Mystic Rider (40 page)

A small laugh covered her sob. “You are right, you are very
difficult to lose. And I think I love you for that most of all.”

“Good. Keep that in mind when I’m at my most aggravating.”

He pressed his case then, giving her no time to respond with
words, only actions.

* * *

When Chantal woke next, the bed beside her was empty. She
scarcely knew where she was, but she knew Ian was not here, and panic raised
its ugly head.

“Good. You’re awake,” a cool female voice announced from
behind her head.

Female. Not Ian. She grabbed the sheet to her breasts and
forced her eyes open. Sunlight poured into a room of whitewashed walls and
shelves of books. She would recognize Ian’s room anywhere. Where was he?

“Ian has his hands full,” the voice explained as if Chantal
had asked the question aloud. “The Council has discovered your father’s
arrival, and our mother is attempting a mutiny.”

Not good.
Danger
.
She sensed things she had no right knowing. She turned over and met the multihued
eyes of Ian’s sister. Lissandra’s silver-blond hair hung loosely to her
shoulders this morning, crowned with flowers and braids. Her Roman-style gown
fell to her feet in a ripple of white, like a vestal virgin from an Italian
painting.

“Can you tell if the child is a boy?” Lissandra asked,
wearing a composed expression. She held a mug of steaming liquid but did not
offer it.

“What child?” Chantal drew the sheet around her nakedness.

The movement reminded her of the ring she now wore. She
glanced down, and a pearl glowed from a ring set in rubies and gold, a smaller
version of the one she’d seen Ian wear. They were officially bound. Or married.
Or whatever that meant here.

“Amacara ceremonies always produce children.” Lissandra
finally offered the mug. “Perhaps you are not sufficiently gifted to have seen
the vision,” she added sympathetically.

Chantal wasn’t discussing visions of any sort with this
woman who spoke in careful tones designed to conceal her every thought. “Where
are my clothes? If Ian and my father are in trouble, I must go to them.”

“Don’t be foolish. They can take care of themselves. You
need a restorative before you can go anywhere. You have Ian’s heir to think of
now, should he manage to keep his position.”

“Excuse my bluntness, but I know what happens to queens who
drink from the cups of enemies.” Holding the sheet around her, Chantal swung
her legs over the bed’s edge. Dizziness swamped her, and she steadied herself
with her hand while she studied her surroundings.

At least it wasn’t a prison. It wasn’t even a palace. The
vaulted ceiling distinctly resembled thatch, with branching tree limbs
providing support. The tree grew upward from beneath a floor of golden wood
that gleamed in the sunlight streaming through enormous open windows. The
chamber was beyond enchanting.

“Rivals maybe,” Lissandra replied with a little more
feeling. “But not enemies. Ian and I share the duties our parents once shared.
If our mother’s mutiny succeeds, we will both lose our authority.”

“And this is not a good thing?” Chantal translated the notes
in her “rival’s” voice.

“It will set Aelynner against Aelynner as people take sides.
Our mother has been under a great strain for years. Our father’s death nearly
broke her. She agreed to be relieved of her duties two years ago, when we
learned she had sent Murdoch into the world without fully stripping him of his
unpredictable powers. But she is still a strong, gifted woman.”

In Lissandra’s voice, Chantal heard grief, resentment, and
determination. She didn’t need her piano to play the notes and verify her
instinct. If she believed Ian, this mystery was a gift, not madness.

“I believe Murdoch is learning some degree of control,”
Chantal said dryly, finally daring to touch her bare toes to the warm floor.

“You met Murdoch?” Lissandra gasped. “Where is he?”

Picturing the sardonic Murdoch walking away with two
laughing children in his arms, Chantal dared a smile. “Well occupied for a
while. Ian can tell you more. I need to go to my husband now. I am the cause of
his distress, and I must be the solution.”

“Don’t be foolish. You know nothing of what we can do here.
You know nothing of our ways.” Alarm overrode Lissandra’s initial startled
reaction to Chantal’s declaration. “Ian could very easily be the most powerful
man on earth. He certainly doesn’t need your help.”

