From one of the original masters of romance, New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Bertrice Small invites you back to the magical, sensual world of Hetar.

The time of peace is over. After the murder of her husband, Lara—half faerie, half human—must leave the home she has made in the Outlands and follow the destiny that has long called her. Using her brilliant sword and even sharper mind, Lara must journey toward the coast, seeking alliances to protect the future of her land. But when treachery binds her once more in chains, the green-eyed beauty is taken far beyond the world she knows. Only there will she discover that destiny has a mind of its own—and that true passion knows no boundaries.

Praise for the World of Hetar series and

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author

“Readers who enjoyed the first in [this] new series will devour Lara’s latest adventure.”

—Booklist on A Distant Tomorrow

“Small’s newest novel is a sexily fantastical romp.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Sorceress of Belmair

“Rich in colorful characters, brimming over with Small’s unique sense of erotic passion and a plot filled with mystery, the fourth title in the series is another masterpiece.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Sorceress of Belmair, Top Pick

“Small is not only a queen of erotic/adventure historicals, with the fifth book in the World of Hetar series, she is a grand mistress of erotic fantasy… With this newest story, the author demonstrates that we can ‘have it all.’”

—RT Book Reviews on The Shadow Queen, Top Pick

“The final volume in the World of Hetar delivers a fantasy lover’s delight.”

—RT Book Reviews on Crown of Destiny

A Distant Tomorrow

Bertrice Small

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For Tom and Megan with love from Ma

THE PROPHECY

From the darkness came a maiden.

From the golden light came a warrior.

From a distant tomorrow will come

Hetar’s true destiny.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Prologue

VARTAN, LORD OF THE FIACRE and head of the Outlands High Council was dead. Treacherously slain in his own hall by his jealous younger brother, Adon, who coveted the lordship.

“Now I am the ruler over the Fiacre!” Adon boldly declared, his gaze sweeping the hall. “My brother was a weak fool, but I am not.”

Adon’s wife, Elin, smiled by his side, proud to have encouraged her mate to murder.

The lady Bera, mother of the brothers, fell to her knees cradling her firstborn, glassy-eyed with shock as she stared at the blood staining Vartan’s tunic. She began to wail her mourning. But Vartan’s wife, the half-faerie woman, Lara, called silently to her sword. Andraste flew from its place above the great hearth and into her waiting hand. Her fingers closed about the sword’s hilt, and the weapon began to sing in its deep voice a song of death.

“I am Andraste, and I drink the blood of the betrayer and his ilk!”

Adon’s handsome head was immediately severed from his body. Elin’s quickly followed. Each face wore the same stunned look of astonishment as it tumbled to the floor. Greedy and stupid, they had believed a swift surprise attack on Vartan would quell any opposition. For years afterwards the Fiacre would wonder why neither Adon nor Elin had not considered what Lara would do to avenge her mate. To protect their two children.

But on that terrible day, as Bera’s bitter keening filled the air with its deep sorrow, Lara walked from the hall, her blade, dripping blood, still in her hand. Andraste was now singing low of vengeance satisfied. Suddenly all was darkness about her. Lara stopped, able to see nothing but shadows surrounding her. And then she heard Adon’s voice speaking to her from the gloom.

“Do you really believe that by killing me you have stopped it? Hetar will come, no matter. Your children will be enslaved, and the legend of the Outlands, of Vartan and Lara, will be expunged, and cast into the very darkness in which you now stand frozen.”

“I have a destiny,” Lara told the invisible voice.

Adon laughed. “To fulfill it you must leave your children. You must give them up to others, and go. I do not believe you have the courage to do that, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, widow of Vartan. You have become soft living among the Fiacre. You are no more now than an ordinary mortal.”

She felt a new anger racing through her veins. “I will do whatever I must to protect Vartan’s son and daughter!” she cried.

He laughed again. “We will see,” he said mockingly.

“How typical of you, Adon, to hide yourself from me in this darkness,” Lara said scornfully. But silence greeted her words as the darkness that surrounded her began to fade away. As it did she was filled with deep sadness. Lara realized that her time with the Fiacre was almost over.

Chapter 1

A MAN HAD RUN from the hall crying the terrible news. Lara walked on. The children! She had to get to her children. Dillon, at four, was old enough to know what had happened to his father. The Fiacre would keep his memories of his sire alive. But her year-old daughter, Anoush, would not even remember Vartan. What in the name of the Celestial Actuary had possessed Adon to commit this terrible act? She struggled to remember everything that had happened just a short while ago.

Liam, Vartan’s cousin and best friend, ran up to her. “What has happened?” he asked her, his gaze going to Andraste’s bloody blade.

“Adon killed Vartan,” Lara managed to answer him. “He walked up to him, smiling, his wretched wife at his side. And then without warning or provocation he plunged a dagger into Vartan’s heart. I suspect the tip was poisoned, for Vartan died instantly. When Adon declared himself Lord of the Fiacre, I slew them both where they stood. I must get to the children, Liam! Dillon must not learn of his father’s murder from anyone but me. And you—you must now take the lordship of the Fiacre.”

“That is the Fiacre elders’ decision,” Liam answered her. His father had been given the lordship when Vartan’s father had died many years back. When his father had gone to the Celestial Actuary to settle his debts the elders had offered the lordship to him, but he had refused it in favor of his cousin, Vartan. Liam had not wanted the responsibility of the clan, but he knew now there was no choice.

“You are the logical choice,” Lara said, and then she hurried on. Her children would be with Liam’s wife, Noss. Dillon was best friends with their son, Tearlach. Entering her friend’s house she called to her. “Noss! Where are you?”

Noss, heavy with her second child, appeared. She smiled. “Have you come for Dillon? Sit with me a while, and have some frine. The boys are having such a good time.” Then her eyes grew wide at the sight of Andraste. “What has happened?” She had not seen the sword bloodied since the great Winter War, when she and Lara had fought with their men to take back the lands of the Piaras and the Tormod clans that had been illegally confiscated by the Hetarians. Noss saw how pale Lara was, and she now led her to a seat. “Tell me.”

“Adon murdered Vartan,” Lara said, and then explained to Noss exactly what had happened.

Noss’s hand flew to her mouth to still her cry of horror. How could this have happened? And to Lara? Lara had always been so fortunate, and so filled with magic. Murder did not happen to people like that. “You do not weep,” Noss finally said.

“Ethne weeps for me,” Lara said, raising the crystal up to show Noss. The crystal was dripping tears. “I have no time to weep. I had only a brief time in which to slay Adon and his foolish wife before he would have attacked me and my children. And soon I must leave the Fiacre,” Lara said softly.

“It is time?” Noss whispered.

Lara nodded. “It is time. I am glad I followed my mother’s advice and gave Vartan children. But now I must tell Dillon that his father is dead, and his mother is leaving. Will you and Liam raise my little ones, Noss? This new journey I am about to undertake is not yours. You have found a home, a husband and a good life among the Fiacre. This is your destiny. Mine still awaits me, though I know not what it will be.”

“Of course we will take Dillon and Anoush, but do you not want Bera to have them?” Noss ventured. “She is their grandmother.”

“And they must never forget that,” Lara replied. “But Bera will have to take her other grandson as Elin’s family is dead, and I will not have Vartan’s children raised with his murderer’s son. Cam may be only two and a half, but he is already a sly and spoiled little boy. Bera will have her hands full with him. Dillon caught him pinching Anoush at the Gathering last autumn. My daughter was black-and-blue all over her tiny arms from that little monster.”

“Anoush was just a little baby last autumn,” Noss said indignantly.

“Yes, and when Dillon saw what Cam was doing he ran to his father. But Elin would not allow Cam to be punished. She said Cam was innocent, and that it was Dillon who had hurt his sister out of jealously. That her son was just looking at the baby.”

“Dillon adores Anoush, and has since her birth,” Noss cried.

Lara nodded. “Yes, I know. But Cam has no one but Bera, and her heart is too good. She saw Adon as a fool, but little else. It was a mistake.” She sipped at the frine in the cup Noss had given her. “Will you fetch my son now? I must tell him the news.”

Noss nodded, but then she said, “The elders will choose Liam to take the lordship, won’t they?”

“Yes, they will,” Lara answered. “He is the right choice.”

Noss sighed. “He never wanted it, you know.”

“I know,” Lara agreed, “but now he must accept the responsibility as his father accepted it when Vartan’s father died years ago. Liam is a strong man, and his marriage to you has settled him. He is ready. And so are you, dearest Noss.”

Noss arose. “I will fetch Dillon,” she said, and hurried off.

Lara sat silently. Instinctively she reached for the crystal about her neck. It had been a long time since she had sought Ethne’s advice. What am I to do? she asked silently. The crystal was still wet with Ethne’s tears.

You know what you must do, Ethne answered her softly. You have already begun to prepare yourself, and the Fiacre, for your departure.

I could have lived the rest of my life in contentment here, Lara told her guardian crystal.

It is not your destiny. The queen told you that you would have but a few years. Five of them have now passed. You are strong. You are ready. And it is time. The flame in the crystal flickered. I have wept your tears, Lara, that you not be weakened. But you must weep for Vartan, too. He has brought out the best in your human nature, my child.

“Mama.” Dillon stood by her side. He was his father’s image in miniature. “Noss said you would speak with me?”

Lara felt the first tears for Vartan begin to slip down her cheeks.

“Mama! What is the matter?” the little boy asked.

And she told him as her tears poured forth, clasping him to her breasts as he grew pale with the realization of what she was saying. Her hand absently stroked the dark hair on his small head. And they wept together, mother and son.

Finally Dillon’s sobs slowed, and looking into his mother’s beautiful face he said, “I will kill Adon! I will avenge my father, Mama!”

“Adon is already dead, and his wicked wife as well,” Lara told her son. “See!” She drew her sword forth, and showed him. “This is their blood that Andraste wears.”

“What will happen now, Mama?” Dillon asked her.

“The elders will chose a new lord, Dillon, for that is our way. I believe they will choose your father’s cousin, Liam,” Lara told her son.

“You are going away,” Dillon said quietly.

At first Lara was startled by the adult tone in her child’s voice, but Dillon had been intuitive since his birth. “Yes, soon,” she replied. She would not lie to him.

“This house is not fit for the Lord of the Fiacre,” he remarked. “Liam and Noss must have the hall, Mama. This place will suit grandmother and me. Anoush is too small to have a voice in this decision.” He sounded so like his father that Lara almost began to weep again.

“Yes, this will be a good home for your grandmother,” Lara agreed. “But you and Anoush will not live with her. You will remain in the hall with Liam, Noss, and Tearlach, my son. Your cousin, Cam, has also been orphaned by this tragedy. His mother had no family left. Bera will want to raise him, but I will not have you or Anoush living in the same house as the son of Adon and Elin. You will accept Liam as your lord. He will stand in your father’s stead. And Noss will care for you as I would. She owes me a great debt, though I would not remind her of it. I do not have to for she knows it in her heart. And you, my son, and your sister will treat her with the same respect that you would show me. You will honor her and you will obey her commands.”

“I will, Mama, and I will see that Anoush does, too,” he promised. Then the small boy in Dillon said, “You are not going right away, Mama, are you?” His anxious face looked up at her.

She smoothed his soft hair beneath her hand. “No, not right away,” she promised. “Now go and find Tearlach, my son, and ask Noss to join me.”

The little boy ran off to do her bidding. Lara reached for her goblet of frine, but Noss was quickly there, and stayed her hand.

“We need wine,” the younger woman said, uncorking a decanter, and pouring a fresh goblet of the strong red brew. “Here, I will join you.” She filled a second goblet. “Dillon seems all right.”

“We cried together,” Lara replied. “He knows I’m leaving.”

“You told him?” Noss was surprised.

“No,” Lara answered with a small smile. “He just knew. Don’t discourage his instincts while he is with you, Noss. I know such things tend to unsettle your nerves, but you must let whatever powers Dillon has grow and thrive.”

“I will,” Noss promised nervously.

Liam entered the house, and came to join the two women. “I could not remain in the hall,” he said. “Bera’s keening would awaken a statue. The word is spreading. I’ve dispatched messengers to all the Fiacre villages. The elders will gather in three days’ time to choose the new Lord of the Fiacre.”

“It must be sooner,” Lara said. “The clan lords will know as soon as our own people. A new head of the Outlands High Council must be chosen as well.”

“I’ll take the lordship of this clan, though reluctantly,” Liam responded, “but I am not the man to lead the Outlands. That you cannot ask of me.”

“Vartan was the one man the others trusted, and admired,” Lara spoke thoughtfully. “He was strong, and he had my counsel. Roan of the Aghy is ambitious and will seek the post, but he is too hot tempered. The best man would be Rendor of the Felan. He has a cool head, and I can advise him without his wife, Rahil, becoming jealous.”

“You will go to the Felan then?” Liam asked her.

“Only on my way to the Coastal Kingdom in Hetar,” Lara replied. “I sense that is where I am meant to be at this time.”

He nodded. Then he asked, “Did you know what would happen to Vartan?”

“No!” Lara paled, surprised and shocked by Liam’s query. “Why would you ask me such a thing? I would have given my life for Vartan as he would have for me.”

“Did you love him?” Liam pursued.

“I should not have given him children otherwise, Liam. Faerie women, even half-faerie women, only bear offspring for the men they love,” Lara said quietly. “When the war ended my mother advised me to stop trying so hard to live up to my faerie nature, and follow my heart. She said I had time. Yes, I loved Vartan. Not as much as he loved me, I know. But I did love him.”

