Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (36 page)

She longed for freedom and it was this that made her angriest of all. If Taur hadn't brought her here she'd not have known what she was missing. She'd not have seen and understood about freedom, need not have faced the truth in her heart that she wished with every breath in her body she might never have to return to the confines of Qrazil.

In this place not only her body but her heart would heal. Taur and Nyalda. All she could ever want and all she could never have. Leaping to her feet she began pacing along the gallery from one end to the other. She was well again. How long was she to molder in this Temple? Is that what he'd kidnapped her for?

‘Something ails you, Princess?’

‘Cielcif! I'm frustrated and angry,’ Gynevra growled as she swung back to the doorway of the common room to confront the diminutive, dark-haired priestess, a native of Khemu, who'd become a dear friend. ‘He might as well have thrown me in prison and forgotten about me. Why go to all the bother if he's going to completely ignore me now I'm here?’

Cielcif gave a delighted gurgle of laughter, her light golden eyes dancing like liquid sunlight.

‘Now that's what we've been waiting for,’ she averred. ‘At last you're hankering to be ‘doing’ instead of lying about just ‘being’. At last you're completely healed and we can send you up to the Castle.’

‘Send me! Like a sack of grain being delivered by a merchant? And what am I to wear pray? I've one gown and a cloak to my name. I feel like a refugee with no home and no belongings. I feel like nothing and nobody!’

‘A Princess doesn't like feeling like that, isn't used to feeling like that, is she?’ Cielcif asked gently, her head cocked to one side.

Gynevra sighed, and dropped back into a chair.

‘No, Cielie, I guess I'm not. I'm sorry. I must sound like a spoilt child. I shouldn't be here at all. I should be in Qrazil ready to follow my movuon as Archinus when the time comes. He's made it impossible for me to return there. Yet he doesn't come—’

To her consternation tears stung her eyes and she turned her head away quickly that Cielcif might not see. But the young priestess dropped to her knees by Gynevra's chair and laid a hand on her knee.

‘That's what really hurts, isn't it? That he doesn't come?’ she murmured.

‘Am I so transparent, Cielie?’ Gynevra sniffed.

‘Only to me. Gynevra, you must remember who he is and what is expected of him. He'll have many duties to attend to now he's finally come home for good. Usually he's come for only a few days. There are many virgin priestesses to be initiated and waiting for their King, many women wanting him to sire their children and he must be seen to be doing those things and not mooning after one woman like a clod.’

Cielcif was right, for of course a King must show his people he was worthy of their exaltation. Gynevra wiped her eyes and leant back in the chair. Arms folded tightly across her midriff, she fought desperately to conceal the deep, ugly emotion of jealousy searing through her body at the thought of Taur joining with other women, even for her beloved Goddess.

‘You're right, Cielie. I'm just so mixed up I don't know what I'm to do,’ she muttered.

‘Not surprising with what life has served up to you over the last few months. You've been bereaved beyond imagining, kidnapped, and almost drowned at sea. Not to mention raising and balancing sufficient energy on your own to apportate a ship and over a hundred souls. I could imagine running screaming off the cliffs into the sea for only one of those.’

Gynevra shivered.

‘Ah, Cielie,’ she whispered. ‘Don't put it all together like that. One event at a time is the only way I can cope and by keeping busy. I need to be doing something.’

‘I know,’ Cielcif said. ‘I'll go speak with Lady Varia.’

By mid-afternoon Gynevra was dressed in a priestess gown of finest linen, wrapped in a luxurious fur cloak lent by Lady Varia, Archinus at Hecanil and seated in a royal reica. Escorted by twenty armed warriors, she was unsure whether to be mollified by their presence, or more deeply offended. Were they a show of her consequence or to guard against her escape? She could ask the Captain marching proudly at their head but she might not like the answer. She could make a show of her own consequence by sulking in splendid isolation behind the closed curtains of the reica but couldn't resist gazing at the passing scenery.

