Authors: Judith Tarr
Tides of Darkness (14 page)
T
HE NEW GUARDIANS OF THE KINGDOM WENT OUT THAT EVENING with their small furred allies, and disposed themselves among villagers who were more often baffled and suspicious than glad to be so protected. Tanit would have preferred to go with them, but the queen belonged in the city. She walked its streets at evening, unable quite to suppress the shiver of fear as the shadows lengthened, and saw how the cats built their walls of air. She could see those walls, how they rose and joined to shield the houses and people within.
HE NEW GUARDIANS OF THE KINGDOM WENT OUT THAT EVENING with their small furred allies, and disposed themselves among villagers who were more often baffled and suspicious than glad to be so protected. Tanit would have preferred to go with them, but the queen belonged in the city. She walked its streets at evening, unable quite to suppress the shiver of fear as the shadows lengthened, and saw how the cats built their walls of air. She could see those walls, how they rose and joined to shield the houses and people within.
“You have eyes to see,” the Lord Seramon said. He came up on the city's walls, the walls of stone, not long after she had ascended there, and found her marveling at the intricacy of the wards.
“I'm not needed at all,” she said. “This is entirely the cats' doing.”
“Your people need to see you,” said the Lord Seramon, “to know that you defend them.”
“I think,” she said, “that you gave me this title to keep me from demanding one less noble but more useful.”
“You were queen of Waset long before I came here,” he said with the flicker of a smile.
She hissed at him, but without rancor. Her hand had slid into his, entirely of its own accord. They stood together while the sun sank ever closer to the horizon.
Just when she was thinking that it would be wise to retreat to the palace, he said, “Seti-re will say the words that make me your consort.”
“How in the gods' nameâ”
“We exchanged assurances,” he said, “and agreed on an alliance. He has great love for this city, however poorly he may express it.”
“He is my mother's brother,” she said. “He arranged my marriage to the king. He was never altogether satisfied with the outcome.”
“Because he couldn't control you?”
“And because there was no son and heir for him to raise and train in the temple.”
The pain of that was old, and worn smooth. He did not shame her with pity, but he nearly broke her with the tenderness of a gesture: the soft stroke of a finger down her cheek. “You are what, and where, the gods will.”
She spoke past the ache in her throat. “It will be dark soon. You may choose to spend the night under the sky, but I in my cowardice prefer the safety of a roof.”
“Tonight we shall be cowards together,” he said.
“Don't you want to see the wards go up across the kingdom?”
“I see them,” he said in his deep purr of a voice.
She remembered then, as already she tended to forget, that he was not of her world. The awareness shivered in her skin, but somewhat oddly, it did not frighten her.
He followed her down from the walls, walking as a guard would, just
behind her. They moved in a cloud of cats: his two, her two, a shifting circle of the city's defenders. At the palace gate, most of them faded into the twilight.
behind her. They moved in a cloud of cats: his two, her two, a shifting circle of the city's defenders. At the palace gate, most of them faded into the twilight.
She had not been out so late since she was a reckless child. Even in the safety of the city, even knowing how well it was protected, she battled the urge to run through the gate and hide. She walked sedately as a queen should, pausing to greet the guards and to settle a matter brought to her by one of the servants, and to pray for a moment before the image of her husband's ancestor, the first king of Waset. His worn stone face grew dim as she prayed, veiling itself in dusk.
She looked up from that ancient face to the living one of the Lord Seramon. He was crowned with starsâthe first that she had seen since, young and rebellious, she had gone up on the roof of her mother's house and looked full into the eyes of the night.
Darkness was terrible. Darkness was death. And yet in that face which was so dark, she found only comfort. He smiled at her. She wanted to melt into his arms, but she was not made for such softness. She turned from him, but without rejection, and led him into the royal house.
Â
No human creature died that night, and no animal, either, nor was any villager stolen from his house. One field was stripped, but those near it were untouched. The wards had held.
There was festival in the villages. The people did not understand precisely what had saved them; only that priests and nobles had wielded magic, and that a god had shown them the way.
That their queen should take the god as a consort, they found perfectly right and fitting. The court reckoned it a scandal: three days he had been there, a shockingly brief time to come so far or to presume so much. But Tanit had expected that. She could see it, too: how sudden it was. Yet in her heart there was nothing sudden about it at all.