“Forgive me, Lara,” Liam said, and bowed his head in apology to her.

“I had forgotten what it is like to be mistrusted by humans,” Lara responded. “I have been so happy here among the Fiacre. I have even felt as if I were fully human, and one of you. Until now. Now I am forced to remember who I am, and that I have a destiny to fulfill. Noss has agreed to take my children, and I hope you will concur. She can tell you why.”

“I will take Dillon and Anoush gladly,” Liam said. He was ashamed of his question, and knew that Vartan would have been angry with him for asking it. “They shall be as my own, Lara. I swear it.”

“But they must not be allowed to forget Vartan,” Lara said. “Anoush will remember neither her sire or me, I know. She will think of you and Noss as her mother and father. If she is safe and happy then I am content. Dillon, however, will remember us. My son has magic in him, Liam. It must not be discouraged.”

“I understand,” Liam answered her.

“We will speak on this again before I leave,” Lara told him. “Now I had best return to the hall and give what comfort I can to Bera. Will you keep the children a while longer?”

He nodded, watching as she turned away from him and left his house. His wife now came from the shadows where she had been standing and slipped her small hand into his big one. “Well, lass,” Liam said with a small attempt at humor, “did you ever think you would one day be the Lady of the Fiacre?” He put his other arm about her.

Noss sighed. “Seven years ago I was sold into slavery by my parents. No, Liam, I never considered I should attain such a place in this world of ours. But then I could never have imagined the adventures that I shared with Lara, or a love such as the one I share with you, my husband.” Her free hand went to her distended belly where the child within moved strongly. “You are certain the elders will select you?” Noss asked him.

“Aye, they will,” he told her. “Now I wonder if I had accepted the lordship when they first offered it to me if Vartan would still be alive.” Liam sighed.

“He had his fate to live out,” Noss counseled. “You have yours.”

“You are becoming wise with age, wife,” he teased her gently.

“Well,” Noss said pertly in reply, “I am almost twenty.” Then she grew serious. “Poor Lara, to lose her husband so cruelly. To leave her children behind. I do not envy her, despite her beauty and her faerie magic.”

“I do not envy her because she must calm Bera,” Liam said with a grimace. “The woman was in a terrible state when I finally left the hall. I think she has gone mad.”

“Lara will calm her,” Noss said with assurance.

But entering the hall and seeing the state her mother-in-law was in, Lara wondered if anyone could ease Bera’s sorrow. The older woman paced up and down the hall muttering, her long gray hair swinging with each step she took. But her eyes were blank, without emotion of any sort. The three bodies were still upon the floor where they had met their end. Lara signaled to a male servant. “Fetch some others, and remove the dead,” she ordered. “And clean Andraste before returning her to her place of honor.” She handed her weapon to the serving man.

“No!” Bera screeched, and ran to Lara. “You cannot take them from me. The bitch, yes! But not my boys. Not my boys!”

“Go,” Lara said sternly. Then she took Bera by the hand, and sat her down by the hearth. “Listen to me, Bera. You cannot dishonor Vartan by leaving his body on the stone floor. His departure ceremony must be celebrated. He was the Lord of the Fiacre as was his father before him. The elders will demand Vartan be honored properly. As for Adon and Elin, they will be put into the earth unsung.”

“From the moment he sprang forth from my womb Adon competed with Vartan,” Bera said. Her eyes were now filled with her pain. “But Vartan never complained. He treated his younger brother with kindness. It is not our way to murder our own, Lara. How could he have done it? How? It was his mate—that wretched, wretched girl! I never wanted him to wed her. She was greedy and wicked, Lara. And now because of her actions her son is orphaned. What will become of little Cam, Lara? What will happen to the child?”

“You will raise him, of course,” Lara comforted the woman.

Bera’s sorrowful face looked into Lara’s. “Yes,” she said. “I will take him.”

Lara considered telling her all that had transpired in the short time following Vartan’s brutal murder, but she decided Bera was not yet ready to hear it. “You must rest now,” she told her mother-in-law, helping her to her feet. “I will do what must be done.” She signaled to a female servant. “Take the lady Bera to her chamber and give her a small goblet of wine.” She reached into the pocket of her robes and drew out a small gilded pill. “Put this in the wine. It will aid her sleep.”

“Yes, lady,” the serving woman said, and led the grieving Bera from the hall.

Lara now turned to the servants who had entered the hall. “Six of you take the bodies of Adon and his foul wife out onto the plain,” she instructed them. “Bury them deep in a single grave, and do not mark it. Have it done before the sun sets on this day. The rest of you are to build the lord’s funeral pyre. His departure ceremony will take place in two days time at the hour of the sunset. Have his body brought to the bathhouse that I may begin the preparations.”

She watched the servants lift the body of their lord. Vartan had built the bathhouse for her when they had returned from the Winter War. The Fiacre were used to bathing in small round tubs. But Lara wanted a bath such as she had enjoyed in her time with the Shadow Princes, a large bath in which she might submerse her entire body. A bath she might share with her husband. So Vartan had surprised her with the small bathhouse after telling her he was building a new cattle shed. He had imported the marble tub from the Coastal Kingdom, along with several carved stone benches. A small sob escaped her. Had she loved him? Oh, yes! With every bit of her human heart. Now she could feel that part of her hardening again as her faerie nature took over. To be strong, to follow her destiny, she knew she had to be faerie.

Hearing a familiar clap of thunder—considerably softened, she noted—Lara looked up to see her mother, Ilona, the queen of the Forest Faeries. Ilona held out her arms to her daughter, and rising from her seat by the fire Lara rushed into them. “What has happened?” Ilona said to her daughter, and Lara told her. “Then it is time,” the queen replied.

“I know,” Lara responded. “I have already begun making arrangements for Dillon and Anoush.”

“I will take them!” Ilona said imperiously.

“Nay, I want Liam and Noss to raise them. They are Fiacre, Mother. One day Dillon might be chosen lord of his people, like his father and grandfather before him.”

“Or Liam and Noss’s lad might be chosen,” Ilona said softly.

“If that is the will of the Fiacre then so be it,” Lara answered her mother. “But you must visit them. Promise me! Dillon has been exhibiting certain instincts that must not be stifled. Anoush is too young for me to know. Tell me, how are Thanos and Cirilo?” she asked after her mother’s consort, and her half brother.

“Thanos is Thanos,” Ilona said dryly. “As for Cirilo I must admit he is everything I could want in a son, Lara. He will be a fine king one day. For now he is a typical faerie lad, getting into all kinds of mischief. He particularly enjoys teasing the Forest Lords. They have lost some of their territory on the border with the Midlands. Gaius Prospero is buying up the smaller farms and blending them into great ones. It allows him to control the price of the crops he grows. The rumor is growing again that he would be emperor of Hetar.”

“I am going to the coast,” Lara told her mother. “I feel it is where I should be now. But it has been so long since the voice within spoke to me that I am not certain I am hearing it correctly. Could I be wrong, Mother? Should I remain with the Fiacre and my children? I am suddenly unsure.”

“I am not surprised,” Ilona remarked. “It has been but hours since your husband was murdered before your eyes, since you slew his murderers. You are suffering shock, but your first thoughts are always the best ones, Lara. It is time for you to leave the Fiacre. If the voice says the coast, then that is where you must go. Do not be afraid, my daughter.”

“When you said I had time,” Lara began, “I never thought it would end this way. I expected that when the knowledge came to me, Vartan would fuss at me and try to prevent my going, no matter he said he wouldn’t. I did not expect him to die. Am I responsible for that, Mother?”

“Nay,” Ilona replied. “Vartan’s fate was his fate. His jealous younger brother was destined to slay him, for that was Adon’s fate. That you gave your heart to Vartan for a brief time, that you gave him children, had nothing to do with his end, Lara. You may believe that I speak the truth to you.

“Now I must go. Your faerie family will be here for Vartan’s departure ceremony. What did you do with Adon and his wife?”

“The ultimate shame for Outlanders. I had them buried in a secret and unmarked place,” Lara explained. “They will have no funeral pyre, or family and friends to sing their souls to the Celestial Actuary’s kingdom. They will lie beneath the earth until the flesh rots from them, is eaten by maggots and beetles, and finally their bones dissolve into the earth itself. Their souls will wander in the Limbo forever. Even Bera dare not mourn them publically. I am just sorry they have left a child.”

Ilona put a hand on her daughter’s hand. “For whatever reason, it is the will of the Celestial Actuary that they did.” She arose. “Goodbye, my daughter.” Then she was gone in her puff of purple mist, leaving a scent of flowers behind her.

Looking to where her husband’s body had lain Lara saw it was gone. She arose slowly and went to the little bathhouse where their servants had set Vartan upon a long stone bench. But for the stain of blood upon his tunic he looked as if he were sleeping. Lara bent and kissed the cold lips. “Oh, my dear love,” she whispered to him. “I am so sorry. So very sorry.” And the tears came again. When they finally stopped Lara sat down next to her dead mate, and began to assemble her thoughts.

Liam had sent word to all the Fiacre villages, but what of the other clan leaders? She would send for them by faeriepost, and transport them to the departure ceremony herself, for she knew they would want to honor Vartan. Several serving women crept into the bathhouse and looked to her for guidance. Lara rose, and working with them they stripped Vartan’s body of his bloody garments, and washed it tenderly. When the task was almost done Lara fetched the garments in which her husband would be displayed on his funeral bier. At the end of the departure ceremony the bier would be taken outside to the funeral pyre, where Lara and Dillon would light the fire that would burn Vartan’s body to ashes as all sang his soul to the kingdom of the Celestial Actuary. For an Outlander to be buried in the earth was anathema.

On his lower body they fitted him with a pair of brown leather trousers Vartan kept for special occasions. They drew his finest boots, highly polished, onto his feet. A soft linen shirt came next, and over it the tunic of his office as head of the Outlands High Council. Lara had embroidered it herself, having brought the fine material and silk threads back from their first visit to the Coastal Kingdom. The tunic was deep green in color, and the long sleeves of the garment were folded back to make a cuff that displayed the deep blue lining. She had embroidered the cuffs with silver and gold stars. On the chest of the tunic Lara had embroidered a large gold circular wheel divided by spokes. Within each segment were symbols representing the eight Outlands clans. Cattle for the Fiacre. Horses for the Aghy. Grain and flowers for the Blathma. Grain and vegetables for the Gitta. The Piaras had gold and silver rocks. The Tormod showed multicolored gemstones. The Felan displayed sheep, and the Devyn a harp for they were the poet’s clan. In the center of the wheel was a single blue star. Vartan had loved the tunic of office Lara had made for him.

“What shall we do with his hair, lady?” one of the women ventured.

“It will be tied back as he always wore it,” Lara answered her.

“Shall we fold his arms over his chest, lady?” another asked.

“No, leave them by his side,” Lara said. “He would want his tunic of office well displayed, and so do I. I want no one to forget what we have accomplished these past years in our efforts to keep Hetar in its place.”

When Vartan’s body was finally dressed, and ready to be displayed, Lara called for the Fiacre men to come and return the lord to his hall. The body was transported by means of a stretcher decked in white silk and decorated with summer flowers. The men from Vartan’s home village of Camdene took turns bearing their lord. In the hall the bier awaited. A ring of candelabra flanked it at either end. The stretcher was set in its place, and then Lara commanded them quietly to leave her. She brushed back into place a small lock of her husband’s hair that had come loose from its binding. She critically eyed the disposition of his tunic, smoothing a barely discernable wrinkle from his chest.

It was all so terribly unreal. Just a short time ago Vartan had been a vibrant, living being. Now he lay cold and silent, his big body seeming to stiffen before her eyes. His spirit had flown from him—surely it no longer inhabited his great frame.

How could this have happened? Why had she not seen Adon’s perfidy before he had the time to strike? She silently cursed her husband’s brother and Elin. Had they had any thought for what they were doing? Did they really believe that the Fiacre would accept a fratricidal murderer as their lord? That Lara would not avenge her husband to protect her children? Did they not think of their own son, Cam? She sighed. Obviously they had not.

There was still much to do. Outside the summer’s long twilight was deepening. The men sent to bury Adon and Elin returned, reporting they had done her bidding. She thanked them, and then went to the chamber she had once shared with Vartan. Taking her writing box up she wrote messages to the six other clan lords. Then she summoned six faeriepost messengers, told them where she wanted them to go, and that they were to wait for a reply. Each message said the same thing. It told of Vartan’s death, and asked that they prepare to be transported by means of her magic on the day of the departure ceremony. A new head of the Outlands High Council must be chosen before Vartan’s departure pyre was gone to ashes. The messengers flew off, and Lara, putting her writing box away, went to the kitchens.

She found the cook and the kitchen staff in various stages of weeping. Drawing a deep breath she said in a firm voice, “You must begin preparations for my husband’s departure ceremony. As many of the Fiacre as can come will be here in another day. The lords of the other clan families will be here. Would you have it said that the hospitality of the Lord of the Fiacre is poor? You cannot stand about in mourning. You have work to do!” And then turning on her heel she left them.

“She has a cold faerie heart,” one of the kitchen maids said.

“Perhaps,” the cook replied, “but it is a broken heart, I fear. Let none doubt that the Lady Lara loved our Lord Vartan with all her being.”

Lara returned to the hall to find the bier now surrounded by flowers. She smiled, and with a small incantation, made certain that the flowers would remain bright and fresh until Vartan was brought to his pyre. Gazing down at him she was again astounded at how cold and lifeless the shell that had once housed his spirit was. It had been a great spirit, which was perhaps why having gone, Vartan’s body looked so empty.