“There, we differ.” Chantal crossed the room to a trunk
where a gleaming white linen gown awaited. Ruby embroidery to match her ring
adorned the neckline and hem. She looked, but her corset and chemise were not
to be seen.

Defiantly, she dropped the sheet, revealing the mark upon
her spine.

Lissandra gasped again and went blessedly silent.

Chantal drew the gown over her head. Lined with delicate muslin,
the folds of soft linen draped over her breasts, both emphasizing and concealing
her form. The gown left her arms bare, but in this warm climate, that seemed
sensible.

“You do not believe Ian is the most powerful man on earth?”
Lissandra asked warily, avoiding any comment on Chantal’s revealing mark.

“I haven’t met every man on earth.” She looked for a mirror
and, not finding one, grabbed the hair at her nape and picked up one of Ian’s
leather strings to tie it back. “But I don’t doubt that Ian is quite
extraordinary. That doesn’t mean he can’t use a little help from time to time. You
just admitted that your mother had your father’s help, and you need Ian’s. It
seems reasonable to believe he needs mine. No man should have to stand alone.”

Oddly, she felt his tension, almost as if she read his mind,
but not quite. She thought he might be clenching his jaw to prevent his temper
from exploding. And she thought maybe his temper needed to explode.

Besides, thinking of Ian kept her from thinking too hard
about all the fantastical memories of the past night. She wanted to sit down to
prevent flying apart, but she couldn’t afford the luxury.
Change
hovered like a growing thunderhead. She might not see it,
but she knew it was there, and she wanted to be with Ian when the cloud burst.

“If your presence affects him, it’s to weaken him,” Lissandra
countered. “An Olympus has never mated with a Crossbreed in all our generations
dating back to when time began. He cannot rule properly with your weaknesses
flowing through him.”

“Had your mother allowed my father to marry your cousin,
their child would not have been a Crossbreed and might have been more powerful
than I.” She had no idea where that notion came from, but the paleness of
Lissandra’s face said she’d struck the right chord.

“You’re saying the gods disapproved of my mother’s
decision,” she whispered.

“I’m saying that, in my world, royalty claims they’re chosen
by the gods, and it’s utter nonsense. Generations of inbreeding produce
inferior stock. Any horse breeder knows that.”

She needed shoes. She opened the trunk and rummaged among
the garments she found there, locating an old pair of small sandals that might
have been Ian’s as a boy. She drew them out and sat on the trunk’s lid to tie
them around her ankles.

Lissandra looked both cross and thoughtful. Chantal ignored
her. Ian had given her wings, and she must learn to use them. Perhaps it was
just freedom that streamed through her senses, making everything seem sharper,
clearer. Or perhaps it was the strange notion that her actions could actually
make a difference.

“The mark of chaos was bred out long ago for good reason.”

Lissandra had evidently found an argument that satisfied
her, Chantal noted. It was not as if anyone had an answer to it.

“Bigotry,” she replied, recalling the Oracle’s distaste.
“Every culture needs someone to despise, and it’s foolishly easy to scorn those
who suggest that things are not perfect and could be improved. We don’t have
time for this. If you wish to help Ian, then show me where he is.”

“Aelynn is as close to perfect as it is possible for a place
to be.” Despite her argument, Lissandra led the way into the next chamber, one
twice as large as the bedchamber and supported by two trees.

Chantal wished she had time to absorb more than the bright
primary colors of the furniture splashed against the golden floor and white
walls, but she hurried to keep up with Lissandra’s longer strides. “Ian said
you’ve had a drought for years — that ended last night, if I understand
correctly.”

Lissandra grumpily refused to acknowledge this fact.

“And Murdoch is evidently not the product of a happy
environment,” Chantal merrily continued, relishing her newfound confidence by
saying anything she wanted. “Your mother failed to train or restrain him, from
what I can tell. He’s a desperately unhappy man.”

Lissandra cast her a glare that didn’t quell the words
spilling from Chantal’s tongue like the notes she’d channeled into music all
these years.

