The Grand Crusade (16 page)

”

Crow hung the cloak on a peg on the back of the door, then stood there, tall and strong-limbed, in fawn leathers and brown boots. His white mane half hooded his face and weariness lined it. His hands gathered at his belt, his fingers interlaced. He did not look at her as he spoke.

“Seethe and I were lovers. She was beautiful, in the way that elves are all beautiful, and she had a vitality to her that was beyond human. We were all embarked on a heroic quest, and she seemed very heroic. Even so, she needed someone, much as I did. It would have been more remarkable that we didnotfall in love with each other.”

Alyx nodded slowly and kept her voice barely above a whisper. “She was the one Chytrine made into Myrall’mara?”

“Yes.”

Alyx recalled the first time she’d seen thatsullanciri. It had been in Yslin, when Chytrine’s creature had organized a network of urchins to search for Will Norrington. When confronted by the heroes who stormed her headquarters, she

had made a grab for Will, but Crow stopped her.She bared her breasts and told him he could never stab her.

“In Yslin, you would have killed her, wouldn’t you?”

Crow nodded slowly, but no words came for a moment or two. Then he looked up at her, his brown eyes glistening. “She was not Seethe. She was as twisted as the children she had warped. I would have killed her. I should have.”

Alyx gave him a small smile. “That was the first you had seen her?”

“Since leaving Chytrine’s sight, yes.”

“It must have been a surprise, and reopened a wound.”

He raked fingers back through his hair. “A surprise, yes. And a reopened wound, too.”

“Twenty-five years is a long time to carry that sort of burden.”

He shrugged uneasily. “There were other things that made it secondary. After I was disgraced, my life was over. When Resolute found me, he rebuilt me in his image. He made me Crow. Seethe rested with Hawkins, so was not much revisited. There were times it was a great comfort to imagine that Hawkins had never been, and that I was always just Crow.”

Alyx straightened her legs, untucking them from beneath her bottom, then leaned forward with forearms on her knees. “Was there no one for Crow?”

“What are you asking, Alexia?”

“If during the time you were Crow you were without love and companionship.”

Crow folded his arms over his chest. “Why are you asking?”

She nodded toward the papers, giving herself a moment for the lump in her throat to go away. “I read there a lot of longing, about the joy of loving and being loved, and touching and being touched. I know you, Crow. I love you, and I know the passions that run in you. That you could have gone so long without intimacy hurts me.”

He closed his eyes. “Resolute and I were at war with Chytrine and that was not an easy course. Our paths did run parallel with others, here and there. There were women who offered comfort, seeking the same, but we knew there was no future. Weeks, months, years off and on, here and there, I wasn’t always alone. Things would end because they had to. No regrets, but some tears.”

He reopened his eyes and looked at her. “Until you, Alexia, I never wanted a future. I never thought one was possible. And now, here I am, in the twilight of my life, seeing what I missed.”

Alyx stood and walked to him. “But it was something you were not destined to have, Crow.”

“I guess not.”

“Until now.” She reached out and took his hands in hers. Wordlessly she led him to the bed and made him sit on the edge of it. “I am glad you were not denied companionship, my love. If I could, I would thank them for giving you what no person should be denied.”

“Alexia, I

”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “You need say nothing, lover.” She grasped the hem of his tunic and drew it up over his head and off. Bending over, with hands to either side of his hips, she kissed the trio of scars running from right hip to collarbone. She kissed them gently, lingering for a heartbeat or two, her eyes closed. Up and up she moved, the hair on his chest brushing softly over her nose and chin. When she reached his nipple, she kissed that more than once and felt him slide fingers into her hair.

His fingers tightened as he drew her head back and up. “You don’t have to do this, Alexia.”

“Silly man. Iwantto do this.” Her right hand came up to hold his head, and she kissed him quickly and fiercely. Her lips pressed to his, then parted. Her tongue darted out, flicking against his lips and teeth. Her grip tightened on his head, as his did, and she pressed him down onto the bed as their kiss deepened.

Alexia pulled her head up and smiled as she looked down at him. That he was handsome she would not deny, despite the scars and white hair, the age lines at the corners of his eyes. To others that might have been all that mattered, but to her it was an added benefit, for what she desired lay within. It shone through his brown eyes, and in his smile. She could feel it in how he touched her, his hand in her hair, the other at the small of her back.