“He is not there.” Lara heard Bera’s voice in her ear.

“No, he is not,” she answered. “You should be sleeping.”

“I didn’t take the pill,” Bera said.

“She was supposed to mix it in your wine,” Lara replied with a small smile.

“Where is Adon?”

“Out on the plain with his wife,” Lara said quietly.

Bera’s eyes filled with tears, which she attempted to swallow back.

“It had to be done,” Lara told her.

“I know,” Bera agreed, “but he was my son, too.”

“He killed Vartan,” Lara responded.

“And you killed him,” Bera remarked softly.

“Aye, and I have not a moment’s regret that I did,” Lara answered her mother-in-law. “I just wish I had seen into his black heart before he murdered Vartan. Perhaps none of this would have come to pass, Bera.”

“What will happen now?”

“Liam will be chosen by the elders to be the new lord. He will come into this house, the only one in Camdene fit for a Lord of the Fiacre. You will have his house in which to raise Adon’s son, Cam.”

“What of Dillon and Anoush?” Bera asked.

“I will not have them living in the same house as Adon’s spawn. Liam and Noss have agreed to take them,” Lara told the older woman. “I cannot remain here now. I feel the pull of my destiny once again.”

“Would this have happened if Vartan had not married you?” Bera wondered aloud, and then hastily said, “I am sorry.”

“My mother says his fate was his fate,” Lara answered. “I expect that is true.”

Bera nodded. “Do your children know what has happened?”

“I have told Dillon. Anoush is too small to understand,” Lara responded.

“I think I will return to my chamber and take that pill now,” Bera said. “I am suddenly very tired, Lara. You should get some sleep, too. The next few days will be very busy, my daughter.”

“I know,” Lara agreed. “I will rest soon.” She walked the older woman to the staircase that led to her chamber. Then she returned to the hall and stood by Vartan’s bier. “I did not know it would end this way, Vartan,” she said softly. “I swear I did not know.”

THE ELDERS of the Fiacre arrived to hold their meeting and choose a new leader of the clan. Their first instinct was to delegate Lara, but she refused, explaining to them why she could not accept the honor, and asking if they wanted her counsel. They did, and she named Liam before departing to let them debate the matter. Finding her own bed she did not even bother to undress, and falling into it slept until the next morning.

The day dawned bright and warm. Lara arose and washed her face and hands. Smoothing the wrinkles from her gown, she went out into the hall, which was already filling with clansmen and women. Vartan’s cousin, Sholeh, headwoman of the village of Rivalen, had arrived. As she stood taller than many men, Lara saw her immediately. The two women hugged wordlessly.

“Where is Bera?” Sholeh asked.

“It was too much for her,” Lara answered.

“You have done it all yourself?”

“He was my husband, Sholeh,” Lara said.

“You have done well, and Vartan would be proud,” Sholeh replied. “Where is that snake, Adon?”

“I slew him and his wife while Vartan was yet warm,” Lara replied.

Sholeh nodded. “It was well done, Lara. And they are buried?”

“Out on the plain in an unmarked place,” Lara said.

“I curse them both!” Sholeh said fiercely. “You will lead the Fiacre yourself now. It is your right, and you were half my cousin’s wisdom, I know.”

“Thank you,” Lara said, “but no. Liam shall be the new Lord of the Fiacre. You cannot be dissatisfied with him. The elders in their usual way wanted to meet in three days and debate the succession, but I saw they met last night instead. Liam was the natural choice. I will not remain with the Fiacre much longer. I am being called from the Outlands.”

“I will be sorry to see you go,” Sholeh told her companion. “But Liam is not the man to lead the High Council, I fear. Who will you put your influence behind? Roan of the Aghy? He would take it in a minute, you know.”

Lara shook her head. “Roan is too hot tempered. Rendor of the Felan would be my choice. He is a wise and thoughtful man. The responsibility will cause him to rise to the challenge of being head of the High Council. He will not fail the Outlands.”

“Roan will not be pleased,” Sholeh noted.

“We need a military leader as well,” Lara said with a smile.

“Damn!” Sholeh exclaimed. “We are losing a valuable advisor in you, Lara.”

“I will not leave the Fiacre forever,” she said. “My children will remain here with Noss and Liam. Bera must raise Cam. I won’t have my children in the same house as the son of their father’s murderer.”

“You’re right,” Sholeh agreed. “Now, if I can help you in any way—”

“You are family. I welcome your aid,” Lara responded.

The Fiacre clan came and went from the hall, paying their respects to their fallen lord. No one would be sent away. Every structure in the village was filled with the mourners, and many bedded down in the fields surrounding Camdene. One by one, Lara brought the other clan lords to her hall to pay their respects to Vartan. They would be guests within her home until the departure ceremony was concluded.

Roan of the Aghy at once noted the need for a meeting of the clan leaders. To his surprise and pleasure, Lara agreed with him.

“You cannot leave this matter for another day,” she told them. “Tonight when all have gone to their beds we will meet. Liam will stand in my husband’s place, but I will be at his side as I was at Vartan’s.”

The clan lords nodded.

“Word of this will spread quickly to Hetar. Before Vartan’s pyre is ashes you must send word to Hetar’s High Council that you have a new leader,” Lara continued.

Heads nodded in agreement with her. The day passed. The house of the slain leader fed all in Camdene. It was their responsibility to do so although the cook fretted that they were going to run out of supplies before it was all over. Lara assured him that if it became necessary she would call upon her magic to keep their larders full. Finally, the dark came. Fires burned on the plains surrounding Camdene indicating the campsites of many mourners. It was time.

“My lords,” she said to the clan heads who were sitting by the hall fire, “I believe the time is now come to open the discussions. No one can replace my husband’s leadership, but you must choose a new head of the High Council now, and send word of your choice to the City. You cannot allow Hetar’s government to believe the Outlands are in disarray, or weakened by Vartan’s murder.”

“I would put forth Roan of the Aghy,” Floren of the Blathma quickly said.

“Perhaps we should first ask the lady Lara if she has a preference,” Accius, the clan leader of the Devyn said. He was certain that she did have a choice, and he was curious to know who it was.

“I thank the great bard lord of the Devyn for his courtesy in soliciting my opinion,” Lara began, and several of the men smiled for they knew her well enough by now to recognize that she was about to surprise them with her own ideas. “Given what has transpired over the last five years it is obvious to me, nay, necessary, that we need both a head of our council, and a war leader as well. I have heard disturbing rumors of late that Gaius Prospero will soon crown himself emperor of Hetar. This man is no friend of the Outlands. Roan of the Aghy is a great warrior, equal to my own husband,” she flattered the horse lord. “It must be he you choose for your military leader. For head of the High Council, however, I will put my faith in Rendor of the Felan. He is not easily brought to anger. He is thoughtful, and his advisement wise. He is more than equal to the challenge of dealing with Hetar,” she concluded, her gaze sweeping them all.

“But he is not the warrior Roan is,” Floren said.

“Nay, he is not,” Lara agreed quietly. “And if there is war again, Roan will lead the Outlands, with your approval. But you need a man with a knack for diplomacy in treating with Hetar. Rendor made friends with the Coastal Kings years ago, and that friendship has never wavered. Indeed, it has grown stronger with the passing of time.” She arose from her place among them. “Let me go and fetch you refreshments while you discuss this among yourselves,” Lara told them. She glided across the room to prepare a tray of wine.

“You are silent, Rendor,” Imre of the Tormod said.

“I am astounded,” Rendor answered him.

“She said nothing of this to you beforehand?” Torin of the Gitta asked.

Rendor shook his head. “Nothing. I am as surprised as you are.”

“What think you, Roan?” Accius of the Devyn queried the horse lord.

“I think I have been neatly and nicely outmaneuvered,” Roan chuckled. “I do not like to admit it, but Lara is right. I am the man to lead you in war, but I am not the man to lead you in or to peace. Rendor of the Felan is that man.”

“My cousin would find it amusing that it takes two of you to replace him,” Liam told them with an engaging grin.

His companions laughed heartily, nodding in agreement.

“Can we agree upon this solution then,” Accius asked them. “Rendor for peace, and Roan for war?”

“I will call the roll,” Lara said returning with a tray of nine goblets. Passing them about she took the last cup, and began. “Rendor for peace. Roan for war. Petruso of the Piaras—aye or nay?”

Petruso, who was a mute, nodded vigorously his aye.

Lara called the others in sequence. “Imre of the Tormod?”

“Aye!”

“Floren of the Blathma?”

“Aye!”

“Torin of the Gitta?”

“Aye!”

“Liam of the Fiacre?”

“Aye!”

“Accius of the Devyn?”

“Aye!”

“Roan of the Aghy?”

“Aye!”

“Rendor of the Felan?”

“Aye!”

“Then it is settled,” Lara said.

“Not quite,” Rendor told them. “You have not given us your vote, Lara.”

“I am not a member of the council,” Lara replied.

“Nay, you are not,” he agreed, “but you are the founder of this council, and in a matter as important as this one I believe you should have the right to vote.”

The other lords murmured in agreement with Rendor.

Quick tears sprang up behind her eyelids to sting her eyes. Lara nodded her acknowledgment of the honor they were giving her. “In the matter of Roan and Rendor, the founder of the council votes aye,” she said. Then she raised her goblet. “To the Outlands,” she toasted, and they raised their goblets to join her, their voices strongly echoing hers.

“To the Outlands!”

The meeting broke up, the lords going to their sleeping places, but Rendor remained behind to speak with Lara.

“You might have told me,” he said dryly.

“If I had you would have refused me,” Lara answered him. “Your genuine surprise at my choice proved to the others there was no collusion between us. Given what has happened, Rendor, my friend, there was no time for the clan lords to debate and argue over this matter. We needed to settle the succession quickly. I have soothed Roan’s ego, and believe me that none of the others wanted the position themselves.”

“Sometimes you frighten me, Lara. You know each of us far too well, I think.”

“I will be leaving the Outlands soon,” she told him quietly. “I am called once again by my destiny.”

“But we need you!” he exclaimed.

Lara shook her head. “You flatter me, Rendor, but I will not leave you defenseless, I promise. Whatever mischief Gaius Prospero is brewing up I will counter.”

“How?” he wanted to know. “If you are not here how can you help us?”

“I am only going to King Archeron. Gaius Prospero is not as powerful as he believes. In the City and the Midlands, aye! But the Shadow Princes scorn him, and the Coastal Kings will not cooperate with him because it would not be in their interests to do so. As for the Forest Lords, they have their own difficulties. They may agree to support the Master of the Merchants, but their support will amount to little or nothing. Your friends and mine will protect the Outlands from any trouble.”

“Will you remain with Archeron?”

“I don’t know, but I do not think so,” Lara answered.

“Where will you go?”

“I cannot say. All I can tell you is that for now I must go to the coast,” Lara said. “But I will not go until autumn. I still have things to do to help ease the transition between Vartan’s rule and yours, and between Vartan and Liam.”

“Your children?” he asked.

“Are Fiacre, and will remain here,” she told him.

He nodded. Then he said, “Rahil will be overwhelmed by this.”

“I will speak with her when I visit you,” Lara assured him.

“Lara, I am so sorry,” Rendor told her.

“I am sorry, too,” she replied, putting her hand on his. “I never imagined an ending like this. Oh, I knew one day I would be called again, but I thought when that time came and I prepared to go, Vartan would grumble and complain, but in the end he would keep his promise to me for he was not a man to break his promises. My mother says it was his fate to die at Adon’s hand. I do not understand such a fate, Rendor.”

“Nor do I, Lara,” Rendor said.

“I suppose that lack of understanding is my human side,” Lara told him with a small smile. “But my heart has become cold and faerie again. If it had not, I should not be able to do what I must.”

“I will lead the Outlands to the best of my abilities,” Rendor promised her.

“I have great faith in you,” she replied. “So did Vartan.”

The lord of the Felan began to weep softly. “I cannot believe my friend is gone,” he said. “Just weeks ago we met on the plains and spoke of the autumn’s Gathering. He wanted me to bring my finest wool cloth for you to choose from so he might have a new cloak made for you for winter.”

“He was thoughtful that way,” Lara replied. She had to get away from Rendor. If she did not, she knew she would collapse in a fit of weeping. “It is late,” she said. “I must find my bed, Rendor. Tomorrow will be a busy day for me, and Bera is quite helpless now.” She patted the hand in hers, and pulled free. “Good night, my friend.” Then she hurried from the hall to her own chamber.

Safely locked within the room she had shared with Vartan, Lara did give way to a small spell of weeping, but only to release the tensions that had been building up within her ever since Vartan’s death two days ago. Two days! The time had gone so quickly. She bathed her face and hands, and kicking off her slippers, lay down. She had done what she needed to do with regards to the Outlands. Rendor did not have her husband’s stature, but he would be respected by Hetar in time. She had been surprised to find an ally in Accius of the Devyn. She suspected her job to turn the clan lords from Roan’s candidacy would have been more difficult without him. She must remember to thank him.

Now all that remained was to plan more carefully for the children. She would leave them at summer’s end, before the Gathering. It would give her time to prepare Dillon, and guide Liam as Vartan would have had him guided. And Noss must understand that from time to time Ilona would visit her grandchildren. She must not be fearful of the queen of the Forest Faeries. Lara smiled to herself at the thought of trying to forge a friendship between her mother and Noss. Her eyes began to grow heavy. Tomorrow would be a long, important day. And at its end she and Dillon would light Vartan’s funeral pyre at the very moment of the sunset, thereby ensuring her husband’s journey from the light into the light. She felt the tears beginning to come again.

