The Stargazer

Stargazer (chapter twenty-three)

The red moon sank toward the horizon as they were marched at a quick pace further down the rounded, broken hills that looked to her like a mirror of the shale-shedding ones she’d just left. A dark mirror.


She shuddered, trying not to notice the chill of the magic that gnawed at her. She could touch it, it whispered, mold it. But any magic that willing to be used was one she couldn’t trust. It would use her in turn, subtly, gradually, until she was but a vessel for its purpose. Carradoc had taught her that long ago on one of the rare occasions he spoke of the Wilding magic that was his heritage. Had he given in to it, he would have been trapped in Anwyn forever as nothing more than a vessel for his father’s power.


The soldiers stumbled from time to time, their heavy armor and the pace their captors set taking its toll. No one spoke. No one asked questions or made accusations. Apparently that was being left up to someone more important.


In the foothills, they were forced toward the mouth of a cavern where more people waited. There were jeers and catcalls but nothing she could hang answers on, just ugly noises and spitting. Once inside, the light dimmed further making it difficult see. Their captors didn’t appear to have that problem but strode along, jerking them into corridor after corridor and up stairs that seemed to go on forever.


The leader waved a portion of his men off at a junction and they went without question. The handful remaining kept their spears prodding soft flesh and Aislinn was about to offer to shove the pointed end somewhere her guard would find equally unpleasant when the corridor suddenly spilled into a wide room lit with candles. The smell of burning wax hung heavy in the air along with stale smoke and something sweet that might have been food.


Her stomach rumbled but she ignored it, her attention fixed on the raised dais at the other end of the room beside an ornate chair that might be a throne. Beside the chair of state, a man lay on a bier, still and pale. He wore no armor, his body draped in thin white silk, and his dark hair lay against the stone, ruffled, soft, and longer than she remembered. Rowan. Her heart caught in her chest, strangling all hope for a moment. He was dead? No. Air stirred with shallow breaths. He was merely sleeping. Her relief was short lived, however.


Beside him, a woman as dusky skinned and pale haired as the others stood, stroking his hair and murmuring in his ear. Something sharp and ugly rose in her chest and she looked away. Jealousy. She didn’t want the woman touching him, didn’t want her near him.


“Princeza.” The leader spoke up, his tone respectful as he bowed toward the woman. “We found the intruders.”


The woman turned, her movements languid and smooth, and the soldiers beside Aislinn caught their breath. She was that, all right. Breathtaking. Her perfect oval face was dominated by a pair of large, almond shaped eyes framed by the longest lashes Aislinn had ever seen. Her mouth was a perfect ruby bow, full and tempting.  The gown she wore hugged her breasts, falling in sleek lines to the floor. She moved like a cat as she prowled closer, the side slits in the skirt flowing aside to show firm, nubile flesh. She studied the men one by one, lingering on Aislinn.


The leader shrank back under her cool regard and Aislinn felt a shiver go down her spine. She met the gray gaze steadily, refusing to back down. A faint smile touched the woman’s mouth and she turned again, mounting the steps of the dais. Seating herself on the throne, she arranged her skirts to her liking before speaking.


“Why do you come to Álfheim?”


“Why build a door if you don’t care for visitors?” Aislinn returned calmly. The magic of the portal held the same chill metallic flavor that scented the air here.


“Visitor? That implies you were invited.”


“No, being a visitor means I don’t usually live here. I never claimed to be a guest.”


The woman hissed her frustration. “The Dökkálfar want nothing to do with your kind and yet you intrude here? You think you are somehow special?”


Aislinn ignored the questions. The subtle posturing was familiar, no matter what court she stood in. The woman would gain nothing baiting her this way. She turned her attention back to where Rowan slumbered.


“For someone who isn’t wanted, he seems awfully comfortable and you certainly seemed fond of him. For a visitor, I mean.” She tilted her head as if curious. “He’s just asleep isn’t he?”


“He is none of your concern.”


It took all of her court training not to react to the venom in the words. The woman was possessive of him, protective even. Princeza. A princess? The thought send a stab of pain through her heart. Rowan had been promised a princess and this one obviously cared about him. Was she too late?


“He’s a friend of mine,” she countered softly. “That makes him my concern.”