She kissed him again, quickly, then buried her face against his neck. Her teeth grazed his flesh, then her lips closed on it. She could feel life pumping through the arteries there and feel muscles stretch as he tilted his head to give her clear access. Even a whispered sigh thrummed against her lips. She sucked a bit harder, then pulled her head up sharply.

He gasped and she smiled before ducking her head to lick over the mark she’d left. As she brought her head up again, she smiled. “I love you, and I wantourfuture. And I want you, very much, my husband.”

Crow smiled. “Our future, yes.”

Alyx slid back off him until her feet were on the floor again. A hand pressed to Crow’s chest prevented him from rising. She tugged off his boots and stockings, then loosened his belt. She took her time sliding his trousers off, and kissed him over the hipbone where the trio of scars descended and a more recent scar crossed them. Freeing him of the trousers, she bid him get under the covers, then she quickly disrobed and joined him, lying side by side.

She let him gather her into his arms, pulling them tight together, belly to belly. His hair felt soft against her stomach and chest and his arms strong around her. She sighed, closing her eyes, and nuzzled his neck again. “Make love with me, Crow.”

“Yes, Alexia, yes.” Crow’s left hand came up as he pulled his head back. He tipped her face up and kissed her deeply and passionately. His breath came softly on her cheek. As they kissed, she clung to him and, at her urging, he came up and over her as she rolled onto her back. She tightened her embrace with a

hand at his neck, the other at the small of his back, then locked her ankles behind his knees.

As he entered her they began to move together in a fluid dance. Sensations flowed over her in rising waves, the same as the heat built between them. Her hips thrust to meet his, her hands stroked his back, then clutched and squeezed, holding him tighter. He rose on his hands, arching his back as urgency increased. Kisses quickened, multiplied, their bodies shifted and though each became inarticulate, they understood each other completely. Their ascent to their mutual goal steepened as exertion coated their bodies with a moist sheen.

Then their passion exploded, the heat spiking, hearts racing, breath coming short and fast, even ragged. She slid her arms up around his back, tugging him down onto her. He resisted for a second, then his elbows bent and he covered her. She tightened her embrace, determined to keep him there. She licked at his neck, at that mark, tasting the sweat their pleasures had produced.

Alyx wanted to tell him how much she loved him, but words were still too far away. Love burned in her, making her hold him even more tightly. She licked again at his throat and could feel his heart beating as hard as hers. His breathing made her smile, his scent filled her head, and for her not only did the world end outside their bed, she had no need for it.

Crow came up on his elbows and tried to slide to the side, but she held him firmly. “I don’t want to crush you.”

She shook her head. “You are not, and I want you right there. For now.”

“For now?”

Alexia nodded slowly. “There are other ways I want you, too. Most of all, though, I want you to know you are loved and desired. That there were others to love you through the years makes me happy, but none of them knew you as I do. None of them value you as I do.”

Crow smiled. “You think so?”

“Iknowso.” She raised her head and kissed him quickly. “If they had, they’d never have let you go.”

“Just as long as you never let me go, that is all I care about.” Crow stroked her hair with a hand, letting his thumb brush over her cheek. “Many have suggested I’ve been very lucky to have survived this long. That luck is nothing compared to the luck of my finding you.”

“Not luck, Crow, fate. You’re fated to see Vorquellyn liberated. You have given your life to that task, and the world is going to give you something back.” Alexia licked playfully at his neck again, then squeezed him with her arms and legs. “As for your luck, lover, you might try pressing it just this once.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Yes, husband. I have you. You are mine, and I do not mean to let you go.” She smiled. “Tonight is our night, the portal to the future. Come. Together we pass through it, and we shall never look back again.”

fT| wo things made sitting in the Oriosan delegation tolerable for Prince

Erlestoke, but only just. The first was seeing Cabot Marsham’s reactions to J. him. Over and over the prince caught the odious little man watching him. When he did, he would smile sweetly, but always let a hand curl into a fist or drop to where the hilt of his sword should have been. Such things would always make Marsham blanch or fidget. Erlestoke realized this was the rough equivalent of teasing a child, but he took some pleasure in it nonetheless because the frustration of naked, grasping greed is always a joy.