“Vartan,” she whispered to the night. “Why did it have to end this way?” But there was no answer. Lara wondered if there would ever be. She sighed, resigned. She should know better than anyone, she thought, that the lines between the worlds were firm once a soul had crossed into the next life. Vartan might look down on them from the realm of the Celestial Actuary, but Lara would never again hear his voice.

Chapter 2

IT WAS THE LONGEST DAY of the year in the Outlands when Vartan of the Fiacre was sent off to the kingdom of the Celestial Actuary. Not a cloud spoiled the clear blue sky. The sun shone down the day long as Vartan was feted, feasted and toasted. There were almost as many people as at the yearly Gathering in the autumn, and Lara realized that many members of the other clan families had somehow managed to come to pay homage to her husband. The day long she moved among them with her son, Dillon, speaking to those she knew, accepting condolences from strangers who approached her with tales of Vartan’s kindness to them once, seeing to everyone’s comfort. That they had food, that they had drink, that they had shelter from the hot summer sun.

Many spoke of the grave maturity of Vartan and Lara’s young son, Dillon, especially when he had walked from the hall leading those bearing his father’s body to the funeral pyre. He had accompanied his mother the day long, his demeanor almost protective of her. She spoke to him in low, quiet tones, pointing out certain members of the various clans; introducing him to the men who might someday be of help to him. Dillon gave his hand to these men, and looked directly at them with Vartan’s eyes. Many were startled by the adult behavior of such a young boy. But Dillon, son of Vartan, knew on the day of his father’s departure ceremony that he would never again be a child.

A delegation of Shadow Princes led by Kaliq, Lara’s former lover and mentor, had arrived in early afternoon. Lara had come close to weeping when she saw them. She let Kaliq enfold her in his tender embrace, and heard the words of comfort he silently offered her without speaking. The words were for no one else but her. Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries, came with her consort, Thanos, and their son, Lara’s half brother Cirilo. Lara had never seen this sibling before, and she was enchanted by him. He was very faerie, but more her mother than Thanos. He greeted his much older sister with a smile and a kiss that was like being brushed by butterfly wings.

Lara recalled at that moment that she had two half brothers. She wondered how Mikhail was doing. It had been seven years since she had seen him. He would be almost eight years old now, but he would look nothing like the golden-haired Cirilo.

As the sun began to sink toward the horizon the final preparations were quickly executed. The Outlanders gathered about the funeral pyre in an almost completed circle; the circle broken only to leave clear a view of the setting sun. The sky was a magnificent panorama of colors. Blue, pink, mauve, purple, red, orange, pale green and gold played over the faces of the assembled mourners. Lara and Dillon, escorted by Liam and Rendor, stood before the pyre. Bera, her face haggard with her grief, handed widow and orphan their lit torches. All was absolutely still, and not a breeze stirred. As the sun began to make its final descent below the horizon Lara and her son lit the funeral pyre. As the flames sprang up to engulf Vartan’s body the sun disappeared. But in the skies above a comet streaked over the Outlands, trailing a shower of silvery stars. A gasp of wonder arose from the mourners.

Lara caught Kaliq’s gaze. Thank you, she told him silently. His magic had but added to the legend that had already begun to grow surrounding Vartan of the Fiacre, who had found his half-faerie wife wandering on the plains one day, and brought her home where she became a blessing to all Outlanders. The tears began to slip down her beautiful face as the flames leaped higher, the fire crackling, hissing and roaring with its growing power. Dillon stood by her side, his small hand in hers. They did not leave the pyre until it finally collapsed into a pile of glowing coals and gray ash. When the fire was gone entirely a wind sprang up, scattering the ashes across the plains of the Outlands until nothing was left but a blackened spot where the pyre had once stood. And Lara knew she had her mother to thank for this final act of mercy. Liam and Rendor, who had remained by her side now escorted her back into the hall, Liam picking up the exhausted Dillon, carrying him. The boy was asleep by the time they entered the house.

Thanos and Cirilo came to bid Lara farewell, but Ilona would remain a while longer with her daughter. The Shadow Princes had gone, but for Kaliq. The rest of the clan lords had each joined their own people. Bera was nowhere to be seen. Food had been set upon the high board, and Lara, dismissing the servants, now invited her remaining guests to table. There were roasted meats and poultry, summer vegetables, bread, butter, cheese and fresh fruit. And there was wine and ale aplenty. They ate in silence, but finally, when there was nothing left to eat, the queries began.

“When do you mean to leave Camdene?” Ilona asked her daughter.

“Before autumn,” Lara responded. “I will not leave my children so quickly since they have just lost their father. Anoush will not understand, but I must prepare Dillon more. He understands, but he does not really understand. He must before I go.”

“Where will you go?” Kaliq wanted to know.

“To the sea,” she said.

He smiled, and caught Ilona’s eye. “It is time now.”

Lara could not help but chuckle softly. “Do not act so mysterious with me, Kaliq. You surely remember how I dislike it.”

“You have lived too long among ordinary mortals, Lara,” he told her gravely. “No offense, my lords,” he nodded to Rendor and Liam.

“I am an ordinary mortal,” Lara told him.

“Your mortal half is hardly ordinary,” he said, “and you have a magical half as well in the faerie blood that runs in your veins. You did not just decide that you would depart the Outlands for the coast. And you knew that to remain here was not your fate. Your destiny is once again calling to you, and you will fulfill that destiny. Even if Vartan had not died you would have followed the voice within. You have no other choice.”

“And when I reach the coast, what am I supposed to do?” she demanded.

“You will know what to do when the time is right to do it,” he responded.

Lara threw a grape at him. “Kaliq, you grown more annoying with each word you utter.” And then she laughed. “But the last time you pushed me out the door to follow my fate I found Vartan. I wonder what is in store for me this time?”

“Wherever you go,” Ilona said, “you are always protected, and your magic will aid you, my daughter. You must remember that although there may be times when your fears will overcome you, push them back, and remember the words I speak to you now. You are protected, Lara.”

“I would return your horse to you,” Lara suddenly said to Kaliq. “Dasras cannot come where I must eventually go.”

“No,” Kaliq replied. “He cannot go with you, but leave him among the Fiacre in your son’s care, Lara.” Then he turned his gaze onto Liam. “Roan will seek to gain the beast from you, my lord. Do not let him have Dasras, no matter how tempted you may be by the gold or other inducements he may offer you. I will know if you betray me in this matter, Liam of the Fiacre, and my judgment will be swift and harsh. Do you understand me, my lord?”

“The horse will remain among the Fiacre, and we will protect him from any who would seek to gain him,” Liam promised, not in the least offended by the Shadow Prince’s threat. The prince was a magical being and thus to be respected.

Kaliq turned back to Lara. “Keep Andraste and Verica with you always,” he told her. “Verica will advise you, and Andraste is your protection. Never be parted from them, but if you are, just call to them when you need them, and they will come to you. They are both made so that no one else can either use them, or keep them from you.”

“Now you are beginning to intrigue me,” Lara answered him. “This will not simply be a visit to the Coastal Kings, will it, Kaliq?”

He smiled his beautiful smile at her, but said nothing.

Lara laughed. “My destiny must unfold in a certain manner,” she said. Then she grew serious. “Tell us, Kaliq, what is happening in the City. I know you have your representatives there in the council.”

“Indeed,” Kaliq replied. “In the five years since the Winter War,” he began, “Gaius Prospero has worked diligently to regain his popularity among the people, and his influence among the guilds, and magnates. It has cost him a great deal of gold, I would imagine. But then, he stole a great deal from the Outlands. The City is growing, and expanding. For lack of conflict the Mercenaries and the Crusader Knights sit idly in their respective quarters. The wealthy continue to live comfortably, the wiser among them discreetly, while the foolish waste their considerable resources in vulgar and conspicuous consumption and the poor barely subsist.

“Gaius Prospero has managed to avoid an all-out famine so far. He feeds the people with grain from his own granaries and diverts them with lavish entertainments. He does what he must to keep order, and to further his own ambitions.”

“I have heard that the Midlands is now expanding into the territory of the Forest Lords,” Lara said.

“Aye, ’tis true,” Ilona answered her daughter. “It was subtle at first. A few trees here and a few there as the Midlands folk sought to cultivate new fields to replace the worn and tired soil of their lands. Without these new fields they cannot feed the City. If this happens, anarchy is bound to erupt. People will tolerate much, but starvation is a cruel spur to those already discontented.”

“They have also expanded into the edges of our desert realm where the soil is still able to sustain some small growth,” Kaliq told his listeners. “But it is difficult for them, for they must irrigate the land there, and that means water from the Forest Lords.”

“And they have cooperated?” Lara was surprised.

“Gaius Prospero seems to have some hold over them that he did not previously have,” Ilona said.

“He has learned, then, of my grandmother’s curse upon the Forest Lords,” Lara reasoned. “That has to be it, for Enda would not give either an inch of forest soil or his water unless he felt that the illusion the Forest Lords built up was threatened. To reveal to Hetar that their bloodlines are no longer pure is tantamount to their destruction. What of the Forest Faeries, Mother? Are you not also threatened by this incursion into the forest?”

“We live in the deepest part of the wood, Lara,” her mother said. “And we live on another plane of existence from the mortals of Hetar. You could walk through our palaces and never know you were there, for you would not see them. Well, perhaps you might, but then you are faerie. But if one day the forest that sustains us is taken away we, like so many others in the magic realms, will be refugees. Pray the Celestial Actuary it never comes to that,” Ilona said.

“The continuance of the status quo within Hetar depends on the people being content,” Kaliq said. “This means they must be fed, and kept busy. Without work there is no coin to purchase even the cheapest goods. This affects not just the poor but the rich as well, for their wealth comes from the goods and services they make, manage and provide. And there are more without than with,” Kaliq noted. “Unless something is done they will rise up against their masters. The Master of the Merchants, Gaius Prospero, lobbies hard to be made emperor. He says that times are changing, and Hetar must change with the times. That an emperor will renew Hetar, and that he can solve its problems, but only if he is emperor, and fully in charge. Hetar must expand its borders to avoid chaos, and while the City has eaten into the borders of two of its own provinces, the most logical place for Hetar to come is into the Outlands with its vast tracts of land.”

“We will fight them!” Rendor declared.

“They are many, and your clan families few,” Kaliq said pragmatically. “They will overcome you with the might of their Mercenary Guild and Crusader Knights. They will enslave your peoples, and take all you possess for themselves. Those of us who are of the magical realm cannot allow that to happen. A great war would bring more problems than it would solve, for all of us, both magic and mortal. We helped you in the Winter War, and now we will help you before another war begins. But we cannot protect you forever,” he said quietly. “Lara came to you for a purpose. To alert you to the danger. To show you that the magic world was not to be feared so we might help you when this time came,” Kaliq continued. “But it is not enough that we do so. Lara must now leave you so that she may follow the destiny that will one day bring peace to all of Hetar.”

“But how can that happen,” Rendor asked, “if Hetar has too many people, and not enough lands, and we have lands but too few people? If we were willing to share some of our lands with Hetar they would probably accept, and then seek to take more and more until they had it all. They do not respect us, my lord prince. They call us barbarians although they surely know better, especially after the Winter War. They seek to wipe all vestiges of our clan families from history, leaving only themselves.”

Kaliq smiled. “You are wise to understand that, Rendor of the Felan, head of the Outlands High Council.”

“Then how can you help us?” Rendor persisted.

“We will place magical barriers about the Outlands so that none with wicked intentions may pass through those gates and into your lands.”

Rendor nodded. “And what are we to do then?”

“You will live your lives as you always have, in peace, going about your daily business,” Kaliq said.

“And Lara? Where will she go, and will she come back to us?” Rendor asked.

“Do not ask him questions he cannot or will not answer,” Lara chuckled. “He will speak to you in riddles as he does to me when I inquire of him that which he does not wish to impart. Such answers will only hurt your head as they do mine. I am content to go, Rendor, knowing that my beloved Outlands will be safe in my absence. I will not leave you forever. I will be back. After all, my children are Outlanders.”

“I think we have concluded our business here,” Kaliq said to those about the board. “Ilona, have you anything you wish to say before we take our leave of Lara and her friends?”

“Rendor, because you now stand in Vartan’s place, and you, Liam, because you will care for my grandchildren, I give you permission to call my name should you need me. This is my gift to you, and a privilege allowed few, especially mortals.”

The two Outlander lords bowed low to the faerie queen and thanked her for her generosity.

Ilona then embraced her daughter. “I will see you before you leave Camdene, for I intend that my grandchildren know me well before you go that I may help to comfort them when you are gone. Is your Noss competent to care for Dillon and Anoush? I seem to recall she was a girl afraid of her own shadow.”

Lara smiled, and stroked her mother’s delicate cheek. “She is grown now, the parent of one son, and another soon to come. Her marriage has given her confidence, Mother. My son and daughter will be safe with her, and loved, too. Having to leave them is what I feared when I gave Vartan children, but I always thought their father would be here with them.” She sighed. “But they will have you, Bera, Liam, Noss and a whole clan of Fiacre who will watch over them, for they are Vartan’s offspring.”

“Beware Bera,” Ilona advised.

“Why?” Lara wanted to know. “She has always been good to me, and she adores Dillon and Anoush.”

“The death of her sons, the manner in which each died, remains with her, and always will. She cannot forgive Adon for his murder of Vartan, Lara. But neither can she forget that you slew Adon. She will appear to recover eventually, but she will never quite be the same again. What has happened to her has brought a madness into her soul. It lies beneath the surface of her sanity. She will raise Cam to be every bit as heroic as Vartan, but there is evil in that child’s blood that cannot be extinguished. One day he will have to be slain, too, for the sake of the Fiacre. It would have been better if he had never been born,” Ilona declared vehemently.