At first they travelled towards the harbor, where the broad, paved road followed the waterfront for several stades. Many ships of varied shapes and sizes vied for anchorage at the stone docks and smaller craft plied among them, selling produce and handmade goods. On the landward side the warehouses and buildings of the business district gave way to cliff-side streets of two storied houses of stone and timber, most with box gardens lining windows and galleries. Among the houses were several bath-houses, recognizable by their size and the open vents along the roof line. Puffs of steam about the cliffs were evidence of plenteous hot spring water.

Between the beach road and the curving cliffs lay a vast area of gardens where people were digging and carting away the last of the root crops for winter storage. Among the workers were warriors, women, priests and priestesses, children, old men and young. The warrior pacing beside the reica explained families drew on food stores according to the hours worked.

‘I like the idea,’ Gynevra said ‘but what happens to those who can't work?’

‘All are cared for in Nyalda, Lady,’ he answered proudly.

Gynevra was about to ask about the rolling green hills she'd seen across the harbor from the Temple gallery, when her attention was diverted by a flutter of color high on the cliffs. The arable land formed a vast crescent round which the cliffs circled like a monstrous fortification, ruggedly undulating and steeply climbing to a rocky rampart high above the harbor mouth. To the faces of this cliff clung an immense raw-stone castle. Built from the cliff stone, one could scarcely perceive where nature left off and man-hewn began.

‘Heceuda Castle, Princess,’ said the warrior, following her gaze. ‘The King’s at home so all the flags are flying.’

Gynevra could only stare. The more she looked the more she saw. It had the appearance of a haphazard stack of giant's building blocks balanced precariously on the ledges of the cliff-side. The sparkling dance of crystal windows and the glistening white of limestone lintels was a touch of magic stealing any hint of menace from the huge rocky pile.

Within which she would find Taur.

Knee-trembling excitement deeply overshadowed the anger that had fueled her complaint earlier in the day. Aghast, Gynevra snapped the curtain shut, relaxed her body into meditative state to bring herself back into a semblance of Archinus strength and energy. She wasn't as other women, had no right to think and feel as other women, for on her person rested the future of every other citizen of Atlantis. She must persuade King Cadal Isidor to return her to Qrazil.

A change in the motion of the reica brought Gynevra out of her inner world and she opened the curtain again. They were ascending a wide stepped roadway up the cliff-side among stone buildings, many hewn into the rock. They passed a broad, walled plateau where again, people were harvesting crops, and another where hogs, goats and chickens roamed.

They climbed past shops of metal smiths, leather workers, and clothiers. There was a sense of busy-ness, an air of purpose, a rich mosaic of aroma, sound, and color under-laid by the distant roar of an unseen ocean. Once again seduced by the charm of her surroundings, Gynevra found her feelings of anger and ill-treatment wafting away on the breeze that up-lifted with a tang of salt and a breath of fir forests.

Beyond a vast courtyard paved with intricate pictures in red, black, and white mosaic and hung with pennants of varying design and color, they entered a massive columned hallway. Between the blue chalcedony pillars she glimpsed luminous murals of Nyaldan life studded with precious gems.

The hallway opened into a wide gallery, one wall carved raw mountain stone. The other, framing the magnificent vista of city, harbor, forest, and mountain, was clear crystal. Placed haphazardly about were carved stone benches, some round and set with huge pieces of polished gemstone, against which people leant or rested. It seemed a favored gathering place, for many sat or stood about chatting or just gazing at the view. The arrival of an escorted reica in their midst caught the general attention and several followed in curiosity.

They entered another pillared hall. These columns were polished black obsidian inlaid with silver, gold, and orichalcum. Before Gynevra could determine the theme of the depictions they'd halted and her arrival was being loudly announced. A distant voice shouted permission for her to enter. She was set down inside gold-studded ebony doors, the Captain coming back to assist her to alight. Gynevra surveyed her surroundings as the reica bearers swiftly departed and the Guard formed an aisle of honor for her to pass through.

