Time Dancer (3 page)

“No, a tracker. One to sniff out and discover what threatens my family.”

“A tracker? A dog? A wolf?”

“A keener nose than those and one who carries enough strength to end the threat.”

“You called a bear.” Warric’s voice filled with wonder. “But why Jana? Why not me? My magic is ten times as potent as hers.”

Words stuck in Jana’s throat.
Because
I
feel
useless
and
helpless
and
without
purpose
.
Because
I
feel
driven
to
do
something
,
anything
.
Because
I
need
to
help
.
Because
no
man
would
put
up
with
such
an
arrogant
spell
without
punching
him
.

“Because Jana shall be the one to save my blood. This has been foreseen. Help me to my chamber, Warric. I must rest.”

Warric scooped his mother against his chest and stomped from the tower room. Jana scurried to secure the flapping shutters. She paused, letting the morning air blow across her cheeks. The sky stretched deep and gray and endless with no golden sun to warm it. Nature whispered to her—a vacant, eerie call that brought gooseflesh along her arms.

A spell had been summoned and one had answered. He waited in her necklace for her call. What did she do now?

Chapter Two

“Jana?”

The knock was soft enough that it wouldn’t have disturbed her, even if her mind wasn’t scattering with questions. She’d been trying to organize her thoughts, making lists of who could possibly wish Batu dead. So far, she had nothing but a few idle scratches and a sad-looking vine curling around half the page.

“Come in, Papa.”

She dropped the quill back into the inkwell and deliberately smiled.

The High Captain of all Eldwyn, the King’s Might and Law, the most menacing man in all the country, entered the room timidly. He seemed overly massive in a chamber decorated in pinks and yellows, with a beloved doll on a shelf and feminine trinkets scattered about. The black eye patch covering his left eye added danger to the image of a powerful soldier. But Jana could still recall him telling her bedtime stories, drinking imaginary tea from tiny cups and tickling her until she wet herself. For all his battle scars and gruff bluster, he was her Papa.

New lines of strain had formed around his mouth this week. The assassination attempts weighed heavily on him and he let out a tired sigh as he sat on her bed. “I need to talk with you about something important.”

“All right.” Something hesitant in his tone made her raise her chin, to brace for bad news.

One calloused hand rubbed his neck. “I really don’t like doing this but I said I would, so... What do you think of Argot?”

“Argot?” She blinked several times. “Is he all right? The healer said he—”

“No, no, he’s fine. He won’t even scar.” His fingers toyed with the edge of lace on her pillow. “Well, maybe one leg, but that’s nothing. I mean, what do you think of him...as a man?”

“As a man?” Her heart began to gallop. Her father was used to issuing orders that never went unheeded, but any time he had to discuss personal matters, he fidgeted like a schoolboy. “Uh, he’s very brave. And honorable and...I like him. Why?”

“He asked me for permission to court you, inquired about a marriage contract. He’s nearing thirty summers. It’s normal for a man to begin thinking of settling down then and...” Papa shoved the pillow aside. “You don’t seem to have your heart set on anyone that I know of. Argot’s a fine soldier and a good man. You could do a lot worse.”

“I could.”

Something inside her shriveled, not in horror but in shame. Argot was a decent, caring man and she felt friendly affection for him, but marriage? She’d never considered it. Her lips went dry and she licked them, forcing the image into her mind. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at, although none would call him handsome. Like her father, menace and security radiated from him. But when he smiled, he looked like a big goofy puppy who wouldn’t harm a flea.

“You haven’t...” Papa cleared his throat and massaged his forehead. “There isn’t another man I don’t know about, is there?”

Anic Muscon’s face flashed before her eyes and she fought a shiver. If she had her way, her father would never hear that name. “No, there’s no one else.”

Unlike Anic, Argot wasn’t cruel. His massive hands could snap an enemy’s neck but had held hers with an almost reverent care when they’d danced at festivals and parties. To him, women were to be treasured, not terrorized. She’d seen him interfere once in the village when a tradesman began beating his wife, then listened to him grumble how only a weak man would strike a woman.

She, Feena, Batu and Argot had passed many nights playing games of intellect and skill. Argot had never demeaned her when she won. When she bested him at archery, he only sighed and shrugged, praising her keen eye. For two seasons, she had served as his partner at state functions and dinners. Theirs was an easy, comfortable friendship.

“Jana, I won’t force this on you. I want you to be happy. If you’re not interested, then so be it. I’ll deny his request.”