“Then teach my children to be wary of him,” Lara said.

Ilona nodded. “I must go. I will be back before you leave here.”

The two women embraced, and the men with them marveled that they looked more like sisters than mother and daughter, such was the faerie blood. There was a small thunderclap, and Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries, with a wave of her hand disappeared into her cloud of purple haze.

Lara now turned to Kaliq and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, my dear friend, for coming on this day of days. Will I see you again?”

“If it pleases you,” he told her.

“Do you still love me, Kaliq?” she asked him, curious.

“I will always love you, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” he told her. And then he was gone, seeming to evaporate into the very shadows that had suddenly arisen to surround him.

Lara was now left with but two companions. She turned to them saying, “I am tired, and will find my bed. Rendor, pray do not leave Camdene until we have spoken in private again.” Then she turned away from them and was gone from the hall.

Rendor and Liam now found seats by the hall fire that they might speak privily. A servant appeared, bringing them cups of wine, and was then gone again.

“I am almost frightened by what has transpired here this night,” Liam said. “It would appear great changes are coming to all of us. What part we are to play in those changes I cannot tell.” He sighed. “I have never wanted to lead the Fiacre, I should have been content being Vartan’s cousin and friend, Noss’s husband, and father to my children.”

“The elders would not have chosen you had they not felt you were the right man,” Rendor said. “Remember that once before they asked you.”

“They asked because my father had been lord of this family after Vartan’s father died,” Liam answered him. “It was a matter of pure courtesy. They knew Vartan was the man who should lead us, and so did I.”

“And yet they have chosen you now,” Rendor noted. “I think, Liam, that you underestimate yourself and your abilities. As for the great changes to come, and what should be done, I believe we should follow the Shadow Prince’s advice. We will live as we have always lived.”

“Do you think that magic can really protect us from Hetar’s greed?” Liam said.

“I do,” Rendor replied. “Prince Kaliq would not have said it otherwise.” Of course, Kaliq had also said magic could not protect them forever. But perhaps it would serve long enough for Lara to find the destiny that would save them all from disaster. He emptied his cup. “It has been a long day, my friend,” he said to Liam. “I think I shall find my bed now.”

Liam stood up. “I had best be getting home,” he responded. “Noss is near her time, and she likes me with her.”

In her bedchamber behind the hall Lara lay sleepless. Vartan was gone. Every vestige of him was gone, burned in the fire that freed his soul from his body. He would be remembered in the oral history of the Outlands by the Devyn bards who were already singing of him. Once his generation had departed this world there would be few remaining who would remember the man, but they would know the legend of Vartan, Lord of the Fiacre. She wept silently again in the darkness of the night for the man who had been her mate. He had been a good man, a great leader. He had made a safe haven for her among the Fiacre. She was angry that fate dictated his demise, and yet had he lived, he would have resisted her going. And had he lived, would she even have heeded the calling of the voice within her? Ilona might claim that her daughter was not responsible for Vartan’s death, but Lara was not at all certain of that. She was beginning to realize that this destiny she had put from her mind these last five years was bigger than even she could imagine. And she was still not certain of what exactly it was. She turned onto her side, punching at her pillows, and tried to sleep.

She had the summer ahead to consider, long days of warm sun and gentle breezes to spend with her children. Days in which she would prepare Dillon for life without either of his parents. She most regretted that her daughter was so young. Anoush would not really remember either her mother or her father, and that was a tragedy. But Dillon could tell his little sister of their parents as long as he could remember them. Vartan’s face was already receding from her. Would her son’s memory be any better? And what of Cam, Adon’s son? They had never been friends to begin with, but Bera would surely try to foster a relationship between the cousins. Lara was not certain what to do about that. It seemed sad to deny Cam his place among them, but had not her own mother warned that Cam would be a troublesome child, and a dangerous man?

AT SUNRISE, Lara awoke surprised, for she had not remembered falling asleep the night before. Stretching she considered the day ahead. Rendor would want to leave today, and she must speak with him before he did. And she, Noss and Liam must decide the time for the new Lord of the Fiacre to move into the lord’s house. It should be soon, for until Liam had made the house his there would be those who would always consider it Vartan’s house—such was the nature of the Fiacre. She sat up, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. First she wanted a bath. Slipping a house robe over her nakedness she slipped through a small door that led outside to a pergola thick with flowering vines that shaded the path to the bathhouse.

In the hall the servants were already at their daily tasks. With the old lord buried and gone, they returned to their comfortable routine. As they worked they gossiped with one another for they had heard that the new lord would be moving into the house shortly. Was it really true? When? But no one knew, and then Rendor, the lord of the Felan, and new high council leader was coming to the high board, and needed to be fed. Lara joined him shortly afterwards, fresh from her ablutions.

“You look tired,” Rendor noted as she sat down next to him.

“I am,” Lara admitted. “I don’t think I have slept well since Vartan’s death.”

“But now you have the summer ahead with your children,” he remarked.

“I will come to you before the Gathering,” Lara told him. “Will you escort me to King Archeron’s palace?”

“Of course,” he said, “but what of the Fiacre?”

“When the day comes I will leave quietly. It is always best to leave quietly,” Lara said softly. “I will use my magic to come to you. But I would ride to King Archeron’s palace as we once did when Vartan first met him.”

“You have entrusted me with a great responsibility, Lara,” he said changing the subject.

“You were the perfect choice, Rendor. You have dignity and you have presence, which will be crucial in dealing with Hetar. First impressions are important with them. If you show them a strong leader they will respect you if for no other reason than the way you appear to them. But you are also wise, and will not be easily fooled by them. If they manage to get through the magic barriers that the Shadow Princes erect around the Outlands, be wary, and put off dealing with them as long as you can. Do not allow them to press you into any quick decisions, my friend. Hetarians are crafty folk,” she concluded with a small smile. “Do not allow their charm and exquisite manners to lull you in a false sense of security. They are not to be trusted.”

“If the magic barrier is strong, will they be able to get through?” Rendor wondered.

“The princes said those with no evil intent will pass between the two lands easily. Those who wish to treat with you first will be harmless. And it is better that Hetar not know of the magic that will protect the Outlands from them—at least not right away,” she chuckled. “What the princes have done is to protect the Outlands from a military attack, Rendor. But there are different kinds of invasion. You must beware of a more subtle incursion by Hetar.”

“You have given me much to consider,” Rendor said.

“You will have to tell each clan lord before they leave today of the prince’s gift to the Outlands so they will not be afraid. And so that Roan may not frighten them into a war that need not be fought at all,” Lara advised.

Rendor chuckled. “Roan would be most distressed to learn how well you know him.”

“Then perhaps it is better we not tell him,” Lara replied with a small smile.

“If you had not this destiny of yours to follow I think you would have made the Fiacre an excellent clan leader, Lara,” Rendor told her. “You are truly an amazing woman, and it is the Fiacre’s loss that you must leave them.”

“I have given the Fiacre my counsel for five years now, and I have given them Vartan’s son and daughter. I cannot imagine being here without Vartan. But one day I will return, for this is where I mean to live out my days, Rendor. Keep the Outlands safe for me.”

“I will try,” he responded, and then he arose. “I must go now. The journey home will not be nearly as easy as it was coming here.” He grinned at her.

“I suppose I could transport you all back to your lands,” Lara said thoughtfully.

He laughed. “You would frighten those of my clan who came to pay Vartan homage, and are not used to your magic. No. We will ride home.” He took her hand in his, and putting it first to his heart, then kissed it, bowing to her as he did so. “Farewell, Lara. Rahil and I will look forward to your coming in early autumn.”

“I will send word before I come,” she promised him as she walked outside to see him off. And then she went to each of the clan lords, bidding them and their clan people farewell, and thanking them for coming to honor Vartan’s life and last journey. Bowing to each group she said the same words. “I appreciate the homage you offered my husband as he departed for the realm of the Celestial Actuary.” She stood as each group departed. Finally, Camdene was as it should be on a midsummer morning. The streets were quiet. The men in the fields tended to the crops and the clan’s herds of cattle. The women went about the business of childcare, housework and gardening. Lara returned to the hall to find Bera awaiting her.

“We must talk,” her mother-in-law said calmly. But the calm surrounding Bera was so fragile that Lara could almost see it.

“Come, and sit,” Lara invited the older woman. “Have you eaten?” She brought Bera to the high board, and signaled to a servant to bring food.

“Everything tastes like sawdust now,” Bera remarked.

“I know,” Lara agreed as she poured a goblet of wine for Bera.

Bera drank slowly, and then she set the goblet down. “What is to happen now, Lara?” she asked the young woman in a plaintive tone. “You were Vartan’s wife. These decisions are yours to make now.”

“I think it best that Liam have this hall that has been for so many years the center of Camdene. I know his father did not rule from here, but both Vartan and his father did,” Lara began. “Now that our people must deal more with Hetar it is important that the clan lord have a fine dwelling. And frankly, Liam and Noss will need a larger house with four children to raise.”

“Four?” Bera looked confused. “I thought there was but one, and another to come soon. Has my poor mind gone entirely?”

“Liam and Noss will be raising Dillon and Anoush for me,” Lara said. “I cannot have them living in the same house as Adon’s son, Bera. I am sorry. That is why my children have not been here these past few days, but have remained with Noss. You will be moved to Liam’s house with Cam. You will continue to be respected as Vartan’s mother. You will lack for nothing. But my children will eschew Cam.”

“But they are cousins,” Bera said.

“Cam is Adon’s son. Adon killed my children’s father,” Lara replied.

“And you killed both Adon and Elin,” Bera responded. “You slew Cam’s parents without mercy.” She looked directly into Lara’s green eyes.

“Aye, I did, and I have not a single regret,” Lara answered, returning the look even as she remembered her mother’s words regarding Bera. “Cam is his parents’ child. Their tainted blood runs in his veins. He will never be free of their curse.”

“You have a faerie’s cold heart,” Bera said cruelly.

Lara smiled softly, and nodded. “I do,” she agreed, “but it is for my children. If I did not, I should not be able to do what I must do. Do not trifle with me in this matter, Bera. I will not allow your sentimental heart to endanger Vartan’s son and daughter. If it were up to me I should take Adon’s spawn far out on the plain and leave him there to die. Indeed, it might be better for all concerned if I did. But against my better judgment I will give him to you to raise. Just keep him away from my children.” Then Lara left her mother-in-law at the high board while she went to find Noss and Liam to discuss the moving arrangements.

Several days later the transfer of households was completed. Despite Noss’s protest, Lara had moved from the lord’s bedchamber into a bedspace in the little hall that had once been Bera’s personal domain. She found that she slept far better in the enclosed place than she had in the large bed she had once shared with Vartan. And her children were close by in the nursery chamber. But Bera had hardly spoken to her after their last conversation, and she had not seen Cam at all.

The summer days seemed longer than she had ever remembered them being. She sloughed off the responsibilities of the lord’s wife like a snake shedding its skin. Noss was now the lady of the Fiacre, and while Lara was happy to advise her, she was glad to see Noss pick up the duties and obligations that belonged to her high office. She spent much of her day with her two children. Anoush was toddling, and seemed fearless. Dillon kept to Lara’s side like a small burr, full of questions and mischief. He made her laugh as no one else ever did.

One afternoon they sat beneath a tree in the grass. Anoush had fallen asleep in Lara’s lap, and Dillon, leaning against his mother, demanded a story from her. It was time, Lara realized, to tell him her story. She began.

“Once a beautiful faerie girl ensorcelled a handsome Midlands farmer lad. She took him away to her bower in the forest where they made love for days on end. And in time she birthed a beautiful daughter whom she loved dearly. But when the baby was just a few months old the beautiful faerie girl had to leave her child, and her lover. She sent them back out into their own world.”

“Why?” Dillon wanted to know.

“Because the beautiful faerie girl had certain obligations to her own mother, and family,” Lara explained. “The lad she loved could not live in her world, nor could she have lived in his. Sometimes, my son, you must place your family duties above all else, and so it was with the beautiful faerie woman.” She caressed his dark hair gently.

“What happened to the farmer’s lad, and their child?” Dillon asked.

“He took his daughter and returned to his parents’ house. But, alas, his father had died in the time he had been away, and his older brother was now the head of their family. The brother did not want the child in his house. He said her faerie blood would bring bad luck on them all.”

“That’s silly,” Dillon said scornfully. “Everyone knows that faeries bring good fortune, Mama. I think this farmer was a fool.”

Lara grinned. “I think so, too,” she said.

“So what happened next?”

“Dorjan, the foolish farmer, said his brother must go, and take his child with him. But Ida, his mother, protested, and said if Dorjan sent his brother and the child from their house she would go with them. Dorjan would not relent, and so Ida, her younger son and the infant went to the City. There the son became a famous mercenary, and Ida raised her granddaughter. But when the child was ten years of age the grandmother died.

“The girl kept house for her father until he found a fine wife, Susanna, the daughter of a Midlands farmer. They wed, and Susanna gave her husband a son whom they called Mikhail.

