Spellbound Falls [5] For the Love of Magic (19 page)

“But Atlantis is your seat of power.”

He went back to staring at the road ahead and gestured at the mountains to the north with his free hand. “Maybe it’s time that we, too, let our children get on with the business of inspiring mankind by bringing a more modern-thinking energy to the world.”

Rana pulled him to a stop. “You want to hand over your power to Maximilian?”

“Not my power—my
authority
.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “The transfer began four years ago, when Maximilian created the Bottomless Sea and made Whisper Mountain
his
seat of power.”

“And at the time, you knew this? But you appeared pleased with what he had done,” she added when he nodded.

He started them walking again. “I was immensely pleased that our son not only had the gonads to pull that kind of stunt,” he said with a grin, “but that he did it for all the right reasons—including for the love of a good woman.” He gave her another wink. “Are you not also proud of
how
he did it? Moving mountains and creating an inland sea in the middle of the wilderness let the world know Maximilian Oceanus is in full command of his power, and that he sure as hell isn’t afraid to use it.”

“But you have successfully kept Atlantis hidden for millennia by disguising its appearance, whereas Maximilian’s seat of power is right in the middle of the modern world, which has airplanes and cameras and satellites.”

“Hiding in plain sight is often the best disguise.”

Rana shoved her free hand in her pocket and scowled at the ground. Titus had known for the last four years that their son had been positioning himself to take over? She shrugged her hand from his and smacked him in the side. “Did it ever occur to you to tell
me
what was happening?”

He captured her hand with a chuckle. “I’m telling you now.”

“Four years
late
,” she snapped.

“I’m explaining that the transfer
began
that day. It won’t be complete until I decide it is.”

“And . . . and you’ve decided?”

“Almost.”

She glared up at him. “What do you mean, almost?”

“I’m waiting to hear the opinion of my most valued advisor and confidant.”

She went back to scowling at the ground. “Who?” she whispered.

He pulled her to a stop and gathered her in his arms again. “That would be my stubborn, opinionated, irreverent, lusty, terrible wife.”

She wanted to smack him again—which he must have anticipated, since he’d nicely trapped her in his embrace—but instead rested her forehead on his chest. “Oh, Titus, can you not let Maximilian come into his power without destroying Atlantis?”

“The world doesn’t need two reigning theurgists,” he said, even as she felt his embrace tighten, “which is why I also intend to renounce the
divine
aspect of my title along with my crown.”

It was a good thing he was holding her, because her knees buckled.

He pressed his lips to her hair. “Immortality is no blessing, Stasia, if it can’t be shared with the one person who gives it meaning. When I say I love you more than life itself, I’m speaking literally.”

“But what you want to do is . . . Titus, it’s blasphemous.”

“No, Stasia. For me to face eternity without you is.” He swept her off her feet when her legs gave out completely, then walked to the edge of the road and sat down with her in his lap. “I know it wasn’t your intention,” he said, smoothing a hand over her hair, “but these last couple of weeks without you gave me a frightening glimpse of my future and exposed my cowardice.” He ducked his head to look her in the eyes. “I’m afraid, wife, of seeing sunsets you won’t be seeing, of lying in bed listening to rain you won’t be hearing, and of breathing air you won’t be breathing. It will not be life without you—it will be madness. Please, little one,” he whispered against her cheek, “allow me to join you in life ever after.”

“Do . . . do you even have that kind of power?”

“Yes. That is the very definition of free will.”

She leaned away enough to look him in the eyes, and started trembling when she saw not only his love shining brightly, but his utterly calm conviction.

He pressed a finger to her lips when she tried to speak. “I’m not talking about deliberately ending my life, Stasia. I’m talking about renouncing my immortality. The moment I do, from that day forward we will simply grow old
together
.”