Seti-re brought them together in the temple before the gods and the people. He was a good and proper ally; he put on a face, if not of joy,
then at least of acceptance. He set her hand in the Lord Seramon's and blessed them in the names of the gods, and performed the sacrifice of a white heifer and a black bull-calf, pouring out their blood over the altar-stone.
then at least of acceptance. He set her hand in the Lord Seramon's and blessed them in the names of the gods, and performed the sacrifice of a white heifer and a black bull-calf, pouring out their blood over the altar-stone.
Tanit was in a world outside the world. She saw herself in royal state, robed and crowned, with her face painted into the mask of a goddess, and her hair hidden beneath an elaborate structure of plaits and beads and gold. She saw him beside her, more simply dressed, but wearing royalty as easily, as naturally as his skin. How strange that he the god should keep no more state than any noble bridegroom, but she who was inescapably mortal should wear the semblance of divinity.
His fingers laced in hers, his eyes warm upon her, brought her back into her body. “From before time I have known you,” she said.
She had spoken in silence, in a pause in the rite. Seti-re looked affronted. But he mattered not at all. The Lord Seramon bent his head. “From beyond the horizon I came to you,” he said, “and when the worlds have passed away, still I will belong to you.”
Those were the vows that bound them, far more than blessings spoken by any priest. They were truth so simple, so pure and absolute, that there could be no breaking them.
She did not, even then, feel constrained. For this she had been born. Whatever came of it, she would never regret the choice that she had made.
Â
The wedding feast had been prepared in haste, but the cooks had outdone themselves. There was a roast ox and a flock of wild geese roasted and stuffed with dates and barley, heaping platters of cakes made with nuts and honey and sweet spices, plates and bowls of greens and roots and fruit both fresh and dried, and an endless procession of lesser delights. At evening the guests did not flee as they had so often before. The bold would go home under protection of the wards, and the rest would stay in the palace until the sun rose.
Estarion would not have been startled to discover that he was
expected to play host to all of them through what should have been the wedding night. He had known stranger customs. He was seated apart from the queen, among the great men of the kingdom; she sat with a flock of ladies, as blankly unreadable as a painted image.
expected to play host to all of them through what should have been the wedding night. He had known stranger customs. He was seated apart from the queen, among the great men of the kingdom; she sat with a flock of ladies, as blankly unreadable as a painted image.
He set himself to be charming to these men who eyed him in wariness or hostility or, here and there, open speculation. He was somewhat out of practice in the art of seducing courtiers, but it was not a skill one could altogether forget. These courtiers were far less jaded than those of Asanion, if not quite as easy in their manners as those of his northern kingdoms. They were not warriors, but neither were they purely creatures of courts. They made him think of small landowners and gentlemen farmers of the Hundred Realms: bound to the earth, the river, the hunt; shaped in small compass, but not petty of either mind or spirit.
He liked them. They were as flawed as men of any other world, but there was honesty in them, and care for their people, even under the long weight of the shadow. He had learned the names of each, and would learn their lands, their cares, their kinâlater. Tonight he learned their minds, how they thought, what they hoped for; what, apart from the darkness, they feared.
Not long after sunset, a servant bent toward his ear and murmured, “Lord. It's time.”
He had been listening to a tale told by a lord from a holding upriver, of hunting terrible long-toothed beasts in the cataracts of the south. “They can bite a man in a half,” the lord said, “and fling a calf out of his skin with a toss of the head. They have a taste for manflesh; they'll raid boats and steal the boatmen's children. Once I heard tellâ”
The servant touched Estarion's shoulder, polite but urgent. “Lord!”
He excused himself as courteously as he could. No one took offense, even the teller of tales: a grin ran round the circle, and they vied in wishing him well. The warmth of their regard followed him out of the hall.
The servant led him not toward the queen's chambers as he had expected, nor to his own, but to a part of the palace which he had yet to
explore. It was older than the rest, lower, darker, less airy and elegant. Its walls were plastered and painted, but the paint was fading. The air smelled of dust and age, overlaid with the scent of flowers.
explore. It was older than the rest, lower, darker, less airy and elegant. Its walls were plastered and painted, but the paint was fading. The air smelled of dust and age, overlaid with the scent of flowers.
They entered a chamber that might once have been a royal hall. Squat pillars held up the roof. The center was an island of light, banks of lamps arrayed in a broad circle, rising up toward the pillars and suspended from the ceiling. The extravagance of it, the soft clarity of the light, made all the richer the carpet of flowers that spread across the worn stone of the floor.