The King's Presence Chamber, like the courtyard, had one wall of clear crystal. On a rock plinth before it stood an immense ametrine sphere, emitting gold and violet energy like flames in twilight. In this chamber the inner wall was overlaid with a mural in gold, silver, and orichalcum in which the ground-pawing, fire-snorting Bull of Nyalda was a splendidly ornate and brilliant overstatement of strength and power.

But nothing could keep Gynevra's eyes from the man reposing with a similar animal grace on the carved ebony throne on the dais beneath it. He wore the warrior's kirt, though on his feet were soft leather boots embroidered with gold and studded with gems. The horned helmet on his head and the vambraces on his forearms were of beaten and polished gold. His deeply muscled upper body was magnificently naked, his skin oiled and gleaming like dark copper. King Cadal Isidor II, Taur of Nyalda, was every bit as impressive as the larger-than-life symbol of power gracing the wall behind him.

Richly robed and be-jeweled, the many people gathered in the Presence Chamber had eyes only for the foreign Princess come among them, clad in a plain priestess gown and a fur cloak. She saw only Taur, his fiery gaze threatening to consume her resolve and anger in a flaring inferno of desire.

‘Princess Gynevra, welcome to Nyalda, my kingdom, my home, a haven of peace and plenty. All we have, we offer to you. Come,’ he said, extending a hand towards her.

Come
.

Did he expect her to walk smilingly forth to place her hand in his, as if she hadn’t already waited tonni for just a sight of him?

A Queen sat at his side, elaborately gowned, coiffed, and painted. A jeweled royal headband adorned her brow. What need had he of another? Was this to be her fate when she grew old and he tired of her? Would there come a day when a younger woman with less need of recourse to artifice would come to usurp her place? Gynevra had no need to dredge about for anger. It surged within her, full-blown and rampant. There was never room for temperance in any emotion stirred by this man. She halted before the dais, head back and stance challenging.

‘I demand that you return me forthwith to Qrazil.’

His proud gaze turned fierce beneath the hooked black brows.

‘The Princess hasn't been happy in Hecanil?’

‘Should I have been? I've been drugged, kidnapped, left to molder in the Temple for nearly two tonni with no clothes to my name and no one to visit me except a priest and a dwarf! You're guilty of treason against the State of Atlantis. I'm Archinus Elect of Poseidonia and you've curtailed my right to return there. I'm a prisoner in this place against my will!’

She'd lost all awareness of the avid faces of the courtiers. He claimed her focus, stole her mind, usurped her being. Only Taur fired her passions to such excess, be it sensual passion, jealousy or anger. He was flame to her tinder—and she to his. But the warning flash of black fire in his eyes could not stay her angry tirade.

His burning gaze raking her from head to foot, he said in a voice gritted and raw, ‘Yes, you're my prisoner, Princess, and prisoners don't have the right to make demands. They don't have the right to speak at all and if I wish to keep you naked and chained to the altar, or in my bed-chamber, I will. And you might as well get used to the fact you'll not see Qrazil again because you will never—leave—Nyalda.’

Sparked by her charge, his reply was a deliberate incitement to a hot, unbridled DragonBlood reaction. But instinct directed her response to Lord Maden, Taur’s rabon and contract negotiator. Every bit as oily and haughty as she remembered him from Trephysia, he was the only person present besides the King and Pog, whose name she knew. To him she turned. Her thoughts tumbled on the crest of a wave of acid fury engendered by Taur’s oafish challenge. She’d not be treated like a street strumpet.

‘Lord Maden, your King is a treasonous oaf! I should've let the sea take him when I had the chance. He's just as unscrupulous as every other Dragon spawn and if he tries tethering me to his cloabad bed I'll scratch his eyes out and rip his verminous hide to ribbons the first chance I get! It would behoove you to advise him to release me forthwith!’

Lord Maden paled and flushed by turns, then said stiffly, ‘The Princess Gynevra is misinformed in believing me to have any jurisdiction in such matters. I am only ever informed
after
treason has been committed.’

Gathering up the sheaf of breskina he'd clearly been discussing with the King, he stalked away through the crowd of courtiers.