A Little Fate (4 page)

To Aurora's disappointment, the wolf of her visions stayed down like a cowed dog.

“Prince Owen.” Her knees shook, and her heart thundered. Every instinct had to be denied. She couldn't go to him, speak to him. She must instead play the pampered lady. However it scored her pride, Aurora laid the back of her hand on her brow and pretended to swoon. “I can't bear
violence,” she said weakly when he rushed back to catch her. “I feel . . . unwell.”

“Lady, I'm sorry you had to witness such a . . . display.” He looked down on Thane with derision. “This stableboy has some skill with horses, but too often forgets his place.”

“Please, don't punish him on my account. I couldn't bear the thought of it.” She waved a hand, and after a moment's confusion, Cyra rushed forward with a bottle of salts to hold under Aurora's nose.

“Enough, enough.” Aurora nudged her away as the salts made her eyes water. “If you could assist me, my lord, out of the sun?”

“Forgive me, Lady Aurora. Let me take you inside, offer you some refreshment.”

“Oh, yes.” She leaned against him. “Traveling is so wearing, isn't it?”

She let him lead her away from the stables. Her heart was heavy to find her wolf, at last, and learn he had neither fang nor claw.

Feigning light-headedness, she let herself be led across a courtyard and into the keep. And she noted every detail. The number of guards and their weapons, the richness of the tapestries and tiles, the placement of windows and doors and stairs.

She noted the stone faces and downcast eyes of servants, and the demeanor of the other women, other ladies brought in like broodmares for display.

Some, it seemed to her, were pleased to be considered worthy of Prince Owen's regard. In others, she saw fear lurking in the eyes.

Women were chattel under Lorcan's reign. Property to be owned by father, husband, brother, or any man with the price. Any suspected of witchcraft were burned.

Women were lesser creatures, Rohan had told her, in Lorcan's world. All the better, she thought. He would hardly suspect that the True One was a woman, and that she bided under his roof until she could slit his throat.

She fluttered and flushed and begged Owen that she be taken to her chambers to rest away the fatigue of the journey.

When she had safely arrived there, she balled her hands into fists. “Simpleton. Bully. Bastard.” She took a deep breath and fought for control. “Calling him prince makes my tongue ache.”

“He was cruel to that boy,” Rhiann murmured.

“It wasn't a boy, but a man. A man without a backbone.” With a hiss of rage, she dropped into a chair. The man of her dreams would not grovel in the dirt. She would
not
love a man who would beg pardon of an ass.

So she would forget him. She had to forget him and her woman's heart, and do what came next.

“We're inside,” she said to Rhiann. “I'll write a dispatch to Gwayne. See that it's sent today.”

A
URORA
dressed with great care in a gown of blue velvet piped with gold. With Cyra's help her heavy hair was tamed into a gold snood. She wore small blue stones at her ears, a delicate pearl cross at her throat. And a dagger strapped to her thigh.

After practicing her smiles and simpers in the glass, she deemed herself ready. She wandered the gallery, knowing that the art and furnishings there had been stolen from her parents or looted from other provinces. She gazed out the windows at the gardens and mazes and lands that had been tended by her forebears, then taken by force for another's pride and greed.

And she noted the numbers and locations of guards at every post. She swept down the stairs, meandered into rooms, watched the servants and guests and courtiers.

It pleased her to be able to move freely through the castle, around the gardens. What threat was a woman after all, she thought as she stopped to smell the golden roses and study the rank of guards along the seawall. She was simply a candidate for Owen's hand, sent to offer herself like a ripe fruit for the plucking.

“Where is the music?” she asked Cyra. “Where is the laughter? There are no songs in Lorcan's kingdom, no joy. He rules shadows.”

“You will bring back the light.”

“I swear that I will.” Or die in the attempt, she vowed silently. “There's such beauty here, but it's like beauty trapped behind a locked glass. Imprisoned, waiting. We must shatter the glass.”

She rounded a bend in the path and saw a woman seated on a bench with a young girl kneeling at her feet, weeping. The woman wore a small crown atop her golden hair. She looked brittle and thin in her rich robes, and though her face held beauty, it was pale and tired.

“She who calls herself queen.” Aurora spoke softly and fought to keep the fury out of her eyes. “Lorcan's wife, who was my mother's woman. There's time before the banquet. We'll see if she can be of use.”

Folding her hands at her waist, Aurora stepped forward. She saw the queen start, saw her hand close tight over the girl's shoulder. “Majesty.” Aurora dropped into a deep curtsy. “I am Lady Aurora, and beg pardon for disturbing you. May I help?”

The girl had shut off her tears, and though her pretty face was ravaged by them, she got to her feet, bowed. “You are welcome, lady. You will excuse my behavior. It was only a childish trifle that had me seeking my mother's knee. I am Dira, and I welcome you to the City of Stars and our home.”

