogate drew close, she could only pray her beloved would win against impossible odds—the magic and might of King Maldoc.
Determined to be brave for Basil's sake, she strengthened her outer appearance of serene com
posure. No matter the outcome tonight, she'd never return to her father's home.
* * * *
Basil stood three steps outside the north side of the raised sacred white marble circle near one of the gold and white tapers placed there for the nighttime ceremony. His sword, retrieved from the bandits, rested tip down on the ground with the quillions between his hands.
Earlier, after his talk with Farrel, the defeated challenger had left, and the servants had returned with a copper tub they filled with warm water for Basil.
He'd bathed and dressed in the ceremonial gold-and-white short lava-lava, his chest left bare, ready for the final confrontation.
Across the circle King Maldoc, also dressed in the ceremonial lava-lava, waited with unsheathed sword.
Basil studied the king's weapon, especially the deep red ruby, the size of an infant's fist, set into its pommel. Farrel, the firstborn son of Zenos, had warned about the magical gem, saying light reflected from it into an opponent's eyes cast a spell of confusion over the unlucky fighter.
According to the rules, magic was forbidden during the duel. Everything Basil had learned about the king pointed to an arrogant, power-hungry ruler who got what he wanted by fair means or foul. Maldoc wanted Ashlyn—not for herself, according to Farrel—but as a means to gain more power.
Thanks to the warning, Basil would be alert to the forbidden magic.
Basil watched the crowd grow as the sun dipped lower toward the ocean. More soldiers than earlier moved through the crowd. This was supposed to be a peaceful religious event, he thought. Supposedly the only bloodshed would be in the duel for Ashlyn.
The sound of trumpets and drums announced the appearance of the Goddess surrogate and her court of dancers.
Ignoring the priestess of the moons and all the other participants, he gazed at Ashlyn, drinking in the wonder of her graceful, lush body lovingly defined by the white-and-gold sarong. She wore a lei of creamy white dreamflowers and a matching wreath around her brow.
Hawthorne had told him about the indignities she'd suffered in her own home. His gaze sought her wrist, where the damned bracelet had rested that held her prisoner to her father, as surely as the bandits’ ropes had fastened her to the blister tree.
The metallic coils were gone, but his dragon senses detected a faint ring of abraded skin and an even fainter taste of magic. One more mark against her father.
He watched her pause at the base of the marble steps leading up to the temple porch. The sun, low in the sky, bathed her in a golden radiance. The rays shimmered in the pale blonde hair tumbling down her back. He wanted to bury his hands in the luxuriant strands as he stretched his naked body against hers. Forget the duel, he wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her to safety—to a place where they could touch each other and be touched; where he could bury his face between her thighs and sip her woman's honey; where he could feast on her breasts, then plunge his cock into her slit and bring them both to a hot, sweaty orgasm.
Damn. Basil shifted to ease the pressure on his log of flesh and curled his fingers tighter around the sword grip. He had to keep tight control over his body and save his energy for the coming confrontation. Ashlyn's life and his depended on defeating King Maldoc and their escape from Avalonia.
Even at this distance, the fitful breeze carried her complex scent to his dragon senses. Under the faint musk of her delicate feminine fragrance, he caught the sharp note of apprehension. But, in spite of her inner turmoil, she looked composed.
His heart swelled with pride. This was his woman—Ashlyn, who'd saved him from the waves. Ashlyn, the dream lover who rocked his senses with her passion and filled his soul with her bravery.
She bowed to the king and then to him before moving gracefully up to where chairs had been placed for her and her entourage.
Once Ashlyn was settled, the priestess of the moons stood, announced the name of the combatants, and declared, “To the glory of the Goddess and consort, let the duel begin."
* * * *
Ashlyn held her breath as Basil and Maldoc advanced toward each other, their swords moving in complex patterns.
When she'd first seen Basil after two interminably long weeks, she'd fought to hide her reaction. Every nerve had been brought to shimmering life and the blood beat between her thighs the way it had when they'd made love.
She noticed the bandage around her beloved's arm while the king appeared well-rested and strong, and why not? He hadn't battled for his life the past week like Basil had done.
Goddess protect you Basil and guide your sword.
Clasping her hands to hide their trembling, she watched the two men come together in a clash of swords. They fought furiously, the sharp metal ringing and flashing in the setting sun.
Great streamers of gold and red-tinged clouds flared across the sky dividing the pale blue and yellow of the horizon over the ocean with the deep blue of coming twilight high overhead. To the east, Qamar and Zurir were pale promises of their nighttime glory.
