Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (33 page)

Where had those words come from? Cronos! He sounded like some love-sick Qeggi. If he didn't get a grip on himself she'd laugh him out of her presence!

‘Did you know it was going to happen? Was that why you got out?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Anger, dark and bitter, clouded her eyes. She shook her head, blew her nose, and glared at him, jaw clenching.

‘If I'd known, I'd not have left.’

She'd have stayed and died with her son. He could only stare at her, while his mind incoherently babbled a prayer of thanks to the Gods that she hadn't known. Best he did what he’d come to do. He leant forward, slipped his arms round her waist and said, ‘Then I thank Cronos you didn't know. I've come to take you home to Nyalda as my Queen.’

Take her home to Nyalda as his Queen.

Gynevra sat, stunned into immobility by the impact of his words. Typically he’d not asked but stated what he intended to do. She’d have expected no less. Like a tidal wave sucked out and returning with the force of death in its wake, the enormity of what she must deny, savaged her heart.

‘No-o-o!’ she cried, flinging him roughly aside and dashing out into the portico. Bracing her arms on a stone urn, she stared out across the darkening city. A faint brassy orange delineated the western horizon below which Trephysia had once existed. It hurt in her heart to look at it.

Just as it hurt to look at Taur.

‘Gyn'a.’

She turned. Even now she couldn't resist his call. He stood in the doorway, arms hanging loosely at his sides, feet planted wide, broad, sculpted chest heaving as if he'd been running hard. The muscles of his jaw clenched—and there was her belligerent wee Solon again. Gynevra turned abruptly back to stare blindly down at the turgid waters of the Canal.

‘Gyn'a, I go no more to war. Nyalda needs me and I plan to return there as soon as my business here is settled. Maybe sooner if I upset your light-sire enough.’

Ahron was merciless to those who threatened or upset him!

‘How have you upset my pavuon?’ she asked sharply, half turning towards him.

Taur came to her side and rested a hand beside hers. It was huge and just as tense. She ached to touch him, lean into his body and press her lips to the proud male nipples peeping from beneath his cloak. Her fingertips would be raw and bloody from clinging so tightly to the stone and her jawbone would ache from the grinding of her teeth but she
would
retain control of her emotions as Ianthe had insisted she must.

‘Come inside, Gyn'a,’ he murmured. ‘It wouldn’t go well for either of us if I were to be seen here.’

Drawing her unresistingly back inside he pressed her into the chair again and began pacing the confines of the room.

‘The people in the outer city are starving, the weak and elderly already dying. Many of the supply ships from Khemu and the Inland Sea were sunk by huge seas. I told Ahron to open the Palace granaries and to kill the bulls of Temple Poseidon for the people. He thinks I've gone mad—or worse, turned into a clod. The latest offensive against the Akkadians isn’t going well and I suggested the army would be better employed digging up the Military League and planting gardens under glass. Once the Generals hear of that I'd be wise to make myself scarce. But cloaba! These are desperate times and a King must take desperate measures, not bury his head!’

He paced in fuming silence then stopped and glared at her. Then he snarled, ‘And now reliable sources inform me the Trephysian crystals were destroyed at Ahron’s command, that he suspected Go’ of plotting against him!’

Gynevra froze. The ice encasing her heart shattered, along with her illusions. She trembled with the certainty Taur’s words were fact. Had she not just noted the venom of her light-sire? And had the reliable sources named Ahron’s perfidious informer? She closed her eyes and concentrated all her powers on blocking Taur from reading her damning thoughts.

‘Gyn'a? Gyn'a—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you with that piece of gossip, but I have to tell you, if I find 'tis true, Ahron will no longer have my fealty!’

The intensity of his words told Gynevra they were nothing short of a vow and her heart trembled. She loved this man as she could love no other. They could have no future together but she could not bear for him to hate her. He must never know she had been the catalyst for Ahron’s murderous act.

Ignoring his finwodem words and accusation, as too awful to speak of, she asked instead, ‘The Generals would prefer to starve than lift a hand to grow food?’

‘
They
aren't actually starving yet,’ Taur responded, lips tight with fury. ‘It's always the poor who suffer first. There's still food to be had but daily it becomes more expensive. There'll be a few very rich dead merchants if something doesn't happen soon. That's one of the reasons I want to take you to Fyr Heceuda. The economy of Nyalda is based on agriculture, with every family growing what they can, even in the city. Too, the mountains have shielded the north from the worst of the ash cloud. I'll send what can be spared to Fyr Poseidyr, but not at the expense of my own people. Go' is dead. You're free to join again. Come with me. I can't leave you here.’