A bed was set there, strewn with fragrant petals, and beside it a table and a chest, the accoutrements of a royal bedchamber. She was not there. But for the servant, and the cat who coiled purring at the bed's foot, he was alone. In a moment, the servant effaced himself and was gone.
Estarion smiled. He had a fondness for the unexpected, if it was not too deadly. He took off his kilt and jewels and laid them in the chest, which was empty, and unbound the ropes of gold and strings of beads from his hair; then plaited it again in a single thick braid, bound off with a bit of cord. He sat cross-legged on the bed, and waited in the patience that priests and mages learned in youth.
Soft airs played across his skin. The scent of flowers was almost overpowering. Within himself he felt the wards upon city and kingdom. The darkness was late in coming; the night was quiet, the stars untainted. He knew a prickle of unease, of old and intractable suspicion: a deep mistrust of stillness in the heart of war.
Such quiet could be a gift, if a general had both wisdom and courage. Old habits were waking, fitting themselves to him like familiar garments. Yet he was calmer than he had been then, less impatient, less inclined to indulge his temper. He had learned to wait.
Almost he laughed. Patience indeed! Three days in this world, and he had bound himself to it with no honest thought for the consequences. And yet he could not find it in himself to regret it. What he had said to her in the temple was true. This had been ordained; this was where he was meant to be, and she, in this age of both their worlds.
He looked up in his island of light, into her face. She was standing on the edge of the darkness. Her mask of paint was gone, all but the jeweled elaboration of the eyes. Her hair was free, blue-black and shining, pouring down her back to the sweet curve of her buttocks. She was wrapped in a gown of sheer white linen, such as he had seen before. As before, it concealed nothing. The dark aureoles of her nipples, the triangle of her private hair, were but thinly veiled.
Her eyes were wide and dark, and blank, almost blind. Yet he knew that she saw every line of him. He frightened her a little with his size and darkness, the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his arms and thighs. She was avoiding, with care, the thing that both frightened and fascinated her most.
He rose. He heard the faint catch of her breath, but she did not retreat. When he knelt, she eased a little. He was not so towering tall then, or so inclined to loom. He smiled at her. He might have thought that all those sharp white teeth would alarm her, but she warmed to his warmth, and smiled somewhat shakily in return.
She advanced into the light. Her feet bruised the blossoms strewn on the floor, sending up a gust of sweetness. She knelt in front of him, and lightly, almost trembling, brushed his lips with hers.
The leap of his body toward her took him aback with its strength. He mastered it before it flung him upon her. It seemed she sensed nothing. While he knelt rigidly still, she traced the lines of his face with her fingers. Her touch was like the brush of fire over his skin. She followed the track of a scar, the curve of his lip; she hesitated ever so slightly between smoothness of cheekbone and prick of close-shaved stubble. She coaxed his mouth open and stroked a salt-sweet fingertip across his tongue, and counted his teeth as if he had been a senel at a fair, catching her finger on the sharp curve of a canine. Her own were not so many; they were blunter, and her tongue, running over them, was pink.
Her scent was musk and spices. He breathed it in while she explored his body, downward from his face across neck and shoulders and breast, down his arms, along his sides. She turned his hands palm up, the dark
and the gold, and assured herself that indeed it was gold, born in the flesh, rooted deep in bone and sinew. The fire in it, so much a part of him that it had long ago ceased to be pain, flared suddenly, then just as suddenly eased. He met her eyes and fell down and down, headlong into joy.
and the gold, and assured herself that indeed it was gold, born in the flesh, rooted deep in bone and sinew. The fire in it, so much a part of him that it had long ago ceased to be pain, flared suddenly, then just as suddenly eased. He met her eyes and fell down and down, headlong into joy.
Other books
Elena sabe by Claudia Piñeiro
Hogs #4:Snake Eaters by DeFelice, Jim
Pieces of Dreams by Jennifer Blake
First Lady by Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Viola Grace - Mask of the Overlord by Viola Grace
Operation Get Rid of Mom's New Boyfriend by E. N. Joy
Last Licks by Donally, Claire
Lavender-Green Magic by Andre Norton
King of Murder by BYARS, BETSY
Perilous Travels (The Southern Continent Series Book 2) by Jeffrey Quyle