Which could cause tension between the High Captain and his protégé. No soldiers were closer than those who guarded the monarchy. She hated the thought of being a wedge between men who gave everything to protect others. A warrior’s woman guarded the home and hearth, ensuring they had all they needed to do their duty free of worry and strife. Peace was the least any wife could grant to a man who might die for his country.

For the first time, she looked at her father, trying to see him as a younger man who killed enemies like batting flies and daily put his life in jeopardy to ensure the crown’s survival. What had attracted her mother to him? Had she loved him straight away or had she grown to love him? Could she grow to love Argot?

She could indeed do far worse than a man following her father’s pathway.

“I think Argot would make a fine husband, Papa.”

His brows shot up. “Then you agree to his request?”

“I agree.”

He reached for her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. “I’ll sign the contract then. I expect he’ll call on you later when his duty allows.”

“That’s fine. I’ll look forward to it.”

She had to fight to keep her smile in place. Letting go of that childish romantic vision of a true love stung but then, all dreams had to die sometime.

* * *

Darach stared into her pale face, aware that time ticked but uncaring if he ever moved. The early night was still except for the soft cries coming from his charge. Jana. He knew her name, had tasted it in that brief touch of her mind. He had learned much about her in those few moments, things she herself did not even acknowledge. Such as he knew she feared the dark. His gaze darted to the low light of an oil lamp. A flame burned through the night while she slept and she dared call him a coward?

The rush of her heartbeat had called him from his rest and he expected to find some peril. Instead, he found her asleep. She writhed on her bed, twisting blankets as she shied from some unseen thing in her dreams. Contempt curled his upper lip. Most likely some trivial human fear had lured him out, like a mouse or perhaps an insect.

Drawing magic from the Earth, Darach squatted beside the bed and closed his eyes, his invisible mental fingers sinking deep inside the woman. He tried to delve into her soul, searching for the pathway to reach her. A wave of enormous magic knocked him to his backside.

His eyes snapped wide. Could such magic truly be unknown to her? Unbound dark golden curls spread along the pillow. He brushed a strand from her brow and a gentle fragrance rose. His keen scent drew the smell into his soul, the aroma of a cool mountain spring stirring the minerals in his blood. Such temperate waters could mask many things. Did they truly mask an untapped power?

When he was summoned, he’d done the briefest cursory touching of her mind, her powers. They were minor, a mere reminiscent seer. But this time, as she slept, a force welled from deep in her core. A thin vein of power threaded through her like silver through rock, reaching toward the surface, its immense depths hidden from view. It shocked him with the strength. How could she not know what she carried in her dreams? Did she not even realize the magnitude of her talent?

Somewhere buried in his center, an unbreakable bond welded into place. He was right to have accepted this request. He would mine the very fathoms of her soul to guide her through, show her how to harness the ability to fulfill her quest. A quest that somehow, in some way, was tied to his own destiny, if she was the miracle he now suspected.

There was only one way to know. Darach drew himself to his full height, gripped her shoulder and shook. “Wake.”

Jana leaped out of the bed. One long leg shot out and her foot connected with his groin. Pain spiraled through him. He cupped the aching flesh between his legs and fell to his knees.

She shoved her hair away from her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Hurting,” Darach gasped, his voice higher than before.

A frown turned her full mouth down. “Oh, sorry. I was dreaming.”

He stretched out his mystic touch once more. Dormant. The magic he sought had retreated into her slumber. “What did you dream?”

“Nothing.” Jana reached toward the small bedside table and raised the wick of the tiny oil lamp. Light surrounded them. “I thought you were waiting for me to call you.”

“You were in distress.” The pain seeped away. Darach sucked in a slow breath and rose from the floor. “I sensed your unease and came, expecting danger.”

Something darkened her eyes as she glanced away. “It was a nightmare. I’m sorry. I have them a lot, I always have but lately they happen more and more. It’s why I leave the lamp down low, so I can tell if I’m awake or not.”

Certainty filled him. Every word she spoke rang true to his belief. “There is darkness in your dreams?”

“Darkness.” Jana shuddered. “Pitch black. I can’t see my fingers in front of my face. And there are... Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Dreams are everything, Jana.” Laced with iron, his words drew her face upward. “You are a poor spellsinger by blood, a mediocre charmist by blood, but your destiny holds more. Look inside yourself, feel that heat, that fire of knowledge. It is there. I sense it.”

“Right.” One brow slanted. “You sensed so much you weren’t even going to stay until I insulted you.”

He bristled. “I am here now.”

