Duality (46 page)

She sense-cast at him, just a little. He’d healed fast from his battle injuries. If she hadn’t seen evidence to the contrary, she’d swear he’d never been hurt. He looked up, feeling the probe. Those uncanny blue eyes stared at her.

“Should I be jealous?” Loren murmured. “You can stop staring at him now.”

“You know you have naught to fear in that regard. I love you with all my heart and soul.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a lingering kiss.

“All right, enough of that,” Cianan said behind them. “You can seduce your husband later,
vertenya
. Now they want to get started. King Cedric is…” his voice hesitated as he searched for the right word, “…tired.”

Loren pulled back and turned to his best friend. “You have no idea.” He took a deep breath. “Too late to turn back?”

“Royal blood, no religious vocation, an oversized sense of responsibility… I would say you are well and truly stuck.” Cianan grinned. “Of course, with your big head I do not know if the crown shall even fit.”

Dara snickered. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“I go to sit with your family in the front row,” Cianan bowed to Dara and Loren, startling them both. “Until later, Your Highnesses.”

They watched him walk away. Aletha and Everett appeared with Cedric. He looked dimmed, thinner. The hand he extended to Loren trembled. “So, the reign of Loren ta Cedric is about to commence. The Lady chose well. Thou shalt be a great king for our people. I hath no regrets.”

He spoke as if already gone. Loren looked deep in his father’s eyes and bowed low. “You honor me with your trust, Father.”

Dara got down on her knees. “I won’t let you down, Sire.”

He smiled and motioned for her to rise. “But love him and our people, daughter.”

“We shouldst begin,” Everett suggested.

Cedric nodded, and the five of them gathered by the side door. Cedric took Everett’s arm as Aletha entered the hall by herself. “Friends and honored guests, tonight is an auspicious evening, when we salute your current king Cedric ta Pari for the final time and pass on the mantle of leadership to his heir, Prince Loren ta Cedric and also to Princess Dara Khan Androcles, daughter of King Hengist of Riverhead and Westmarche.”

Five hundred pairs of eyes stared back at her as the crowd in the room rose to their feet.

“My lords, my ladies, His Majesty King Cedric ta Pari,” she announced.

Everett guided Cedric to his throne, helping the old king settle on his cushion. There were gasps from around the room. Many of the nobles from the outlying provinces had been unaware of the king’s condition—until now.

Tears streamed down Lorelei’s cheeks.

“Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Loren ta Cedric and Princess Dara te Sheena,” Aletha continued.

Dara grabbed Loren’s hand. He took a deep breath and looked at her.

“Together.” He squeezed her hand.

She smiled. “Always.”

They stepped out hand in hand and knelt afore Aletha.

“King Cedric, what hast thou to say afore this gathering?” Aletha asked.

From beneath her lashes, Dara saw Anika motion with her hands. Cedric’s voice was a mere whisper, but when he spoke, the farthest corners of the room heard him.

“I have watched my son grow into a fine man and warrior. He was chosen by the Lady as Her champion and helped save the kingdoms of Riverhead and Westmarche from darkness. He hast grown into a strong leader, with truth, justice and mercy. I leave my kingdom, with the utmost confidence, in his capable and compassionate hands.”

Loren started to shake, and Dara gripped his hand tighter.

Cedric continued. “He brought my daughter to me. I hath known her but a little while, but she hast triumphed over enormous adversity with fortitude and courage. She hast handled truth with true grace. She hast demonstrated compassion and mercy in her healing arts, and fire tempered with justice in her warrior strength and spirit. She shalt stand by my son’s side as a true and equal partner, and shalt make a splendid queen for my people and a wonderful matre to my grandchildren.”

Tears ran down Dara’s cheeks, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

Aletha turned to Cedric. “Sire, hand me thy sword.”

Everett helped Cedric pull Justice from its sheath and present it to her. The high priestess accepted it, held it out afore her. “Loren ta Cedric, heir to the house of Cymry, thou hast heard thy father’s recommendation. Dost thou accept the mantle of leadership for thy people?”

“I do.”

“Dara Khan Androcles, thou art newly come to our realm, but hath shown thyself to be a true daughter of the Light. Thou hast heard our king’s recommendation. Dost thou accept the mantle of leadership, at thy husband’s side, for thy people?”

“I do.” A whisper was all she managed.

Aletha touched Justice to each of Loren’s shoulders, then to Dara’s. “I bind thee to thy realm.” Everett handed Justice’s sheath to Loren, who strapped it on. Aletha handed the sword to Loren for the final time. “Wield this always in Her name, and remember always its name. Justice, not vengeance. The Lady first. Thy people always.”

“Justice, not vengeance. The Lady first. My people always.” Loren sheathed the sword.

Everett picked up an ornate box and opened it. On a green velvet cushion rested a twin to the crown of Cymry. Aletha turned to the audience and swept a hand toward the crown. “Long hath it been since we a queen to rule aside our king. Long hath the swan throne sat alone, its mate empty. But no more. Today we crown a new queen, blessed of the Goddess and beloved of her husband.”

She stepped over to Cedric, placed her hands on his head, lifted the crown of Cymry from his brow for the last time. “From Light to Light, father to son, king to king. Cedric ta Pari, thou hast ruled us well these past five hundred years. We thank thee.”

“We thank thee,” the entire hall repeated.

“In the name of the Lady of Light, I release thee from thy responsibility and vow. Rest, and be at peace.” She turned to Loren. “Thou art our heir no longer.”

Loren removed the heir’s crown from his bowed head and held it out with both hands. Everett stepped forward to take it.