“But the Mercenary was sad, for he wished to better his position in life. The only way he could do that was by becoming a Crusader Knight. He very much wanted to enter the tournament that was held once every three years to choose new knights, but he had not the means. And then he realized he had one valuable possession—his beautiful half-faerie daughter. If he sold her to Gaius Prospero, the Master of the Merchants, he would have everything he needed for the tournament. A fine warhorse, new weapons and the best armor. His battle skills, he knew, would gain him the place he sought. And when he became a Crusader Knight his wife and son would be moved to the beautiful Garden District into a beautiful house with slaves of their own. His son would receive the finest education. But only if he sold his daughter into slavery. There was no other way for him, and besides, he had not even enough coin to give his daughter a dower portion. And so he sold his eldest child, but she was happy to be the means by which her father might advance himself. And she was very proud when he won his place among the Crusader Knights.”

“What happened to her then?” Dillon asked eagerly.

“She was sold again, this time to the Forest Lords. But the Forest Lords were cruel masters, and so with the aid of a small giant named Og, she escaped the forest. She and Og traveled to the desert of the Shadow Princes, and there she learned how to love properly, and how to fight well, for she had inherited her father’s warrior skills. And after a time the Shadow Princes sent her away into the Outlands where she met a handsome clan lord. She wed him, and they had two fine children.”

“Mama!” Dillon exclaimed. “This is your story, isn’t it?”

Lara laughed, and ruffled his dark hair. “You are such a clever boy, my son,” she told him. “Yes, this is my story.”

“Tell me more,” he begged her.

“I will, but another day,” she promised him. “You must remember all I tell you, Dillon, for when I am gone you will have to tell Anoush so she will know who her mother was, and is.”

And in the days that followed she filled in what she had not told him in that first telling. Bit by bit, piece by piece, Lara fleshed out her story. First she gave him his grandfather’s name. John Swiftsword. Next he learned that in order to become a Crusader Knight a man must look as if he were worthy. As young as he was, Dillon scorned such an attitude for his father had always said a man’s worth showed in what he accomplished and did. Not how he looked. Hetar, he declared, was an odd place.

Lara told her son of her own childhood. How her grandmother had taught her all her own skills of housewifery, medicine, the art of bargaining and how to tell a good fabric from a bad one. And how she had had no friends among children her own age, for they feared her faerie blood. Yet she could not recall ever having seen her mother. And later she learned that her father and grandmother had forbidden the beautiful faerie woman who had birthed her to see her. But her mother had put the crystal Lara always wore about her neck with its guardian spirit, Ethne, within to keep her safe.

Lara explained how Gaius Prospero had let her remain at home until her father won his place. And at the urging of her elderly neighbor Lara had on her last night of freedom asked her father to tell her the story of his involvement with the beautiful faerie, Ilona, and how she had come to be born.

The Master of the Merchants had taken charge of his new slave the morning after her father’s victory and his acceptance into the Crusader Knights. But the beautiful slave he thought to profit from was forbidden from being sold into one of the City’s Pleasure Houses by the Head Mistress of the Pleasure Mistresses’ Guild.

“Why?” Dillon asked his mother. “Did they not think you beautiful enough?”

“I was thought too beautiful,” Lara explained to him. “After I had been displayed for sale to a very elite audience of Pleasure House owners, quarrels broke out over who should purchase me. The Head Mistress, in order to keep the peace, forbade Gaius Prospero to sell me in the City. So I was sent off with a Taubyl Trader to be sold into the Coastal Kingdom.”

As the days passed, and Lara told her son more of the story, the boy learned how she had ended up being purchased by the Head Forester and his brother. And Lara told him of how Og had explained the secret of the Forest Lords to her. That Maeve, the old queen of the Forest Faeries, had cursed them with great cause. That Lara, because of her faerie blood, would not birth any child unless she loved the man involved with all her heart. And since she did not love a Forest Lord, Lara and Og had devised an escape plan.

“Then you loved my father with all your heart,” Dillon noted.

“I did,” Lara answered her young son. She was amazed by his understanding of her story for he was scarcely out of babyhood. But she could see in his eyes that he did, and as the days went by she added more detail to her tale. She told him how she and Og had fled the forest, and arrived in the land of the Shadow Princes. How Prince Kaliq had taken her for his lover, but knowing her destiny was greater, educated her and saw that she learned to fight. Kaliq had realized her mother, Ilona, was the heiress of the old queen of the Forest Faeries. He had engineered a reunion between the three, and Lara had learned the truth of her mother’s desertion. Maeve had needed her. Ilona had had no other choice but to return to the faerie kingdom.

And on certain days Ilona herself would join them beneath the tree in the grass, and add her own voice to Lara’s tale. On other days she would arrive with Lara’s young half brother, Cirilo, who was but a year older than his nephew. The two women would watch as the boys played games together in the meadow, Anoush trailing after them.

“They are forging a close relationship,” Lara noted to her mother one warm afternoon. “When I first began my story Dillon thought Hetarians foolish for thinking faeries brought bad fortune. He said faeries only brought good luck.”

Ilona laughed softly. “So my grandson believes we are only good. Well, why not? In time he will come to see that faeries have at least two sides, as do mortals.” Then her voice grew even more serious. “How much longer?” she asked.

“A few more weeks,” Lara replied. “I want to be here when Noss has her new baby, and for a short while afterwards so I may help her.”

“Has she not servants to help her?” Ilona wanted to know.

“Of course, but better a friend, and it gives me more time with Dillon and Anoush, Mother. I do not know when I shall ever see them again once I have departed the Outlands. I ache already with my loss.” She sighed deeply with her sadness.

“At least your children will know that you love them, and did not leave them willingly,” Ilona said, her tone bitter. “It will not be like when I was forced to leave you behind to obey the dictates of the faerie world. Your mortal grandmother was a cruel woman, Lara. She was jealous that I should have any influence over you.”

“She did not know that I had a destiny, Mother. She raised me to live entirely within the mortal realm, for she knew nothing else herself. She loved me in her own way, but like you, I, too, regret the years we were separated. Still, we have each other now, and I am glad for it.” She took up the faerie woman’s hand, and kissed it. “I do love you, Mother,” she told Ilona.

“You have the mortal knack of taking something dark and making it light,” Ilona said with a small smile. “Perhaps mortals do have a certain magic about themselves after all.” She kissed the hand in hers. “No mother could have a better daughter.”

NOSS DELIVERED her child, a second son, early one late summer’s morning. The child was born healthy, howling his arrival, and with a head full of bright red hair like Liam. He was named Alroy, and his mother almost fainted seeing the size of him, for his birth had been quick. Alroy was a large infant with a prodigious appetite when put to his mother’s breast several hours later. His hands with their thick fingers kneaded Noss’s flesh demanding it give forth the nourishment Alroy needed. Noss was enchanted by her second son, and very proud.

All the children in the house were brought to look at the new baby.

“He has hair like Da,” Tearlach noted.

“Big,” Anoush remarked sagely.

“He’s going to be a great warrior,” Dillon said.

They all looked to the boy, curious.

“I see it,” Dillon continued. “I can’t help it. I just do.”

“A useful skill to have,” Lara said.

“It’s his faerie blood,” Asta, Liam’s mother said.

“Yes, it is!” Lara confirmed, “and isn’t that wonderful? I have told my mother, and she will see he is trained properly. My son will be quite a valuable asset to this clan family with such a talent.”

“Aye, he will be,” Liam replied. “But he must not be brought along too quickly lest his skill be harmed.”

Lara looked to the lord gratefully. Now she knew for certain that her children would be safe.

The days were shortening again. Lara could linger no longer, and she knew it. She could hear Ethne, her crystal guardian, urging her to go as she lay in her bed each night. It would get no easier, she realized, as each day passed. It would soon be time for the Gathering of the Outlands clan families, and she had promised herself she would go before then. Noss was up from her childbed, and managing the household well. The boys were at their lessons daily. Anoush, fascinated by Noss with her new son strapped about her body, trailed her as she went about her duties each day. It seemed to Lara that she had no place left in the hall that had once been hers and Vartan’s.

“You are going, aren’t you?” Dillon said to her as she put him to bed one evening.

“I will be gone when you awaken tomorrow,” Lara heard herself saying to her son. “Do not forget me, or that I love you dearly. Do not allow Anoush to forget me, or doubt that I loved her, too. I go because it is my destiny now. Do you understand, Dillon?”

“Yes, and no, Mama,” he told her.

She nodded. “I would wish it otherwise, my son. I believed that when this time came for us your father would be here. Yet I seem to have no choice in this matter.”

He nodded. “Will we ever see you again?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she assured him. “I just don’t know when, Dillon.”

“Do not forget us, Mama,” Dillon said to her.

“Never!” Lara swore. “My blood runs in your veins, Dillon, my son.”

He reached up, and touched her cheek with his small fingers. “You will be back, and before we are grown,” he said with assurance. Then he closed his eyes, and Lara sat by his side until his even breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep.

Standing, she went to the cot where her daughter lay sleeping. Anoush had her dainty form, but like her brother she had Vartan’s coloring. She would be beautiful one day, Lara thought. Bending, she placed a kiss on her daughter’s smooth forehead. Then leaving her two children, Lara returned to the hall where Liam and Noss were sitting.

“I must go now,” she told them.

“Wait till the morrow,” Noss begged her friend.

“If I do not leave now,” Lara said, “I do not know if I can. Dasras is now my son’s horse. I have spoken with him. Teach Dillon to ride him immediately,” Lara told Liam. “And remember your promise. Roan may not have Dasras, no matter what he offers you.”

“Will you find a way to communicate with us?” Liam wanted to know.

“I will try,” Lara promised. She went to Noss, and kissed her on both cheeks. “I trust you, dear friend,” she told her. “Do not let my children forget me.”

“I will be worthy, I swear it,” Noss declared.

Lara then walked from the hall and out into the night. Above her the sky over the Outlands was ablaze with stars. “Aral change!” she said, and in her temporary form as a great plains owl she arose into the air to circle Camdene just once. And then, its great wings flapping, the night bird turned and flew toward the coastlands.

Chapter 3

THE PLAINS OWL flew steadily through the night sky. On the earth below the grazing cattle gave way to grazing sheep. The invisible barrier between Fiacre lands and those of the Felan had been crossed. The owl flew on until it saw below the village of Adrie where Rendor, Lord of the Felan, made his home. Some few miles beyond the village lay the waters of the great sea of Sagitta. The great bird was tempted to fly out over the sea, but it was beginning to tire. With a whir of its wings the owl dropped to the land below. As its clawed feet touched the ground Lara said, “Aral change!” and was immediately restored to her own form.

“I thought you would come tonight,” Rendor’s voice said from the open door of his house where he awaited her. “Welcome to Adrie, Lara. Come in!”

“How did you guess?” Lara asked him, smiling as he led her into his hall.

Rendor’s deep laugh warmed the hall, and he pointed to his high board where Andraste, her sword, and Verica, her staff, lay. “I knew if you sent them ahead that you would not be far behind,” the Felan clan lord chuckled.

Lara laughed in return. “I might have come on the morrow,” she said.

“You would never leave the sword and staff alone long,” he replied wisely. “Their sudden appearance quite startled a young maidservant clearing the evening meal from the table. She shrieked with her surprise, and the staff spoke quite sharply to her, causing her to faint dead away. I cannot recall when Rahil and I have laughed so hard,” he finished with a grin.

“Oh, I am sorry!” Lara apologized. “Verica dislikes magical travel, but as I did not choose to ride, it was the simplest and easiest way to transport him. He wanted me to fly the whole distance carrying him in the owl’s claws.”

“Come and sit by the fire,” Rendor invited her. He walked to a sideboard and poured two small goblets of wine, handing her one.

“I will stay with you but a few days,” Lara said. “I know you must soon depart for the Gathering.”

“My men and I will personally escort you to King Archeron,” Rendor said. “The king must be reminded that Lara, widow of Vartan, daughter of Swiftsword, is greatly honored among all the Outlands clans. For all his scorn of the City and Hetar’s government, Archeron is still Hetarian, and appearance is everything to him.”

“Is he aware of how well you understand him?” Lara asked Rendor.

“I doubt it,” Rendor replied. “He knows I am not a barbarian, but deep in his head, the doubts linger. If I were to come into his hall in furs, waving my sword, with helmeted warriors at my back he would not, I believe, be in the least surprised.” The clan lord chuckled. “I always feel he is just waiting for me to reveal my true colors and prove Hetar right, that Outlanders are savages.”

Lara giggled at the thought of Rendor in furs waving his sword. Then she grew serious. “We are far more civilized here in the Outlands than in Hetar with all its rules and mores.”

“Then why do you return to it?” Rendor asked her.

“It is that damned destiny I seem to have been given,” Lara told him. “I knew, and Vartan knew, too, that one day it would call me from the Outlands. I have no idea why I am going to the Coastal Kingdom, but that is where I am meant to be now. In the night I have asked Ethne, my crystal guardian, and she agrees. But Archeron’s realm and that of his brothers is not my final destination, Rendor. I do not yet know where I will go, but when it is time I will.”

He sighed. “I am sorry for it. We need you in the Outlands.”

Lara shook her head. “You are protected, and you are capable of managing the Hetarians, dear Rendor, that I know. Though I have taught you all, you learned the lesson best next to Vartan. The Outlands will be safe under your guidance.”

Rendor’s wife, Rahil, came into the hall. “Ah,” she said, smiling, her warm brown eyes lighting with her pleasure at seeing their guest, “you have arrived, Lara. I bid you welcome. Did my husband tell you of the poor maidservant?”

“He did, and I am so sorry to have frightened the girl,” Lara apologized.

Rahil laughed. “Our people are not used to such magic,” she said. “Are you tired? I have prepared a guest chamber for you.”

“I am tired,” Lara admitted. “I have not shape-shifted in some time now, and I flew the distance between Camdene and Adrie without stopping.”