“Highness.” Aurora curtsied, then took the hand the queen offered.

“I am Brynn. I hope you have all that you require here.”

“Yes, my lady. I thought to walk the gardens before the sun set. They are so lovely, and with summer nearly done, transient.”

“It grows cold at twilight.” Brynn gathered her cloak at her throat as if she could already feel the oncoming winter. When Brynn rose, Aurora noted that her eyes were strongly blue, and unbearably sad. “Will you accompany us inside? It's nearly time for feasting.”

“With pleasure, my lady. We live quiet in the west,” she
continued. “I look forward to the dancing and feasting, and the time with other women.”

“Partridges and peahens,” Dira whispered.

“Dira!”

But Aurora laughed over the queen's sharp rebuke, and glanced at the girl with more interest. “So we must seem to you, Highness. Country girls parading in their finery with hopes that Prince Owen will show favor.”

“I meant no offense.”

“And none was given. It must be wearying to have so much female chattering about day and night. You'll be happy, I'm sure, when the prince has chosen his bride. Then you will have a sister, will you not?”

Dira looked away, toward the seawall. “So it would seem.”

A shadow crossed the path, and Aurora would have sworn the world went still.

Lorcan, self-proclaimed king of Twylia, stood before them.

He was tall and strongly built. His hair, nearly copper in color, spilled to the shoulders of his purple cloak. Jewels glinted in his crown, on his fingers. His sharply ridged face had the devil's own beauty, and so cold was the blue of his eyes that Aurora wasn't surprised to feel the queen tremble beside her.

“You dally in the garden while our guests wait? You sit and dream when you are commanded to take your place?”

“Your Majesty.” Going with instinct, Aurora lowered herself to one knee at the king's feet, and used a small dash of power to draw his attention and thought to her and away from his wife. “I most humbly beg your pardon for detaining Queen Brynn with my witless chatter. Her Majesty was too kind to send me away and she sought to soothe my foolish nerves. I am to blame for the lateness of her arrival.” She looked up and put what she hoped was the slightest light of flirtation in her eyes. “I was nervous, sire, to meet the king.”

It was, she realized as his taut mouth relaxed, the right touch. He reached down, lifted her chin. “And who is this dark flower?”

“Sire, I am Aurora, daughter of Ute, and the foolish woman who has earned your displeasure.”

“They grow them fair in the west. Rise.” He drew her to her feet and studied her face so boldly she didn't have to fake a blush. Though it came more from temper than modesty. “You will sit beside me at tonight's banquet.”

Luck or fate had blessed her, Aurora thought, and laid her hand on his. “I am undeserving, and grateful for the honor, sire.”

“You will entertain me,” he said as he led her inside, without, Aurora noted, another glance at his wife or daughter. “And perhaps show me why my son should consider you for wife.”

“The prince should consider me, sire, so that I might continue to entertain you, and serve you as a daughter would, all of your days.”

He glanced back at Dira now, with thinly veiled disgust. “And how might a daughter serve me?”

“To do her duty. At the king's pleasure, sire, and at her husband's. To bear strong sons and to present a pleasing face and form. To do their bidding day and . . . night.”

He laughed, and when he stepped inside the crowded and brightly lit banquet hall, Aurora was at his side.

 

T
HANE
watched from the spy hole in the secret chamber beside the minstrel's gallery. From there he could look down on the feasting, and the lights and the colors. At the scent of roasted meat his empty belly clutched, but he was used to hunger. Just as he was used to standing in the shadows and looking out on the color and the light.

He could hear women's laughter as the ladies vied for Owen's attention and favor, but there was only one who drew Thane's interest.

She sat beside the king, smiling, sampling the delicacies he piled on her plate, flirting with her eyes over the rim of her goblet.

How could this be the same creature who had come to him in dream and vision the whole of his life? The woman
who had offered him such love, such passion, and such shining honesty? This coy miss with her sly smiles and trilling laugh could never make him burn as her light made him burn.

Yet he burned, even now, just watching her.

“Your back needs tending.”

Thane didn't turn. Kern appeared when and where he chose, as faeries were wont to do. And was as much bane as blessing.

“I've been whipped before. It'll heal soon enough.”

“Your flesh may.” Kern waved a hand and the wall between them and the banquet hall shimmered away. “But your heart is another matter. She is very beautiful.”

“A fair face is easy beauty. She isn't what I thought she was . . . would be. I don't want her.”

Kern smiled. “One doesn't always want destiny.”

Thane turned. Kern was old, old as time. His long gray beard covered plump cheeks and spun down to the waist of his bright red robes. But his eyes were merry as a child's, and green as Lost Forest.

“You show me these things. This woman, this world, and you hint of changes, of restoration.” Frustration edged Thane's voice and hardened his face. “You train me for battle, and you heal my hurts when Owen or Lorcan or one of their dogs beats me. But what good does it do me? My mother, my young sister, are no more than prisoners still. And Leia—”

“She is safe. Have I not told you?”