There was a note in his voice she'd not heard before and it called to that deep place in her soul that knew him, had always known him, had known one day they'd find each other. Sadly but firmly she closed the door on that place.

‘You must. I'm Ianthe's only daughter now. I must be ready to follow her, to maintain the integrity of Electra's bloodline, for the sake of Atlantis. You know the prophecy, Taur!’ she cried, fighting now to force words past the blockage in her throat. But her last desperate plea was little more than a husky whisper, ‘Please don't ask me.’

Silently he stared into her eyes, willing her to change her mind. Just as steadfastly, she stared back.

‘You don't really believe that old tale, Gyn'a, do you?’ he growled at last. ‘Electra was a sick old lady, almost dead when she made that prophecy and some say she hadn't foretold anything for years before. Most likely she was just trying to ensure her line stayed in power.’ Then his brows met in a black scowl across his forehead and he added, ‘Or is it that you
want
to be Archinus?’

Gynevra went very still, listening to the words he wasn't saying. He was really asking if she wanted to be with him. She could give him that at least. Sweet Ist, if only. Gazing steadfastly at his chin, she said, ‘If I could choose, I'd come with you, now, this moment. But there is—no—choice.’

Bitterly cold of a sudden, she rose and lifted a wool wrap from the stand by the door and began pacing in her turn.

Brows knit, jaw working, he watched, then bit out, ‘I'm afraid for you here in this place, Gyn'a.’

‘We're still getting enough food to keep us alive.’

‘It's not just that. The priests are anxious to have you on their breara altar. Ianthe has told them they must wait until after the Spring Joining of the Gods. They aren't happy. Nor am I! I long to stay and play Rafid to your Adonai but I must return to Nyalda. I'm needed there—and it's not just the priests! Ahron indicated he'd been approached by at least two other Sons of the Dragon since your return, to request permission to join with you. One of them is that demon, Logon of Gadeirus, your father's Adviser on Education. They think to benefit from the kudos of being joined with the King's daughter, which isn't to say they don't desire you for yourself, because they do! Most of my Dragon cousins are unscrupulous arabo who'd think nothing of taking you, wherever they found you, and boasting about it afterwards. I hate the thought of some other Dragon arabo planting his seed in you. Gyn'a, please, be mine. Let me protect you.’

She turned and strode away from him that he might not see the betraying desire in her face. All his arguments were as nothing, overshadowed entirely by the jealousy and need she heard in his voice—which drew her, tempted her as deeply as the need in herself. Now it seemed, she couldn't even dream of him joining with her at Spring Fertility, or of once again carrying his child. Oh, this deep ugly longing to put her hand in his and walk with him wherever he would take her. Sacred Mother, could such happiness ever be?

With the width of the room between them she half turned and said in a voice low and intense, ‘Taur, I cannot, will not change my mind. It's not that I don't want to. I can't. I've no right. I must stay to be Archinus. It's not hard to imagine this land vanishing as Electra predicted. Ibn Ist! Half of it already has! I won't play God with other people's lives.’ Did she not already carry enough guilt? Raze that thought! ‘Know always, had I been free I would've come gladly. Please go now. This only prolongs the pain—for both of us.’

She'd chosen duty over him.

Ignoring her request as if it hadn’t been spoken, he prowled away from her. Stopping before a bowl of polished rocks on a side table, he momentarily held his hand in the energy above the bowl before selecting a large piece of clear quartz. He scarcely knew what he was doing but the stone in his hand would help him to focus. Absently he rolled it around his palm. Then, deciding he'd use every weapon at his disposal, he fixed her with a smoldering glare.

‘There are those who believe the destruction of Atlantis is imminent anyway. Lady Benaro has had several dreams and is creating quite a stir in the city, to your father's fury. Every ship leaving port is crammed with emigrants, and those who can afford it are hiring, buying, or building their own ships. I say, if Atlantis is going to self-destruct it'll happen whether you're here to be Archinus or not!’

He saw the flicker of her eyes, which told him he'd touched a nerve. But still she held her stance against him. Her Life Path was set. As hard as fired clay.

‘You're as unscrupulous as any other Son of the Dragon!’ she cried. ‘You'll use any fable to subvert me from my duty.’

‘Not so, Princess.’

He'd forgotten any intention of treading carefully.

Dropping the rock back into the bowl, he took a step towards her, and growled, ‘Were I as they, I'd rape you as we are now, but I don't. Yet, Cronos! I want you! Come lie with me now. Let me seed another babe in your belly.’