“And I do not doubt you have not slept well, if at all, since…” Rahil hesitated.

“No,” Lara replied. “I have not slept well since Vartan’s death.”

“Then come along,” Rahil said. “I will show you to your chamber.”

“Good night, Rendor, and thank you for your hospitality,” Lara said as she rose, and then followed Rahil’s comfortable shape from the hall.

Her chamber was inviting, with a small fire to take the chill off the night, and a comfortable bed. Lara bid her hostess good-night and, stripping off her gown, climbed beneath the coverlet. To her surprise she was asleep almost immediately, and she did not awaken until half of the next day had passed. She probably would have slept a few more hours but that Rahil entered the chamber bearing a tray of food.

“I have decided that you must be cosseted,” she told Lara. “For the moment you have no responsibilities but to yourself. You must regain your strength if you are to continue on your journey.” She took a bowl from the tray, plunked a spoon into it and handed it to Lara. “Eat,” she commanded the younger woman.

Lara did not argue. The truth was she was still tired, and felt weak. The bowl contained a delicious stew of meat and vegetables, which she savored slowly. When the bowl was half-empty Rahil tucked a slice of bread and butter into a corner of the bowl. Their eyes met, and Lara smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and then she continued eating.

“I have three daughters, and like their mother none knows when to rest. I see you are much the same,” Rahil noted. “Did Bera not see to your welfare in the days following Vartan’s murder?”

“Bera lost her reason after what she had seen. She could do nothing more than weep, and curse fate over what had transpired.”

“Then you did it all? The preparations for the departure ceremony? For all the guests? You sent the messengers out?” Rahil was surprised, and a little bit shocked.

“Noss looked after my children,” Lara said. “And Bera recovered enough to move from Vartan’s hall into a smaller house with Cam. I saw her settled before I left.”

“Liam now rules in that hall?” Rahil nodded almost to herself. “It was a wise and generous thing to do, Lara.”

“Our home was the finest in Camdene, and should be the lord’s house,” Lara replied. “He and Noss have taken Dillon and Anoush to raise with their sons. And Noss has had another boy, Alroy. He was born with red hair like Liam.”

Rahil smiled as she took the empty stew bowl from Lara and replaced it with another dish containing a baked apple swimming in rich golden cream. “So Noss will have three lads and a little lass to bring up. I have been told she is a good wife to Liam.”

“They are fortunate in each other,” Lara said. She spooned up the apple, licking at the corner of her mouth to catch a stray bit of the sweet.

“When you have finished you are to go back to sleep,” Rahil told her. “I have brought you a cup of wine into which I have mixed a sleeping draught. You should sleep until the morning.” She took the empty bowl that had held the apple, noting with pleasure that Lara had eaten every scrap. Setting the bowl on the tray she handed her guest the cup of wine.

Lara sipped it slowly. She was sated with the good meal, warm, and actually beginning to relax. “You are so good to me, and I thank you,” she told Rahil. “When I arrived last night I felt drained of all my strength. I am yet weakened by everything that has transpired in these last few months.”

“Whatever it is you are meant to do,” Rahil said, “it is for the good of us all, Lara. Whatever I may do to ease your burden, I will do.” She took the now empty cup from the younger woman, bending to kiss her on the forehead as she might a child. “Go to sleep now,” she said, and picking up the tray, hurried from the room.

Lara slept, as Rahil had predicted, until the following morning. She awoke to see through a small paned window to one side of her bed the sky colored with the coming sunrise. A gentle breeze slipped through the slightly open window. Lara stretched herself. For the first time in weeks she felt good. Her body no longer ached with sorrow and tension. She felt a faint excitement as she considered what might lie ahead for her. And she realized that she was looking forward to going into the Coastal Kingdom.

“Hetar.” She said the word softly. A place carefully divided into Forest, Desert, Coast and Midlands. A place where all roads led to the City at its center. Hetar, where appearance and possessions were everything; where each citizen’s life was lived by careful rules that dictated his or her place within society. And yet there were ways to advance if one followed the rules. She had not realized until she had begun her travels how stifling it had all been. She might have never known, had she not been sent from the City on that early morning over seven years ago.

She might now have been a Pleasure Woman in one of the City’s great Pleasure Houses. A creature of beauty, skilled in all the amatory arts, whose sole reason for being was to give and to receive pleasure. But if that had been her fate she should never have learned how to love, or to be loved. Or that her faerie blood allowed her to practice good magic. Or that her sire’s blood had given her the ability to be the great warrior she had become. She often wondered what John Swiftsword would think of his daughter now. Did he know she had played an important part in the Winter War?

Lara swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Yes! She was beginning to feel like herself again. She walked to the window, and pushing it all the way open, she breathed in the soft air, smelling the tangy salt of the sea on the breeze. Tomorrow. She would leave for King Archeron’s palace tomorrow! And then she heard Ethne, her crystal guardian, quite clearly. She reached for the crystal that hung from the gold chain about her neck.

No, Ethne said. You need more rest, my child. Here you are safe. You will never really be safe in Hetar while Gaius Prospero and his compatriots hold power.

But Rendor and his people must leave soon for the Gathering, Lara protested in the silent discourse they had always used to speak with one another.

The Gathering is over a month away, Lara. Take this time while you have it, my child. You must be strong for what lies ahead.

Very well, Lara agreed, and the tiny flame in the crystal flickered. “Why,” she muttered softly to herself, “do the magical beings surrounding me always speak in riddles?” Her ears pricked at the faint sound of laughter.

But Ethne had been right. Lara discovered that she was still tired, and very worn.

She enjoyed having Rahil fuss over her, plying her with tasty meals and making her sleep early, and rise late. Her strength began to return, and after two weeks had passed Lara decided it was now time to leave the Felan. “Tomorrow,” she said that evening to Rendor as they all sat at the high board.

He nodded. “Is dawn too early?”

“Rendor!” Rahil protested.

“It is perfect,” Lara agreed, and put a comforting hand on Rahil’s hand. “I am well and strong again, thanks to you,” she told the woman. “But it is now time for me to go, dear friend. I sense it.”

A tear slipped down Rahil’s sweet round face. “You have suffered so much,” she said. “It doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“You should see her with that sword of hers,” Rendor told his wife. “If you did you would not be fooled by her delicate face and form, wife.” And he chuckled. “Each time I hear Andraste sing it sends icy ripples through me.”

“She is a very fierce battle spirit,” Lara agreed.

“And will you appear before King Archeron as you did the first time?” Rendor wanted to know. “All beautiful and faerie in a flowing white gown?”

“No,” Lara told him. “I will appear as the warrior I am so Archeron will not be mistaken in his opinion of me. I have a destiny to fulfill, and I can allow none to stop me, Rendor.”

Rendor nodded. “Then I am reassured,” he said with a broad smile.

It was a full day’s ride to reach the palace of King Archeron. They left just before sunrise, and reached the sea as the sun pushed up over the horizon. As they rested their horses briefly Lara was suddenly assailed by a thought as she looked out over the blue waters. Where did these waters come from? Where did they end? Did the Coastal Kings know? Would they tell her? And why had she not considered this before, when she first saw the Sea of Sagitta?

Lara knew that her destiny had something to do with this great sea whose waves rolled onto the sandy beach she now traveled. But what? Archeron would surely know more about it. She would ask him. The sea had to end somewhere, didn’t it? Was there a sandy beach like this one on its far side? And if there was, were there people, too? Was it possible Hetar and the Outlands were not all there was to this world which they inhabited? The closer she got to Archeron’s palace the more questions seemed to flood her mind.

“You are quiet,” Rendor noted as they rode along.

“Do you know where the sea ends?” Lara asked him.

The Lord of the Felan look puzzled, and then he said, “The sea just is, Lara.”

“You have never considered what might be on the other side of this sea?” She could see she was confusing him, but perhaps he had heard something that she could coax him to recall by questioning him.

“The sea is the sea,” he answered her. “It is there. It has always been there.”

“Think, Rendor. Yours are the only lands among the Outlands clans to border this water. The Coastal Kings are the only ones in Hetar to border this water. The sea must begin in one place, and end in another. There must be something on its other side.”

“What other side?” Rendor asked now looking seriously befuddled.

He didn’t understand. And truth be known, Lara wasn’t certain she understood either. So many questions filling her head, brought about just by looking upon the Sea of Sagitta again. “I am being foolish,” she said to him, and when she saw the relief in his eyes she knew she had been wise to end the conversation. Rendor hadn’t the least notion to what she had been referring, or what she had meant. But she would wager that King Archeron would understand. The exquisite fabrics, the unique and beautiful jewelry the Coastal Kings brought into the City did not come from their hands. She had seen no manufactories on the coast. So where did the luxury goods come from?

As the morning became afternoon, and then late afternoon, they saw a troop of horsemen coming toward them. Lara was surprised until she realized that Archeron had sent an escort to bring her to him. “How did they know we were coming?” she asked Rendor.

He nodded his head toward the heights that bordered the beach. “Watchtowers. Discreetly placed, I will grant you, but there. You don’t notice them because they look like piles of stones. And they have developed some sort of silent code using flags so that one tower may signal to another.”

“How clever, and how very Hetarian,” Lara chuckled. “I did not notice them the first time we came. That was careless of me.”

“Nay,” Rendor said. “You were coming as Vartan’s wife, to help make peace between the Outlands and Hetar. The mystical faerie woman.” He grinned.

Lara laughed. “Yes, I seem to remember I wore a gown that certainly gave weight to my legend. I carried it to Adrie in a small carved wooden fruit. Vartan was very impressed by a woman who packed so lightly, and looked so beautiful nonetheless.”

“The gown was concealed in a wooden fruit?” Rendor roared with laughter. “I had not heard that before.” Then he grew serious. “He loved you very much, you know, Lara. He said he could not have accomplished what he did without you.”

“He always underestimated himself,” Lara said softly. “He had such greatness in him. I am still angry that fate let that greatness be silenced. My heart is broken, yet I felt nothing at all, Rendor. I feel no guilt for the lives I took. The sorrow consuming me is for Vartan, and for the Fiacre. But I have no pity for Adon and Elin.”

“I regret Vartan’s death is taking you from us,” Rendor said.

“Vartan’s death was but the catalyst. He and I both knew I would leave the Fiacre one day when my destiny called to me again.” Lara sighed deeply, but said nothing more on the subject. What else was there to say?

The escort from the Coastal Kings reached her, and Lara was not surprised to see that it was King Archeron himself who led them. He was a tall, handsome man with silvery white hair and eyes the deep blue of the sea. Sliding quickly from his mount he looked up at Lara and kissed her hand. “Welcome back, widow of Vartan, daughter of Swiftsword,” he greeted her. And then he lifted her from her mount. “Let us walk a ways along the shore, my friend.” Archeron tucked her hand in his arm.

“You are sad,” Lara noted astutely. “What has happened, my lord king?”

“Like you,” Archeron answered her, “I have recently lost my mate.”

“Alina is dead? We had not heard this in the Outlands,” Lara said.

“We sent her out to sea just a few days ago. It was sudden, and very unexpected,” Archeron replied. His jewel-like eyes were bleak with his mourning.

“You put your dead in the sea?” Lara was fascinated.

“We come from the sea,” Archeron said. “And so when our mortal bodies die we return them to the sea. They are sent out into the waters with all the goods that they will need to live in the realm of the Celestial Actuary. Alina’s vessel was beautifully decked, and I did not stint my queen. What do you do in the Outlands?” Now it was the Coastal King who was curious.

“Vartan was set upon a great bier within his hall for two days. It allowed all who wished to pay him honor to do so. The mourners are housed and fed at the family’s expense,” Lara explained. “On the third day the body is brought out of the hall to be placed upon a great funeral pyre, which is then set alight at the hour of the sunset. My son and I remained with him until all that was left were ashes. A wind then sprang up, and blew the ashes away, spreading them throughout the Outlands. This is the custom of the Outlands. It is called a departure ceremony. Criminals, however, are buried in the earth to rot while their souls suffer the torment of the damned. Vartan’s murderer and his wicked wife were so disposed of after I slew them,” Lara responded.

Archeron nodded. “I was told his brother killed him,” he said.

“Aye,” Lara answered him. “Adon had always envied his elder sibling, but I would have never thought he would do something like this. His wife, of course, urged him to it. I always knew Elin was ambitious, but her actions orphaned and endangered her only child. Now his grandmother will raise him alone, and the child will be held responsible for his parents’ actions by many among the Fiacre.”

“Did you ever consider that there was more to this?” King Archeron asked Lara.

Lara stopped suddenly. “What is it you are saying to me, my lord king?”

“Vartan was a powerful voice for the Outlands, Lara, and with you advising him, who knew what heights he might have reached? I have heard a rumor, faint, but very distinct, that there were certain men among the powerful in the City, who considered him a great threat to Hetar and to their own ambitions. And, too, a violent death that Vartan’s faerie wife could not prevent might easily contribute to lessening your own authority.”

Lara was stunned by his quiet words. For the tiniest moment she felt dizzy, as if she were going to collapse. Then, as a growing anger caused new strength to flow through her, she said, “And has any name emerged from among these certain powerful men, my lord king? Could Gaius Prospero be among them?”

“He has never forgiven you for the loss of prestige he suffered in the Winter War. It has taken him five years to regain his popularity, and to come within sight again of his goal to be made emperor of Hetar, Lara,” King Archeron responded.

“And will he be made emperor?”

“We will have a better idea of what is happening in the City when Arcas returns. He is serving as one of our representatives on the council right now.”