One of the male dancers in the entourage said, “The king's moving the outlander around to the west—a foolish move—Maldoc will have the sun in his eyes."
Another one said proudly, “Not foolish—strategic. Our king's sword is named Confusion for the spell it casts on his enemies."
"I thought using magic in this contest was against the rules,” the first man said.
"The king is above rules."
Magic. Ashlyn caught her breath when a flash of red from the king's sword danced across Basil's face.
Basil shook his head, then leaped aside, barely missing the slash from Maldoc's blade.
As Ashlyn muffled a scream, she saw the red light again, but this time Basil avoided it. With a series of strike, advance, and retreat strokes, he changed his position and backed Maldoc toward the north side of the circle.
The king fought back furiously, hacking at Basil with a rapid series of slash and thrust. No matter where Maldoc's sword went, Basil either melted away at the last moment or deflected the sharp metal with his own blade.
Minutes seemed like hours. Ashlyn's heart leaped or quivered with every sword stroke, and the crowd cheered or groaned as the combat between the evenly-matched opponents continued.
Ashlyn noticed the palace guardsmen working their way through the mass of people to form a circle only steps away from the raised sacred platform.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Basil swept his sword through a dazzling pattern of moves that trapped Maldoc's blade and sent it flying across the polished marble.
Setting the point of his weapon at the king's throat, he said in an authoritative voice that carried to the temple porch and the far ends of the crowd, “Do you, King Maldoc, yield the position of consort surrogate to me, Basil Greenstorm d'Vortimer?"
Instead of following the traditional pattern of the loser conceding victory to the winner, the king said, “Let the Goddess surrogate decide."
Rising, Ashlyn slipped one arm through the lei of silvery-green dreamflower leaves and the wreath of thyme and mint, meant for this night's consort to her part as Goddess.
Followed by the high priestess, she hurried down the stairs and across the marble ring to Basil and Maldoc.
Basil held the tip of his sword an unwavering hand's-breadth from Maldoc's throat.
Arrogantly the king snarled, “Give me the winner's lei and wreath, girl. You are my promised bride."
"I was your promised bride, until you broke your most sacred oath to use no magic in the dueling circle."
"It's my right as king,” he blustered.
"No.” The priestess stepped forward. “Not even a king is exempt from the laws set down by the Goddess. You are an oath-breaker."
Turning her back on Maldoc, she retrieved the wreath from Ashlyn and faced Basil. “Lord d'Vortimer,” she said, in a loud, carrying voice, holding high the sacred ring of herbs, “you have been victorious and honorable in all challenges, including this final duel."
She placed the wreath
on his head saying, “I declare you the winner of the tournament of duels and the surrogate consort for tonight."
She turned to Ashlyn with a smile. “You may finish preparing your consort for the ceremony."
Basil relinquished his sword to the priestess and went down on both knees in front of Ashlyn, gazing up at her.
Her skin tingled and her heart raced at the chained heat in his eyes. Every fiber of her being longed to throw herself into his embrace—to strip off her sarong and press her naked body to his—mouth to mouth, skin to skin.
"Marama,” the priestess murmured gently, recalling Ashlyn to the ceremony, “your consort is waiting."
"Of course.” Ashlyn searched her memory for the carefully rehearsed words. “Lord d'Vortimer"—she draped the lei around his strong neck and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead—"receive the second and third symbols of your victory."
As she spoke, sunset faded into twilight and the drums of the Grass Moons ceremony began to throb.
Rising to his feet, Basil slipped an arm around Ashlyn's waist. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and they watched as the brighter stars winked into view.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the temple acolytes place the thick pallet, draped in a white silken cover, on the gold moon in the center of the marble floor. Soon she and Basil would join their bodies to celebrate the fullness of life.
By now, both moons were high in the sky. But not even the combined radiance of Qamar and Zurir, both full, could dim the stars outlining the constellation of the Great Basket and the companion sheaf of Lemon Grass stars below.
"It's time,” she said softly, looking up into Basil's face as she sank deeper into the role of female to his male, goddess to his consort. With a gesture, she lit the tapers ringing the sacred circle.
As the slender flames flared high, a harsh voice shouted, “Seize the traitors by order of the king."
Basil didn't have time to curse the king's betrayal. He swept up his sword that had been left beside the pallet as a symbol of strength and protection, and drew Ashlyn behind him. “Stay close, but out of my sword-stroke range so I know where you are."