Aletha held the crown of Cymry over Loren’s head. He took a breath and held it. “Prince Loren ta Cedric,” the high priestess began, “dost thou accept here and now, afore the Goddess and this gathering, this symbol of thy sacred responsibility? Dost thou swear, afore the Goddess and this gathering, to always remember thy vows of truth, justice and mercy, and to rule wisely and fairly in Her name until thy time be done?”

“I do.” Loren froze as she lowered the crown onto his head. Dara felt the grip on his soul, the three vows locked into place for all eternity. He shuddered.

Aletha removed the queen’s crown and held it over Dara’s head. “Princess Dara Kahn Androcles, dost thou swear afore the Goddess and this gathering thy three vows?”

“Truth above all, justice not vengeance, and mercy for all,” Dara pledged. “The Lady first. My people always.”

“Dost thou accept here and now, afore the Goddess and this gathering, this symbol of thy sacred responsibility?” Aletha continued. “Dost thou swear, afore the Goddess and this gathering, to always remember thy vows of truth, justice and mercy, and to rule wisely and fairly in Her name at thy husband’s side until thy time be done?”

“I do.” Cold metal encircled her head, and the Goddess’ bonds took hold of her soul. Feeling them second-hand from Loren did not begin to prepare her for the first-hand reality. The crown settled into her soul with a feeling of forever. Sharp truth. Bright justice. Warm mercy. She took a deep breath.

“Rise,” Aletha instructed.

Dara did not know if she could. Loren rose first, then pulled her to her feet. She stood on shaking legs.

Everett helped Cedric to his feet as well. Loren and Dara turned to face the congregation with Aletha. “My lords, my ladies,” the high priestess said, “I give thee thy new king and queen. Hail His Majesty, High King Loren ta Cedric, and Her Majesty, our new High Queen Dara te Sheena.”

“Well done, younglings,” the priestess said. “Thou shalt do well.”

Loren squeezed her hand. “Together.”

“Always,” she whispered back.

About the Author

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Look for these titles by Renee Wildes

Coming Soon:

Hedda’s Sword

A love transcending race and culture…a secret that could cost everything

The Wolf’s Sister

© 2008 R. F. Long

Elite Fey’na warrior Shan is driven only by hatred for Gilliad, the Lord of River Holt, the human responsible for the brutal slaying of his innocent sister. Vengeance will be his as soon as he can find a way to confront his enemy. His mind is set; his path chosen. Then he meets Jeren…

Jeren of River Holt flees for her life, desperate to escape the clutches of her brother, Gilliad, before his misuse of magic consumes what remains of his sanity. She finds safety and protection with Shan…but only so long as she hides her kinship with the Lord of River Holt. As they are pursued across the northern snow pains, their deepening trust turns to love.

A love that could shatter when he learns who, and what, she is.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Wolf’s Sister:

Shan knew he should have left the girl there in the wreckage at the foot of the cliff. He should have kept on walking. Then he would never have become involved in the vagaries of the Holters’ world.

But Shan’ith Al-Fallion had never been able to abandon a soul in trouble. The silver wolf padding at his side, once a starving cub lost in the snow, gave testimony to that. Her breath misted the evening air, and she nuzzled his hand in an effort to distract him from the shattered carriage.

“Stop Anala,” he said. “I’ll just take a look.” The wolf growled but remained with him, pawing impatiently in the snow.

They were all dead but for the girl, and she wouldn’t be long in joining her companions. The marks of the Snow Child cast blue tones in her skin.

He knelt at the survivor’s side, aware of her shallow breath, the feeble rise and fall of her chest. He hesitated before touching her—a Holtwoman and, judging by her delicately embroidered clothes, one of some standing. Silver threads depicting jasmine and ivy encircled her throat and wrists, sewn into the deep green velvet by an expert hand. Girl was probably wrong too. She looked old enough to be judged a young woman by the Holters’ terms. And a beautiful one at that, fine-boned and elegant. But to his people—the Fair Ones, the Fey’na—most humans never reached an age where they would be considered adults.

Voices carried on the breeze from men climbing down from the road. Relieved to be free of the niggling sense of responsibility for the girl, Shan readied himself to dart into the safety of the trees. Then his sharp ears caught what the men were saying.

“Bloody stupid misadventure. Who’d survive a fall like that, anyway? They’re already dead, I tell you. No one’s going to come back from that drop.”

“We have our orders,” said another voice. “Make sure they’re all dead.”

Shan frowned and glanced towards Anala. Part totem animal, part companion, the wolf knew what Shan’s soul told him to do, and she liked the idea even less than he did. She heaved out a breath, shaking her head rapidly. But that didn’t change anything.

If those men reached the girl, she would die.

It never paid for any of Shan’s people to deal with humans. The cost was always too high. Had not one the humans counted as a great leader, a lord of many tributes, murdered Shan’s sister, Fa’linar?

But what choice did he have? Leave her here, helpless, to die?

Shan’s own nature conspired against him. He lifted the girl like a bundle of old rags, her chestnut hair tumbling over his shoulder. She felt so light in his arms, like a bird. He retreated with swift but cautious steps, retracing his own footsteps through the snow, until a copse of trees hid him. The green of the girl’s travelling dress aided him, merging with the shadows.

The wolf’s look branded him an idiot. Still, she followed him, nose to the ground.

More men arrived, taking the narrow path which wound sedately down from the road rather than the sheer climb undertaken by the first pair. They carried torches, the light staining the snow with ruddy tones.