The other thing was the new sword he’d been given. Crow and Alexia had sent him a message and he’d gone to their rooms as soon as he was able. There he met a man and his son, a smith from Valsina. Erlestoke had never before heard of Naysmith Carver, but his father had never spoken much of the first expedition against Chytrine.

The prince had found the smith to be a man of few words, but fewest among them the word /. That made him a welcome relief from every minister and lordling infesting the capital. Nay’s direct manner reminded Erlestoke well of the soldiers he’d commanded at Fortress Draconis, especially ameckanshüweapons-master who had been left behind in Sarengul. The prince hoped Verum still lived.

Nay’s son had laid out two swords and the prince immediately found himself attracted to one of them. The longsword had a thick forte to the blade, but tapered quickly to a sharp point for thrusting. The pommel cap had a crown shape to it, and leather wrapped the wooden grip. The crossguard was unremarkable save for two inch-long spikes at each end running parallel to the blade.

Nay had explained how an urZrethi sorcerer named Bok had come and

helped him work the blade with a fragment of Temmer in it. That news had given Erlestoke pause on two counts. He’d met Bok at Vael and thought him little more than an animal. The prince didn’t like deception and found himself inherently not trusting the work done on the sword.

On top of that was the portion of Temmer that had been worked into it. The jagged fragment bridged both the forte and more slender part of the blade for a foot and a half. UrZrethi runes had been worked around it and washed in gold, making them match the crossguard and pommel. Temmer had been a powerful blade with baleful magick, but he feared that less than he did his father’s reaction to learning he possessed a sword with a piece of Temmer in it. His father had remained convinced through the decades that, had Temmer been his, he would have been a great hero.

In many ways Erlestoke thought Temmer had worked its terrible magick on his father. Even without touching the sword, his father had been broken by it. The sword made him realize how much of a coward he truly was, and he never fought against that aspect of himself. His father would likely see the blade called Crown as meant for him, and a way to redeem himself.

But despite his misgivings, Erlestoke had accepted and drawn the silvery blade. From the moment it slid free of the scabbard, he knew it had indeed been meant for him. It fit his hand perfectly and he was able to whip it about with the flick of a wrist. The stout forte would permit him to parry much heavier weapons. The ease with which the blade moved would wend it through guards, picking out weaknesses in armor, spilling blood, and ending the lives of those who threatened the world.

The prince wished he could have worn the sword to the Council. Courtesy and custom allowed only King Fidelius to wear a sword, for they were in his capital. Decorum would permit him a single knife as a sign of his rank. Erlestoke had chosen a long and utilitarian one, which he had brought with him from Fortress Draconis. It comforted him to have it tucked into a boot, and time after time he resisted the temptation to draw it and stab it into the table in frustration.

Yet another minister rose, this one from Helurca. He wore brightly colored silks of green and blue that mocked the winter’s howling. Erlestoke could understand the desire to dress gaily in the depth of winter, but in councils where the fate of the world was being decided, it seemed quite inappropriate.

Then again, the prince reminded himself,the fate is not being decided here, just endlessly debated.

The Helurcan cleared his voice. “The people of Helurca would also express their alarm at the flouting of this council’s directive by General Markus Adrogans. His blatant disregard for the command to appear here casts his previous tactics in their true light. We cannot trust what he has told us about the Aurolani threat to Okrannel. We cannot trust what he has told us about dragonels. Yes, we acknowledge that other nations have had their agents report back

a lack of dragonels in his possession, but how do we know he has not fooled them into believing he does not have them?“

Erlestoke shook his head. The Helurcan minister had at least avoided the eruption of anger created when his Reqorese counterpart had suggested the soldiers in Adrogans’ army had allied themselves with him and his fledgling empire. King Augustus’ response had been the most acerbic when he suggested that it was Reqorra’s own weak sense of self that made it possible for them to imagine others would not hold their nation above personal concerns. True to the internecine squabbles that infested Reqorra and spawned such suspicions, the delegation dissolved into a hissing squabble that ended the minister’s speech.