Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (22 page)

‘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 shoulder 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.

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.