“Safe, at least.” Struggling to compose himself, Thane looked back at the feasting, at little Dira. “One sister safe, and lost to me, the other trapped here until she's old enough for me to find sanctuary for her. There will never be one for my mother. She grows so thin.”

“She worries for you, for her daughters.”

“Leia bides with the women in the Valley of Secrets, at least for now. And Dira is yet too young for the snake to pay her mind—or to plan to marry her off to some slathering lackey. She need not worry for them. She need not think of me at all. I am nothing but a coward who hides his sword.”

“It's not cowardice to hide your sword until the time comes to wield it. The time draws near.”

“So you always say,” Thane replied, and though he knew that Kern's magick kept those who were feasting from seeing him above them, he felt Aurora's gaze as it scanned the gallery. He knew she looked at him, just as he looked at her. “Is she a witch, then, and the visions between us an amusement to her?”

“She is many things.”

Thane shook his head. “It doesn't matter. She isn't for me, nor I for her. That was fantasy and foolishness, and is done. It's Dira who concerns me now. Another two years, then Lorcan will seek to marry her off. Then she must be sent away from here, for her own safety. My mother will have no daughter to comfort her, and no son to stand for her.”

“You are no good to them dead.” Kern's voice went sharp as honed steel. “And no good to any when you wallow in pity.”

“Easily said when your time is spent in a raft, and mine in a stable. I gave up my pride, Kern, and have lived without it since my seventh season. Is it so surprising I should be ready to give up my hope?”

“If you do, it will be the end for you.”

“There are times I'd welcome the end.” But he looked at Dira. She was so young. Innocent and defenseless. He thought of how she had wept to find him beaten and bleeding in the stables. It hurt her, he knew, more than the lash hurt him. Lorcan's blood might have run through her, but she had none of his cruelty.

She was, he thought, his only real pleasure since Leia's escape. So he would hold on to his hope a while longer, for her.

“I don't give up yet,” Thane said quietly. “Not yet. But it had best be soon.”

“Come, then, let me tend your wounds.”

“No,” Thane rolled his shoulders, welcomed the pain. “It reminds me. I have work.”

“When it's done, meet me. It's time to practice.”

 

F
INGERTIP
to fingertip, Aurora circled with Owen in a dance. The music was lively, and pleased her a great deal more than her partner. But he couldn't have known of her displeasure as she smiled at him and sent him a laughing glance over her shoulder when the set parted them.

When the music brought them together again, he stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “The king has favored you.”

“I am honored. I see much of him in you, my lord.”

“When it's my time to rule, I will outreach him.” His fingers squeezed hers. “And I will demand much more of my queen than he of his.”

“And what does your father demand of his queen?”

“Little more than obedience.” He looked over to where Brynn sat, like a statue, with her women. “A comely face, a bowed head, and two pale daughters will not be enough for me.”

“Two?”

“Dira is the youngest of Brynn's whelps. There was another, but she was killed by wild beasts in the Black Forest.”

“Wild beasts!” Though she couldn't manage a squeal, Aurora clasped a hand to her breast.

“Do not fear, my lady.” He smirked. “There are no beasts in the city—none that walk on four legs.”

The figures of the dance parted them again, and Aurora executed her turns, her curtsies, and counted the beats impatiently until she faced Owen once more. With her head saucily angled, she stared into his eyes. “And what would be enough for you, my lord, for a queen?”

“Passion. Fire. Sons.”

“There must be fire in bed to get sons.” She lowered her voice, and spoke with her face close to his. “I would burn to be the mother of kings.”

Then she stepped back, dipped low as the dance ended.

“Walk with me.”

“With pleasure, sir. But I must have my woman with me, as is proper.”

“Do you do only what is proper?”

“A queen would, when eyes are on her.”

He lifted a brow in approval. “A brain as well as beauty. Bring her, then.”

Aurora put her hand in his and gestured carelessly with the other so Cyra followed them out onto the terrace. “I like the sea,” she began, looking out over the cliffs. “The sounds and the smells of it. It's a wall to the back, protection from enemies. But it's also passion, and possibilities. Do you believe there are worlds beyond the world, my lord prince?”

“Tales for children.”

“If there were, a king could rule them all, and the sons of such a king would be gods. Even Draco would bow.”

“Draco's power is weak, so he sulks in his cave. This”—Owen laid a hand on the hilt of his sword—“this is power.”

“A man's power is in his sword and arm, a woman's is in her mind and womb.”

“And her heart?” Now he laid a hand on her breast.

Though her skin crawled, she smiled easily. “Not if she gives that heart away.” She touched her fingers lightly to his wrist, then eased away. “If I were to do so, my lord, to offer you my heart and my body, my value to you would diminish. A prize easily taken is little prize at all. So I will bid you good night, and hope you consider what I hold to be worth the winning.”