He felt like smashing something. The memory of how it was between them on those other occasions was so vivid, he could taste her in his mouth, smell the warm salty aroma of their joining, feel the softness of her body beneath his, the sweetness of her flesh enclosing him, the power of their oneness. The need for her surged through his body like wind-fanned fire through brush. He reached for her.

‘Don't.’

She'd dropped into a chair and holding her arms tensely across her chest, she'd closed her eyes.

He couldn't touch her, couldn't take her. For the first time in his life he needed to hear a woman say ‘yes’, say she wanted him.

‘Don’t,’ she'd said and he couldn't move. Cloaba!

‘I'd only need to touch you and you'd not deny me.’

If he touched her they'd both ignite—and the conflagration could very well destroy them both.

She raised her head to look at him and what he saw in the raw honey depths of her eyes stilled the blood in his veins.

‘True—but if you really care about me, you won't. You'll stay for the Spring Ritual. I'm programmed fertile. The seeding of a child on the Archinus or Archinus Elect can only be done on the altar in Temple Ritual.’

For one long moment he glared at her, then swinging on his heel, he growled, ‘Send for Nyd.’

He told himself the only reason he was leaving was because she was right, getting her with child would be the single most stupid thing he could do. It was ludicrous to think that ‘caring’ had anything to do with it. He was a King and the greatest of the DragonBlood oafs. He cared for nothing. Flinging the woman's cloak over his head and shoulders he strode to the door, without a backward glance.

Difleer appeared from the other room and said, ‘There's no need, Sire. I'll guide you, if you'll just wrap up again.’

Hunching himself down into the cloak to look like an elderly woman, he followed Difleer's stinging pace through the echoing halls of the ancient Temple. But he saw little of the stark beauty of the centuries old architecture or even felt the bleak coldness of the place. Already his military mind was strategizing. It wasn't that she didn't want to come with him, but that she couldn't, she'd said.

He'd have to show her the error of her thinking.

As soon as he swung away from her, Gynevra returned to the balcony, spine rigid, jaw set, to gaze out into the dust-born twilight. When she heard the door curtain falling into place behind Taur she flung back into the room and curled up on the bed, hugging the clagren to stifle the wail of despair threatening to rise up from deep in her belly—her empty, longing belly. Holy Cronos, where did all the tears come from?

Through the sleepless hours of the night the only comforting thought to crystallize was that by leaving as she'd asked, he'd declared more openly than a Paggi piaca was wont to, that he cared for her.

Chapter 19

Since the Trephysian disaster there’d been neither moon nor starlight to guide priestesses to their stations for Dawn Latreia. Shivering in the lowest temperatures she'd known in her lifetime, Gynevra climbed to the hill of the Ninth Needles, carrying a small ilmenite lamp so she'd not stumble in the darkness. If only it was as easy to overcome the darkness which assailed her heart.

She'd always loved the solitude and energy renewal of the dawn ritual. But since the disaster her enjoyment of this precious time was frayed by dark thoughts, insidious and unsettling and, since Taur’s visit, even more so. She had to strive much harder to enter the trance state in order to channel the energy of Ra and align and balance the meridians of Earth. All the priestesses reported greater difficulty channeling the energy since the disaster. But in her case, Gynevra knew the problem stemmed as much from a human source as a geophysical one. If she dared relax her concentration for a breath, Taur was in her head.

It was eight days since he'd asked her to become his Queen, and not a dawn passed when she hadn't to ruthlessly banish from her consciousness the temptation to allow the thought to take her where her body, at least, desired to be. It would be so easy, using the energy of the crystalline Needles, to give the thought permission to take her to the warmth and passion of Taur's arms.

Fortunately, once the ritual of the latreia was begun, nothing else intruded upon her consciousness, not even the chill of the air against her skin. But the moment she stepped outside the Needles the thoughts were there, as distracting as ever—and the darkness and the cold. The icy chill only sharpened her need of Taur. Nyalda, where he'd wanted to take her, was even colder in the winter. He'd told her of charcoal braziers that burned night and day in houses and streets alike. Presumably the people also now had access to crystal powered heating since the completion of the crystal powerhouse. If she was in his arms there would be no need for either. They generated enough warmth together to heat an entire city!

Cloaba! Her whole being yearned to be with him. All she had to do was step back inside the Needles, connect to Taur's vibration and apportate into his arms. She must get away from this place else she'd not have the strength to withstand the clamoring of her own heart. Snatching up her gown and pulling it on, she'd scarcely got it to her hips when a heavy linen cloth descended over her head, blotting out whatever hint of dawn light had penetrated the gloom. Gagged and bound so swiftly, she had no chance to utter protest.