“Be quiet.” She made a frantic movement with her hand. Cotton whispered against cotton as she reached for the robe she had worn earlier. She grabbed a tiny pair of slippers and a heavy cloak.

They tiptoed through a richly appointed antechamber, out a sturdy wooden door and down a dimly lit hall. Jana pressed her finger to her lips then crept past a well-lit stairwell. Not one of the posted guards turned to look as Darach followed. Down a narrow passageway, she motioned to skip the fifth step. His boots were heavy but he moved silently, stealth entwined in his nature.

Jana slid into the empty kitchen. She put her slippers on, pulled the thick wool cloak around her shoulders then slipped out the side door. Frost painted the distant mountains and sparkled on the grounds. Air misted before his face with each breath. “Where do we go?”

“Someplace no one will overhear us. Oh, you don’t have a cloak.”

“I am not chilled.”

An unfeminine snort burst from her. “I forgot. You’re a big, tough man. Suit yourself but little female me is freezing.”

“Because you are human. You are weaker.”

“Fine. I’m weak. You’re not. I’m cold. You’re not. But I have the sense not to step in fresh horseshit.” Amusement enlivened her face as she looked down. Lifting his boot, he grimaced. Jana laughed. “Come on, oh mighty guide. Let me lead you for a few minutes.”

She tucked her arm through his. Her fingers were cold against his skin. It seemed a harmless gesture, one she’d given little thought to, but Darach was extremely aware of it. His eyes bore into hers. Her eyes were the intense blue of an island cove. A pink flush tinted her cheeks, and a kiss of moonlight crossed her skin.

Dipping his head to her ear, he inhaled, taking her scent deep inside. It was primitive, raw with hunger, and spiraled a dizzying force along his bones. His head spun. What power was this? It was no magic he had ever known.

She dropped her hand and stepped away, tugging the hood of her mantle to shield her face. “This way.”

The magic faded. He shook his head to clear his mind. Although he had sensed none, she must possess some hidden charm to addle his mind. This human form was heavy, so opposite to his natural state. He must conquer these new reactions, harness them and control them. Determination flooded his essence. No frail female would keep him from his mission. He moved to a patch of frozen grass and scraped his boot sole as he would scrape her from his memory when this task was complete.

Nothing concerned him about this world or this woman except his vow. He would fulfill his promise then return home to tranquility and grace, peace and song. To a place where no blue-eyed she-demon distracted him with tantalizing fragrances from her burnt-gold hair.

She led him around the darkened grounds, the sickle moon coloring everything in an icy shade of blue. Ice sparkled on the rooftops and lined the grass, crunching beneath their feet. The stables and the greenhouses held no interest for Darach. He barely glanced at the barracks or laundry shed, and the tanner’s hut only wrinkled his nose. Soldiers crossed their paths, weapons at the ready and eyes vigilant, but they looked at her with affection and him with distrust. The hair on his nape bristled.

“You’d draw less attention wearing a cloak,” Jana whispered.

In an instant, lilac swirled around him, leaving behind a thick cloak of deepest brown. He’d mimicked the mantles of those men he’d seen, sturdy dark woolen outside with fur inside. The soft gray of Jana’s cloak suggested rabbit or maybe mink. He’d chosen as his nature dictated and lined his cloak with the thick pelt of a grizzly. It absorbed the warmth from his body in an instant.

Jana gasped and reached out, touching the fine wool. Her fingers found the edge and slipped into the thick fur along the inside. Silver tipped many of the hairs, giving a sheen to the mahogany coat. Her hand brushed his stomach and heat radiated from within him, an unseen fire that thawed an ice he hadn’t known he carried in his bones. Her hand sank deeper into the pelt and her soft exhale enchanted him.

“What animal is this?”

“It is as I am, a grizzly.”

“I can’t imagine you becoming a bear.”

“I shall and will if a need arises. For now, this form suits well.”

Her gaze drifted across his open cloak, down his bared chest and stomach. Her voice lowered to a fragile whisper. “It suits very well.”

She blinked, then stepped away. He frowned but followed her to a huge oak, gnarled and tall, its branches bare and coated in ice. The trunk, from root-showing bottom to above his head, was carved with names. This caught his attention when nothing else on the rounds had and he angled his head, drinking in the strange sight.

“Anyone in Thistlemount who wants can declare their affection here. We call it the Claiming Tree. A name here is the same as announcing a wedding. There are a few names that are so faded, nearly grown over, that you can barely read them in the full sun.”

“Is your name here?”

“No. At least, not yet.” A discord heightened her tone.