The admission triggered an eruption of activity from the woman on the throne. She shot to her feet, sparks igniting the air around her. Her hair shifted, rising with a life of its own like the ruff of a dog scenting a cat on the fence. Her men edged back, making no sudden moves but leaving their prisoners alone in the center of the room. The two soldiers moved slowly behind Aislinn.


“Friend?” The word spat at her like a bullet. “He’s mine. No mannish thing like you will take him from me.”


The mannish accusation stung because, truth told, she felt like a cow beside this dainty and oh-so-feminine princess. She held onto her composure with gritted teeth.


“I need to hear that from him.” She lifted her chin, refusing to back down from the threat of the woman’s temper. “If he tells me he wants to stay without coercion or tricks, I will leave without another word and I won’t come back. On that I give you my solemn oath.”


Gray eyes narrowed on her, full lips thinning, but the corona of power never waned.


“You think your oath means anything to me? He is mine. You can’t have him.”


“If he’s truly yours, let him tell me so. You have nothing to lose.”


A challenge, no matter how quietly issued, and the princess knew it. If she refused, she would lose status in the eyes of her men. While they obviously feared her, Aislinn knew the limited loyalty fear bought. A respect for strength served any royal better than fear alone.


“Haesa? What is going on here?”


An older man, his hair as gray as his eyes, stepped from a small alcove behind the throne. His robes were rich, luxurious fabric of muted gray that rippled like shadows against the black stone. The princess lost her poise, momentary fear widening her eyes before she dropped her chin and bowed.


“These intruders were caught coming through the portal, Your Majesty.”


The king. Great. Aislinn fought the urge to fidget as those steel gray eyes came to rest on her. With a calm not displayed by his daughter, the king gathered his robes and mounted the dais to take the throne.  He remained silent, studying Aislinn with an intensity that increased her nervousness.


“What brings one of the Daoine Sidhe to Álfheim after all these years?”


The old human name for the Tuathe de’ was rarely heard anymore but Aislinn wasn’t the only one started by the question. The princess’ head jerked up, fury twisting her face before she returned her gaze to the floor, trying to hide her emotions. The fists tangled in her skirts warned that she wouldn’t forget or forgive being made look a fool. That the king had picked up on her Tuathe de’ heritage rather than her mother’s Sidhe blood only made Aislinn more certain that the power here was tied to earth and stone.


“I came looking for a friend,” she answered honestly. She nodded to where Rowan lay sleeping. “He and I have shared a few adventures together and he vanished nearly a month ago. I have been worried about him.”


“And those with you?”


“They are also his friends. They came with me.”


The king’s lips twisted with humor. “For your safety or to keep the world safe from you?”


Aislinn didn’t answer. It hadn’t really been a question.


“My daughter would not care to see her newest pet leave. After all, she has not learned how to awaken him herself.”


The blatant jab at the princess’ ego made Aislinn cringe a bit, but a sliver of hope rose in her chest.


“As I told Her Highness, I only came to find him. If he tells me with his own lips under no coercion that he wishes to stay, I will leave and not return. On that, I give my solemn oath.”


“The oath of a Daoine Sidhe?” A dark brow rose.


“I swear it on my mother’s crown, my father’s blood and the lives of my brothers,” she answered, keeping her voice soft. The magic around her shifted, locking tight on her words. A binding oath.


The king sat back, a satisfied air easing over him that did nothing for Aislinn’s peace of mind. A languid wave at Rowan’s sleeping form had the princess hissing her fury but she didn’t speak out, didn’t protest. Aislinn’s unease deepened.


“Ask,” the king prompted.


“Wake him and I will.”


“That was not our bargain.” The king’s smile was decidedly smug. “Wake him and ask. If you cannot wake him, you will remain here.”


“You can’t!” The princess had reached her limit. “He’s mine. You promised!”


“Silence!” The king’s roar echoed back from cold walls and even the princess cringed away. “You dare question me? He was to be yours if you could wake him. You have had a full turn of the moon to do so and yet not succeeded. Admit you aren’t woman enough to do it and step aside.”


Power surged through the room, stone shivering under her feet. Instinctively, Aislinn steadied the earth around her and watched cracks split the floor in a circle around her and the soldiers who huddled behind her. The glare the princess aimed her direction promised retribution but she didn’t have time to worry about that right now. The king watched her expectantly and she forced her feet to move.