Perfidious priests! But surely they wouldn't dare? Calling on everything Dogon had ever taught her, she struggled to still her pounding heart and summon the energy of the Goddess to telondem for help. She was dismayed but not surprised when one of her captors overshadowed her instantly with a red energy field blocking her signals in all directions. No doubt in her mind now that she was at the mercy of the priests of Oralin and that one at least was an ennead, she began praying to the Goddess in earnest.

Working swiftly and silently they rolled her in yet some other cloth and hefting her to their shoulders like a roll of carpet, set off down the hillside. The muffled curses as they stumbled along and the snapping of branches and rustling of undergrowth told Gynevra they'd chosen the roughest route, no doubt because it offered the greatest concealment.

What could they want with her? She knew she wasn't being abducted for the dawn altar ritual as this would already be under way. She could only imagine they'd simply decided to pre-empt Ianthe's dictate that they must wait, or that they had a special agenda. This thought threatened to overcome her with panic and she fought and struggled against the bindings. Temple Oralin was known to reap much financial reward from virility healings for wealthy piacani who could afford to buy whatever fantasy they thought would improve their condition.

Once they reached the grounds of Oralin she knew it would go easier for her if she didn't incite them by further fighting. She'd learnt her lessons well from Gotham in that respect. The more she fought, the more aroused he became and the more she suffered at his hands. Her only hope was that they'd be intercepted by Qrazil gardeners. A forlorn hope at best, considering the earliness of the hour and that any gardens on the canal side of the Ninth Needles could best be described as of the wilderness variety. No, she must simply work at calming herself so as to be ready to slip from their grasp on an energy bolt, should the opportunity arise.

A piercing whistle was quickly followed by the unmistakable sounds of a boat being poled in close to the bank of the canal. The northern toe of the hill came down to a tiny ravine right on the canal edge, the perfect place to secrete a small boat. Still her captors uttered no sound beyond their grunts of effort or terse curses. Her fear was so strong she could taste it. If only she could see! They lowered her into what felt like a box, for the sides grazed against her arms as they let her down. It certainly wasn't wide enough for a boat—yet there was no doubt she was in a boat for it rocked quite violently as the men clambered aboard also. I'll never figure out where they're taking me if I don't stay calm, she reminded herself as panic washed over her in waves.

If they were in the ravine, as she'd surmised, they'd turn west onto the canal if they were taking her to Temple Oralin. Certain the boat turned east, the sense of utter confusion was more daunting than Gynevra could have imagined. If not the priests taking her to Oralin, then who? And where were they taking her? The overshadowing energy blocked her every psychic probe. She could pick up no clue except for the sense of urgency inherent in the tense silences and occasional impatient, muttered curses.

The sound of wood closing on wood and the click of latches reached her ears. The darkness was denser than ever. They'd locked her in a box! Thoughts, wild and harried, scurried around her brain. She must still them, think like the ennead priestess she was training to become and stop panicking like a novice.

An ennead could become entranced and slow their breathing to enable them to survive being entombed in a sealed stone sarcophagus for three days and nights.

Breathe. In. Slow. Out. Slow. In—

They were lifting her. A muffled scream reverberated through her head as she was jostled and jolted as if they'd almost dropped her. What was happening? Ibn Ist, help me!

There was bumping and banging as if the box was being crashed against the side of a building. Were they at Oralin after all? Had her senses told her wrong? There were voices now, muffled and distorted by the box, but she could hear shouted orders and responses. More movement and jostling and stillness at last. Would they release her now?

Then she realized that even though she was sure the box was settled on the floor, there was still movement—as if she were still on a boat. Or a ship! They'd hauled her up onto a ship. Where
was
she? What did they want of her?

Suddenly the lid was removed from the box and she was lifted to her feet. Swift hands removed the bindings, the gag and the claustral cloths. Almost sobbing with relief, Gynevra smoothed her gown down over her knees and her hair from her face and stared dumbly from one unknown face to the next. She'd expected to recognize her captors, had been so sure they were priests. Not one of these four men had she ever seen before.

That they were warriors in the King's service was obvious from their leather kirts, bare, oiled chests and broad leather belts and vambraces. But not one did she recognize—and far from threatening her they stood back, almost deferentially avoiding her eyes. The terrible fear that had stolen her senses from the moment of the abduction abated a little.

Not the priests. Praise be to Ist! But—a terrifying new thought quickly stole all sense of relief. Were these her father’s men?

‘Where am I?’ she ventured, hoping her voice sounded more regal to them than it did to her. ‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’

‘You will not be harmed, Princess, but you are to be confined here until—until it's safe.’