“The Chalice of Plenty has apparently escaped for some
reason none of you understands, which seems a serious flaw to me.” Hit by a
bolt of comprehension, she added, “And if neither you nor Ian can find
an…amacara…or a mate on this island, then your breeding program is failing
spectacularly, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a breeding program,” Lissandra grumbled. “Don’t be
crude. You come from a country that starves the poor to feed the rich, a place
that is about to explode in fire and bloodshed that will kill men for decades
to come. Don’t tell me your
improvements
will help us.”

Still learning to walk in the odd footwear, Chantal lifted
the skirt flowing around her ankles and hastened to follow the shell path
Lissandra strode with long-legged grace. She would like to enjoy the rich
fragrance of the flowers lining the path, but the foliage dripped with moisture
from last night’s rain, and she didn’t want to ruin her new gown before she
found Ian.

She glanced over her shoulder at the shelter they’d just
left. Built into the giant tree limbs, it was already nearly invisible.

“I do not have the arrogance to believe that my opinions
alone matter.” Hurrying onward, Chantal talked to keep from expressing her
qualms in an inappropriate manner. She suspected if she hummed, she might cause
the earth to vibrate as Ian claimed Murdoch could do. “But if no one on this
island has any solution to your problems, then it seems reasonable that you
need to introduce new ideas. It is reassuring to know that it can be done
without soldiers and weapons.”

Lissandra halted abruptly, and Chantal nearly walked into
her. Catching herself just in time, she eased to the right and glanced down into
a clearing of houses where people hurried along sandy paths toward a long, low
building. A chimney at one end of the building poured smoke.

“The smoke means the Council has called for a vote,”
Lissandra said. “Our men wield swords more deadly than any you’ve ever seen. They
have been known to vote with the point of those swords. War here could be the
end of our world.” Lissandra broke into a run down the hill.

“Enough discussion,” Dylys shouted over the clamor
resulting from her abrupt lighting of the fire of decision. Her voice was
unusually weak and did not end the disruption.

All morning, the chamber chairs nearest the podium had
filled with representatives from the island’s elite families, those who held
land and were blessed with the greatest gifts. To the rear, those with lesser
abilities milled about rows of benches.

Trystan and Mariel stood in the rear, diplomatically waiting
for Ian to call on them if needed. Once, Trystan had thought to stand at the
podium as leader. He’d relinquished his high position in favor of taking
Mariel, a Crossbreed, for wife, and dividing his duties between Aelynn and her
home.

Kiernan the Finder also waited in the back of the room,
along with Nevan the Navigator, both bachelors close to Ian’s age. With Waylan
and Murdoch sailing to England, these two were as close as Ian’s had to friends
present. They were travelers who held little interest in owning land, so their
Other Worldly views tended to be overlooked by the more powerful
representatives. The success of this debate rested solely on Ian.

A voice of dissent arose from an unexpected corner. “She
closes the floor to discussion rather than listen to reason,” Alain Orateur
stated loudly enough for those in the first ranks to hear. In the brief time
since he’d returned to the island, he’d used his silver tongue to persuade the
elderly lords to accept that he was entitled to his family’s ancient position
among them.

Muted arguments fell silent as Orateur’s comment carried
from front to back. Ian wondered if Chantal would have such power, once she’d
been given the opportunity to speak. But she had no interest in his position as
leader, so it would not benefit him to have her here.

“You forfeited your right to speak to the Council when you
left Aelynn,” Ian’s mother said crossly to Orateur. Holding her left arm as if
it hurt, she had taken a seat near the fire she’d lit instead of commanding the
podium as she once had.

Dylys had lost her power of command, Ian noted with eyes
opened by new insight. Once she could have forced the entire room to quiet and
listen. Now she sounded like a querulous old woman — one who knew she was losing
her authority. That startling thought jarred Ian from his reverie. He’d
heard
the desperation in his mother’s
words.

His power to read minds was almost useless against
Aelynners, but Chantal gave him the power to read voices.

“I did not forfeit my right to speak but had it stripped
from me by you and others who fear change,” Alain countered. Already he was recovering
his health, and his voice was strong and certain. “I am not the instrument of
change, nor is my daughter. We are the tools at your disposal to guide you
through what lies ahead. We do not create chaos but interpret and help ease
disruption to bring harmony. Throw us away, and you throw away your future.”