A hand latched onto her elbow.


“You can’t,” one of the soldiers whispered frantically. “You get that close, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”


Aislinn shook off the grip. “He gave his word.”


Being human, they might not understand how binding a word of honor was. All they knew of these people were attacks and fear. She knew better. The king would abide by the letter of the agreement but not one syllable more.


Rowan lay still, his chest barely moving under the thin silk. Other than the longer hair, he didn’t look as if a day had passed.  Carefully, she reached out to rest her fingertips over his heart and the steady beat that confirmed he lived.


Behind her, the princess made another angry sound but Aislinn was too caught up in Rowan to care. He was here. He was alive. Now she just had to figure out how to wake him up.


Through her fingertips, she let her senses stretch. Magic eased into him, testing his slumber and found stone. Stone weighed his bones and thoughts, wrapped around his heart, holding him in an unnatural sleep. She frowned. Why would anyone put him to sleep?


Her first thought was to reach for earth magic, to rouse his flesh into wakefulness but caution made her hesitate. Any attempt she made to wake him would be duly noted by both the king and his daughter. There would be a trick to waking him, one the princess had yet to try and she had surely tried her own magic.


Leaning closer, Aislinn closed her eyes, reaching instead for air.


Rowan, she Whispered. Rowan, it’s Aislinn. You need to wake up now.


No response. She stroked his chest, more to soak up the feel of him than because she thought it might wake him. Another furious noise from behind her sparked a low voiced argument between father and daughter. A breath of air brought the words to her.


“He’s mine,” the princess hissed again. “I love him.”


“But his heart is not yours.”


“I don’t care!”


“That is why you fail.”


His heart? Aislinn leaned closer still until her forehead rested against his. She didn’t have his heart either but the difference was she cared. If he didn’t want her, she would leave him be. It would kill her, but she wouldn’t foist herself on him.


Rowan, one of these days you’re going to have to explain to me how you get yourself in these predicaments. First a bubble of time and now a cage of stone. We got ourselves out of the last one but I’m going to need a little help here.


The beat of his heart sped up for a moment and then settled again and hope rose. He was aware she was there, but he apparently couldn’t do anything about it.


“She’s doing nothing, Your Majesty,” the princess complained, louder now. “Either she can wake him or she can’t.”


Aislinn didn’t move. “You’ve had a month. I need more than a few seconds to catch up here.”


The heart under her fingers beat harder. Her voice. He was responding to her voice but she couldn’t very well talk him awake. No, she needed magic. Earth would be to easily circumvented since the king had never promised not to intervene, so air would have to do.  She took a deep breath and reached for the subtle stirring of air, gathering it slowly into her body.  She drew it in until she could feel the first soft burn of a summer day, filling her bones. Leaning down, she kissed him.


The magic flowed from her, smooth as a summer breeze, into the cold stone cage that held him hostage. Blood heated, surged, and the warmth became a familiar fire. A heavy hand sank into her hair, holding her still as his mouth began to move and the world around her unraveled as she sank into the magic of his kiss again.


A rumble like an avalanche jerked her back and she threw up a shield of hardened air just in time as a hail of stone fell from the ceiling. The princess’ shriek split the air and Aislinn reacted instinctively, thrusting out with a whip of air as she wheeled to face her attacker. The air hit the princess in the middle, knocking her onto her pertly curved ass.


A moment of utter silence reigned before pandemonium erupted.


Guards grabbed onto Aislinn and the two soldiers, dragging them to center of the room and forcing them to their knees.  The king remained silent, his stone gray gaze fixed on Aislinn. The princess slowly regained her feet, her lips curling back from her teeth, but a sharp slash of a royal hand .


“Not Daoine Sidhe,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question but an accusation.


“I am Daoine Sidhe,” she argued, trying not to struggle against the guard’s grip. The man was looking for a reason to dislocate her arms and she knew it. “But my heritage is mixed. You might call my mother’s people Daoine Maithe.”


“You gave your oath under false pretenses,” he overrode her. “Take them. I will deal with them later.”


The last thing she saw as she was dragged from the hall was Rowan, sitting up on the stone dais with the help of an over solicitous princess.