She turned to lean back against him and stared out over Bottomless. “You know what I think you’re really afraid of,” she whispered so she wouldn’t burst into tears at his ultimate gesture of love. “You’re afraid I will come back and haunt you if you even smile at another woman after I’m gone.” Feeling him still in surprise, she nodded curtly. “Because you know me well enough to realize I’m not one of those altruistic women who would want you to move on and be happy. Because what really scares you is knowing that if I ever caught wind of you trying to impress another woman with grand—or worse,
small
—gestures of your esteem, I would . . .” She turned to let him see her smile, making sure it was warm and sincere and very threatening. “Well, let’s just say you’re not the only devious one in this family.” She set her finger under his chin and closed his mouth, then leaned back into him again. “I love you for loving me that much, Titus,” she said, even as she wondered why she sounded hoarse, “but I’m going to need some time to think about everything you just . . . about your news.”

He folded his arms over her chest and hugged her to him as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “You do know that I’ll just wait until you die and
then
renounce my immortality.”

“So long as you know I’m going to make you court me all over again on the other side.”

He jostled her with his quiet laughter. “Then I will be sure to bring a heart-shaped pebble and
two
bushels of peaches.”

For as much as he was enjoying his little kidnapping despite having lost control of it, and even though his wife was obviously enjoying herself, Titus realized his feet hurt to the point he was starting to limp.

So if wishes were horses, why in Hades were they walking like beggars?

His belly wasn’t all that happy, either. The last of the figs had vanished down Rana’s throat by the end of the first day, she’d licked every last morsel of goat cheese out of the container by noon yesterday, and he was tired of eating partridge for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

So since he was already wishing . . .

Titus made sure not to grin when they rounded a curve in the road and Rana suddenly stopped. He also made sure to appear equally surprised as they both stared at the ink-black horse tied to a tree, the huge beast dressed in tournament finery and sporting two bulging leather satchels slung over its saddle.

“Now where do you suppose he came from?” Titus said, making a production of glancing around and even behind them.

Rana arched an eyebrow. “Yes, where indeed?”

“Well, since he
is
here, we can’t very well leave the poor beast stranded in the middle of the wilderness.”

“You’re not supposed to use the magic. It could hurt the baby.”

“Does your stomach feel upset?” he asked as he started them walking again.

“Well . . . no.”

“Then I guess this must be an ordinary horse.”

“It’s the warhorse you owned when we met,” she snapped, tugging against his hold on her hand, “which should be several thousand years
dead
.”

“Then he must be a figment of our imagination. Or maybe even a mirage.”

The figment of their imagination let out a loud whinny when it spotted them and began impatiently tossing its head and pawing the ground.

“By the looks of the bushes and ground around him,” Titus continued as they drew near, “I would estimate he’s been standing here nearly an hour. So if he is indeed magical, he must have arrived when we were a safe distance away.” He finally let go of her hand when his trusted steed reared up on its haunches, knowing Rana’s reluctance now had more to do with the fact that it was a warhorse than a magical manifestation. “Behave yourself, Salt,” he commanded, shrugging off his dry bag and then untying the reins from the tree. “You’re in the presence of a lady.”

“Maybe he smells the wolves,” Rana said from several paces away—even as her eyes took on a sparkle. “Or else the tournament dress makes him think you’re taking him to the games, as I remember Salt being more of a show-off than
you
.”

Titus stroked the horse’s neck. “What I remember is that you only agreed to meet me in the meadow if I promised to let you ride him.”

“Yet another one of your devious tactics to get me alone.”

He shot her a wink. “Which worked pretty damn well.”

His beautifully irreverent wife smiled smugly. “Until my father showed up.”

“Quickly followed by your mother, thank the gods. Come, m’lady,” he said with a deep bow as he swept an arm toward Salt. “Your noble steed awaits.”

“I think you should take him for a gallop first, while I sit here with the . . . luggage.”

Which she likely intended to paw through the moment he was out of sight. Titus pulled off the leather bags and set them beside the tree, vaulted up into the saddle, then gave a loud whistle to call Kitalanta as he controlled the prancing horse. “Kit will stay with you until I return. Are you comfortable being alone for ten or twenty minutes?”

She waved him away, already heading for the satchels. “Take all the time you want.” She sat down beside the tree and patted one of the bags, smiling at him. “I promise to be right here when you get back.”