Gynevra stared at the man who'd spoken as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second head.

‘What do you mean, confined?’ she demanded, her natural authority asserting itself once again. ‘And by whose orders?’

‘All will be revealed when it's safe.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked again. Sacred Ist, she was starting to sound like a parrot! ‘When will it be safe?’

‘You will be informed,’ the spokesman said doggedly. ‘Meantime Princess, there is food and drink. Please make yourself comfortable.’

The men began to back from the room, dragging the box with them.

‘Wait!’ Gynevra cried. ‘Just tell me who. Who has dared to abduct a Princess of the Realm in this finwodem fashion?’

Her only answer was the firm closing of the door followed by a loud click as the latch fell into place.

How dared they lock her in! Oh Gynevra, she chided herself. They dared abduct you from Qrazil, tie you up like a sheaf of wheat and stuff you into a box like a cargo for shipping! What's being locked in a room by comparison? At least you're now free even if only free within the confines of this cabin. A cabin, moreover, which was furnished richly and comfortably enough for a king!

Which observation only increased her fear that her pavuon had ordered her abduction. Had he devised some nefarious purpose for her in order to ensure her silence?

This new possibility stole the power from her legs and she dropped onto a plush upholstered couch affixed to the wall. She must overcome this tendency to panic. Now was her moment to act. There was no handy high energy vortex available to help her raise the energy to apportate so she must immediately set about generating it herself. Before someone returned to interrupt her.

Seating herself in the lotus position, she straightened her spine and rested her hands on her knees, thumbs and third fingers joined. The thud of the door against the couch startled her eyes open. Before she'd even registered the identity of the man reaching for her, Taur had hauled her off the couch and hard up against his chest.

Taur! What was he doing here? Had he come to rescue her?

‘Why would I do that when I've already rescued you, Golden One?’ he demanded, proving the link between them was as strong as ever.

‘From what?’ she bristled, suspicion fighting with the wild joy that threatened to overpower her.

‘From hardening into a sculpture of cold iron like Ianthe,’ he growled. ‘You're too much woman to be wasted in that way.’

The deep, rough tone of his voice sent shivers of need coursing through her body. With his voice alone he could seduce her. But, he'd said—suspicion hardened into reality.

‘You? You abducted me?’

‘I had my men rescue you from this anarchy which is Poseidonia—’

‘What do you mean ‘rescue me’? And where are you taking me? I can't go with you, Taur.’

Such a dream she dare not let form in her mind.

‘You
are
with me, Gynevra,’ he said, tightening his grip on her shoulders. ‘Now—and forever.’

Gynevra felt her eyes widen, her breath become shallow and uneven. Sweet Hyades, if only.

‘Taur,’ she began, trying to sound stern and strong and only succeeding in sounding pathetically needy. She took a deep breath and began again. ‘Taur, you can't do this. It will cause untold trouble.’

He looked deeply into her eyes and what she saw there made her tremble.

‘It's done, Gyn'a, and the trouble will be beyond anything you can imagine.’

What would Ahron do? The thought of Taur dying a criminal's death froze the blood in her veins.

‘You must let me go!’ she cried, her voice hoarse with fear for him. Just knowing he was somewhere in this world made life bearable. To imagine all his vitality stilled was beyond comprehension. ‘Just put me ashore. I'll find my own way back and make some excuse for my absence. Please!’

For answer he dipped his head and closed his mouth on hers. Sacred Mother Ist! Where was her strength now? There was only sensation and the wild beating of her heart. The taste of him as his tongue probed her mouth reeled her back through time to the night they conceived Solon. The hard power of his body against hers was the answer to prayers she'd never dared utter, and the unique scent of him that she'd recognize anywhere stole every last vestige of resistance.

Now and forever. If it could only be so!

‘Sire! Sire! We're approaching the canal gates and the arabo are trying to close them against us!’ came a frantic call from beyond the door.

With a livid oath, Taur thrust Gynevra back onto the couch and leapt toward the door. Stopping, he held her for a moment with the power of his fierce gaze.

‘It starts, Golden One. The race is on. If we make it unscathed to the ocean, we're away free. Pray we do.’

With that startling request he vanished. Gynevra was still gathering her thoughts and calming her senses when a man wearing the hooded robe of a High Priest entered and quietly closed the door. Placing a tray of food on a side table, he removed his linen cloak to reveal the kirt of a warrior beneath and moved to a seat on the far side of the room.

‘I am Lord Aronad of Nyalda. I am here to guard you, Princess.’

‘What's happening?’

‘Ahron is trying to rally his puny forces against us.’