“Will there be any food left when I get back?”

Her eyes widened in mock surprise as she looked at the satchels. “You believe they’re full of food?” She looked at him in mock wonder. “How lucky we are to have stumbled upon a mirage carrying what surely must be a veritable feast.”

“Just don’t drink the wine,” he said with a laugh, finally releasing the impatient warhorse and tearing up the road at a flat-out gallop.

• • •

Rana waited until Titus was out of sight, then threw herself onto the nearest satchel and gave it a fierce hug. “Oh, thank the gods,” she sobbed in relief at the thought of having real food. “I swear if Kitty trotted up as proud as a peacock with another partridge in his mouth tonight, I was going to throw rocks at him.”

She really remembered camping as being more fun—or at least less grueling. Sweet Athena, it was taking all her energy not to let Titus see she was
limping
. And she stank, and she itched, and she missed her soft bed tucked under the eave of her house. And if her maddening husband told her how beautifully disheveled she was one more time, she was going to throw rocks at
him
. And not pebbles, either, but fist-sized rocks that left
marks
.

Except the blackguard appeared to be enjoying himself so much, she simply didn’t have the heart to tell him she was miserable. A bath might help. Heck, even a sponge bath would go a long way to making her feel human again. But she needed a pot in order to heat water.

She sat up and began unbuckling the clasp on the satchel, only to stop in mid-unbuckle when she spotted Kitty sitting in the middle of the road, his head cocked sideways, studying her. “Yes. Well. I’m going to have a baby,” she explained, wiping her cheeks with the dirty sleeve of her jacket. “And pregnant women cry for absolutely no reason. So let’s not mention this little episode to Titus, okay?”

His silver lupine eyes reflecting the warmth of the sun, the wolf cocked his head again, then let out a huge yawn and walked his feet forward to lie down.

Rana went back to unbuckling the satchel, not really sure how much Kitalanta understood, since she couldn’t
magically
talk to him the way everyone else in her family could. Oh, she spoke and read most every language on the planet like all Atlanteans, but she’d had to learn them the good old-fashioned way by working with tutors until she’d thought her eyes and ears and lips would fall off. She could not, however, communicate with animals.

“Yes!” she cried, reaching inside the satchel. She pulled out the small cast-iron pot and held it toward Kitty when he raised his head. “I’m having a sponge bath tonight.” She set down the pot and dug in the satchel again, this time pulling out
two
bottles of wine. She ran a thumb over one of the labels, then set them beside the pot with a sigh of regret. “If I find out he fabricated that story about wine being bad for unborn babies,” she said to no one in particular, digging in the satchel, “a few fist-sized rocks will be the least of his worries.”

Her eyes started leaking tears again as she pulled out ancient delicacies fit for a king and starving queen. But then her relief turned to alarm when she saw there was enough food to last them a whole friggin’
week
. She quickly opened the other satchel and went back to crying in relief when she found it filled with warm clothes, a beautiful quilt, soap and scented oils, and a gold and pearl barrette.

“What, no mirror?” she muttered, holding the cavernous bag upside down and shaking it, then tossing it away with another sigh. “Well, maybe that’s for the best, as I would probably scream if I saw myself right now. But at least I can have a sponge—”

She stilled when Kitalanta suddenly jumped to his feet, his hackles raised and his lips rolling back on a growl as he stared down the road to the south. It was then she heard the pounding of galloping hoofs coming from the north and quickly started stuffing everything back into the satchels.

“Rana, come,” Titus said as he pulled Salt to a stop and held his hand down to her. “Now, wife!”

She immediately scrambled to her feet and ran over while stuffing whatever food she’d been holding into her pockets, then lifted her arms to him.

“No, behind me,” he said as he took his foot out of his stirrup.

She clasped his wrist as he gripped hers, slipped her foot into the stirrup, and used the momentum of his pull to swing up behind him. Wrapping her arms securely around his waist as he spurred Salt into a gallop, Rana glanced over her shoulder to see Kitalanta disappear into the woods, then pressed her cheek to her husband’s back and watched the trees zooming by. Despite not knowing what they were running from, her heart nevertheless raced with hope that it was the new god or goddess, as that would mean the entity
had
survived the demon attack three days ago.

“Hang on,” Titus said roughly, one of his hands dropping to clasp her thigh as he turned off the road. The horse lunged over the ditch without breaking stride and began mowing down bushes as it struggled up through the narrow clear-cutting. “Protect your face,” he added, his grip on her leg nearly bruising when they plunged into the forest and he expertly guided the horse weaving through the trees as they continued climbing the steep ridge.

Hiding her face in his jacket again as branches slapped against them, Rana found herself wondering how much her husband was enjoying their stroll home now. Because personally, she had thought they were centuries past having to flee for their lives. Or rather of Titus having to flee for
her
life—and the lives of his people—as he had done countless times before they’d moved to Atlantis. Tactical retreats, he’d called them, when she knew he would have preferred to stand and fight.

Well, that’s what he got for championing
mortals
.

She didn’t quite manage to stifle a scream when Salt skidded to a stop, the horse’s sides expanding in billowing pants as Titus looked at her—one regal white eyebrow lifting over vivid green eyes shining with excitement. Rana rested her head against him again at the realization that contrary to the fact that they’d just ridden hell-bent for leather away from some unnamed threat, he definitely was enjoying himself.

“Are you okay?”

“Wonderful. Do you know what we are running from?”

“That.”

She straightened to look at where he was looking and saw a towering tree racing up the road from the south, the dark, unmistakable silhouettes of no less than a dozen demons chasing it. The tree suddenly stopped, its massive, leafless branches slicing through the air with the force of cracking whips as it turned to face its attackers.

Titus swung his leg over Salt’s neck and slid to the ground, then helped her dismount as she continued watching the road below. “It’s the new god or goddess,” she said as he hugged her from behind. “It survived. Oh please, Titus, you must help it,” she softly petitioned when the demons began circling the tree like snarling jackals.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he returned, his voice thick with an emotion she couldn’t identify. “He must want to manifest badly enough to fight for the privilege. Don’t worry. What doesn’t kill him will make him stronger.”

“And if it’s a goddess?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “If she can’t defeat a few paltry demons, then what good will she be to mankind?” He stopped her from turning to hide her face in his chest when the tree suddenly gave a blood-curdling roar. “No, don’t look away,” he softly commanded, dropping his head down beside hers. “Witness the birth of a god.”

“Or its death,” she rasped as she watched the entity repeatedly lash out at the snarling demons, the roars and screams of the vicious battle echoing up the ridge. “The odds are twelve to
one
.”

“Then let us hope what he lacks in strength he makes up in cunning.”

“What do you mean? Wait, you said
he
. You know it’s a god?”

He straightened away with a chuckle. “Even a fledgling goddess would quickly figure out that demons don’t have the brains of a slug, and would use their stupidity to her advantage.” He snorted. “Gods being physically stronger, our
first
instinct is to fight rather than think our way out of situations.”

Rana caught her breath. “Did you have to fight for your life?”

“I earned my place in your world.” He ducked his head beside hers again. “With the help of a wandering mortal who thankfully had more muscle than good sense when he stumbled upon a scene not unlike the one below.”

“A mortal came to your aid?” She leaned to the side to look at him. “Is he the reason you championed mankind?”

Her husband gave her a quick kiss then straightened. “Let’s just say that was the day I learned I’d rather have a man guarding my back than most gods. There,” he said gruffly, turning her to face the battle again. “It’s about damned time.”

“What? I don’t see anything. Where did he go? Is . . . is he dead?”

“No. He finally realized he has the power to stop being a large, vulnerable tree and simply turned himself into a less obvious target.”

“What did he turn into?” she asked, scanning up and down the road and seeing only the perplexed demons running in circles and now snarling at each other.

“Come,” he said, leading her over to Salt. “We need to get out of here before they catch our scent.”

“But what did he become?” she asked as he lifted her onto the saddle.