“So my husband’s murder was an assassination,” Lara said quietly. “Gaius Prospero, clinging to his belief that the Outlands is peopled by savages, thought that by removing Vartan the alliance between the clan families would collapse.” She sighed bitterly. “His ignorance is terrifying, my lord king. The clan families are more determined than ever to remain strongly united. Rendor was chosen head of the council to replace Vartan. And they have made Roan of the Aghy their war leader. An incursion into our lands, an attack on any of them by Hetar, will be met with military action. This would-be emperor will set our world aflame with his ambitions. But how did Gaius Prospero get to Adon, or was it Elin to whom he appealed? Of course! It would have been Elin. That poor foolish woman with her pitiful dreams of her husband leading the Fiacre. Even had Vartan died a natural death, the Fiacre would not have chosen Adon to lead them.”

“What will you do now?” the Coastal King asked his beautiful guest. They began to walk along the beach once again.

Lara shrugged. “My destiny is calling once more.”

“And it called you to come to me?” He smiled down at her. “I am flattered.”

“It called me to the coast, but for what reason I do not yet know, my lord king. But I have many questions to ask you.”

“I will answer those I can,” he promised her.

“You must answer them all,” she told him.

Archeron looked sharply at Lara. “Indeed,” he mur- mured.

She laughed up at him. “I found the nearer I came to your kingdom the more curious I became. I know you possess the knowledge I seek, my lord king.”

He smiled. “I will deny you nothing, Lara. I, too, know you have a destiny. There is a prophecy, known only to a few, in the Book of Hetar, which can be found in the temple of the Celestial Actuary in the City. I believe you are the one meant to satisfy that prophecy. And so does Gaius Prospero or he would not be so intent on destroying you.”

“How many others know of the prophecy?” Lara questioned him.

“Only a handful of the high and mighty. Possibly the High Priest, but he is very old, and under Gaius Prospero’s thumb, I fear.”

“Tell me what the prophecy says.”

“From the darkness came a maiden. From the golden light came a warrior. From a distant tomorrow will come Hetar’s true destiny,” King Archeron recited.

“I was a maiden who came forth from the darkness and squalor of the City. I became a warrior in the golden desert light of the Shadow Princes’ kingdom,” Lara said. “But where, I wonder, is that distant tomorrow?”

“Wherever it is, Lara, you are meant to find it,” Archeron said quietly. Then he said, “Let us seek our horses now, and ride on to my palace.”

Mounting, they rode along the shoreline again, King Archeron leading the way. Rendor moved his horse up next to Lara, murmuring so softly only she could hear him.

“What did he say?”

“Vartan’s death may have been a cleverly planned assassination, conceived by my old friend Gaius Prospero,” Lara replied as softly. Rendor’s face above his short brown bread darkened with outrage, and she noted that his men were pressing in about them, shielding them from the coastal men-at-arms.

Lara put a warning hand on Rendor’s arm, cautioning him to silence. “This is not the doing of the Coastal Kings, my friend,” she said low. “We never expected our relations with Hetar to be what they once were, given the result of the Winter War. But they have struck at us in a way we did not anticipate. Speak of this to the other lords at the Gathering, Rendor. Warn them in as strong terms as you can that they cannot permit Hetar to lure them into any action against one another. If something untoward happens, and it appears to be the deed of another clan family, be suspicious. The Outlands have not fallen into chaos, as I am quite certain Gaius Prospero thought they would when he saw to my husband’s murder. Instead another clan lord was chosen to lead us. Gaius will now consider other ways of causing difficulty for you and the Outlands. Beware, and be suspicious of Hetar no matter their soft words. They are desperate and have no place to go, no way to feed their growing population, no way to make new profits. You are protected for now, but you will not be forever. The clan lords must plan for that day.”

“I wish you were not leaving us,” Rendor said once again.

“I will not be gone from you forever,” Lara promised.

Shortly before the sunset they arrived at the palace of King Archeron. The entire household was in mourning for his queen, Alina. There would be no banquet tonight to welcome the visitors. Rendor’s men were led off to be fed and shown to their sleeping spaces. The king led Lara and the new head of the Outlands High Council into a small dining chamber overlooking the great Sea of Sagitta. Servants brought silver basins of perfumed water with which to wash the journey from their faces and hands. Then they stretched out on the three dining couches and the meal was served.

Lara’s appetite was small that evening. She could not take her eyes from the sea beyond the palace. The sky above it was clear blue, and stained with streamers of rich color from the sun setting over the Outlands beyond the waters. A thin gold crescent moon was rising out of the sea, and above it the great star, Beltair, glistened brightly. It had been a long day, but she was not yet tired. Rahil’s care had helped Lara regain her strength again, and soon, soon she sensed, something was preparing to set the course of her life on another path once again.

“You are quiet,” King Archeron finally said to Lara.

“You have given me a great deal to consider this day,” she answered him.

The king turned to Rendor. “She has told you?”

“Aye,” Rendor replied.

“Good!” Archeron answered him. “The Outlands must be on their guard.”

“You are Hetarian, and yet you do not agree with your own government,” Rendor said. “Why?”

“The government has been corrupted by greedy men,” King Archeron replied. “And these men will bring sorrow to Hetar. I but attempt to delay the inevitable.”

Rendor nodded. “You will guard Lara from harm, my friend, will you not?”

“I will, for she has a destiny to fulfill.” He smiled.

Lara and Rendor laughed.

Then Rendor said, “I shall leave early in the morning. We will depart for the Gathering in a few days. It should be a most interesting time this year.”

“Give my regards to the lords,” Lara told him. And then she arose. “My lord king, will you have someone show me to the chamber that is to be mine?”

Archeron called a servant, and gave the woman her instructions.

Lara walked to where Rendor was now standing. Rising up on her toes, she kissed him on both cheeks. “Until we meet again, my Lord of the Felan,” she said. “The Celestial Actuary guide you in all that you undertake, and keep the Outlands safe from evil men. Farewell!” Then turning to her host, she bid him good-night and followed the servant from the little dining hall.

The chamber to which Lara was brought was not the same one she had once shared with Vartan, and she was grateful for Archeron’s sensitivity. But like that room, it had a single large arched window with an almost hidden door that opened onto a marble terrace overlooking the sea. The servant showed Lara the bathing pool, which was on that terrace, and not inside her chamber. Then she bowed, and left the king’s guest to herself.

Lara dipped her hand into the small square pool. The water was warm and scented with yellow primrose. With a smile Lara pulled off her boots and stripped off her leather pants, her vest and her shirt. Not even bothering to pin her hair up, she stepped naked into the pool with a deep sigh of pleasure. There was nothing like a warm bath. Finding the seating ledge she sat down, and just enjoyed the sensation of the water lapping against her skin. There was an alabaster jar of soft soap on the side of the tub, and a large sea sponge. Lara filled the sponge with soap, and washed herself in the lavishly rich cleansing agent. Then she washed and rinsed her golden hair, wishing that she had a lemon to squeeze into it in a final rinse. No sooner had she thought it than there was a cut lemon on the edge of the bathing pool. Laughing, she squeezed it into her hair, laving clean water from the curved shell faucet over her head.

But then the pool was swiftly draining itself. Sprays of water shot from small recessed spigots in the pool wall, rinsing her off. She bent to let the water cleanse the last of the lemon from her head before the bathing pool refilled itself with scented water. Lara relaxed as she watched the golden coastal moon rising higher, and was lulled by the sound of the waves below the great palace.

When the sky was finally dark she walked back into her chamber to find the lamps had been lit, and a small fire was burning in the little hearth opposite her bed. Drying herself with the large drying cloth she found warming on a rack by the fire she slipped on a loose night robe. Her pack had been brought to her chamber, and opening it she drew out the beautiful gold brush that Kaliq, the Shadow Prince, had once given her as a lover’s token. Seating herself on a small velvet hassock by the fire she brushed her hair dry. She was finally beginning to feel sleepy. Lara climbed into the large comfortable bed draped in coral and gold silk curtains. What would tomorrow bring, she wondered? And how long would she remain here in Archeron’s palace? Her eyes closed slowly of their own volition.

She awakened with the dawn, and rose to see the sunrise from her terrace. She had slept a sound and dreamless sleep. For the next few weeks Lara’s days were relatively the same. She awoke, ate her morning meal upon the marble terrace and then walked about the town belonging to King Archeron’s palace. The lords of the coastlands had long ago decided that each of their leaders would be a king with his own palace and village. It saved a great deal of debate, and the oldest of the kings was always recognized as their High King, no matter the family from which he came.

The palace was white marble, with soaring towers and gold-leafed domes. The town into which it blended was much the same. The windows of the houses overlooking the streets were bright with flower boxes holding blooms of every size and hue. The stalls in the market square were clean and filled with goods being hawked from beneath multicolored awnings.

Lara had no need of coin. If she saw something she admired it was pressed into her hand. She returned the kindness with a faerie blessing, which she learned was far preferred to silver or gold. And everyone knew who she was. The daughter of the great Crusader Knight, John Swiftsword, and a faerie mother, although her mother did not matter to the Hetarians. Nor did her sojourn in the Outlands where it was rumored she had mated with, and given one of the men there children. She was still the great beauty that she had been reputed to be.

In the afternoons Lara would ride along the beach with King Archeron, and in the evenings they would dine together. Often their evenings were spent in conversation. Other times they would play a board game similar to the one she had played with Vartan.

And then one evening Archeron announced to his guest that his son and heir, Arcas, would soon be returning from the City.

“No one travels the old-fashioned way any longer,” he told Lara. “The representatives are now all transported to and from the City by means of magic.”

“With whom has he served?” she asked, curious.

“King Balasi,” Archeron answered. “His is an old and very respected family. But I find him easily led, and perhaps a bit foolish. When it is his turn to serve on the High Council in the City we always see he is sent with someone strong who is able to direct Balasi without his being aware of it. He is unable to cause difficulties then, for he is a pompous, self-important man. My son has never forgotten you, Lara.”

“I did not say it when I was last here, but Arcas offended me deeply,” Lara told her gracious and kindly host. “But perhaps it was just his enthusiasm that caused him to act in the manner in which he did.”

“What did he say?” Archeron was distressed by her revelation.

“He made reference to my slavery, and then he touched me in an intimate manner,” Lara said quietly. “I did not speak gently to him.”

“I am sorry,” Archeron replied. “But then, as you have considered, surely it was just his enthusiasm at meeting you that caused his breach of manners.”

Lara nodded in seeming agreement with the king, but she knew Arcas’s behavior had been caused by little more than his lustful nature. She was not looking forward to meeting him again. “There is a question that I have wanted to ask you ever since I saw the Sea of Sagitta again,” she began.

“I will answer your query if I can,” he said, glad to be off the subject of Arcas.

“What is on the other side of your sea? And why is naught said about it?” Lara looked directly at King Archeron as she spoke.

He chuckled. “No one has ever asked that question of me,” he began. “How clever of you, Lara, to consider such a thing. Hetar believes it alone exists, but for the Outlands, which Hetar has declared a savage place in order to make itself seem more civilized and important. It is a very narrow view. But on the other side of the sea is a land its inhabitants call Terah. It is ruled over by the Dominus of the Terahn Dominion. It is from there our luxury goods come—the fabrics, the jewelry, the fine china and pottery, the objects of gold and silver. We trade the salt we produce, the pearls we harvest from the sea, and the coin we earn by selling Terahn merchandise in exchange for more of their goods. Gaius Prospero is unconcerned with where we obtain these things. He only desires them to gain more profit for himself. He assumes we manufacture these goods ourselves, and few from the City or any other part of Hetar have ever come to the Coastal Kingdom. All of us keep much to ourselves, and the City is the only place where we meet and mingle. Those across the sea are our secret. Now you know it, and you must keep that secret. We should lose our great advantage over the City if this was known to them.”

“I will keep your secret,” Lara said. “Have you ever been to Terah, Archeron?”

“No,” he replied. “The Terahns do not permit strangers into their lands. We meet these fellow traders in the middle of the sea and there we exchange our goods.”

“How did the Coastal Kings find the Terahns?” Lara wanted to know.

“That is the odd thing about our relationship,” Archeron responded. “No one knows how it all began. There is nothing in our history to explain it, yet for centuries we have traded with them, and they with us. I remember asking my grandfather when I was a child, and he just shook his head, and told me that it had always been, and would always be. And the Terahns’ knowledge of this partnership is no greater than ours.”

“How strange,” Lara remarked. “Haven’t you ever wanted to know more about the Terahns, Archeron? Haven’t you ever wanted to see their land, and if it is as beautiful as here? Haven’t you ever wanted to meet them face-to-face?”

“Oh, I have met Terahns,” he told her. “When I was younger I often captained one of my family’s ships to the meeting place, and did business with their captains. I even met on several occasions the man who is now the Dominus. I met him as a boy. He is Magnus Hauk. A serious lad as I recall, and I am now told, deeply passionate about keeping the Dominion strong.”

“It is interesting that these Terahns have never considered invading Hetar, or the fertile plains of the Outlands,” Lara mused.

“Their own lands are said to be gloriously beautiful, but of course we have but their word for it as they have ours.” Archeron smiled. “Actually, we know little of them, for they keep very much to themselves as do we. I do not believe they are an aggressive people. And they have never evinced any real interest in Hetar.”

“How curious,” Lara noted. “Perhaps these people are much like us.”

“I could not tell you, for we do nothing more than trade. Prices are set for the goods in advance. We exchange cargos and go our separate ways. Sometimes, however, we might share wine or a meal together,” Archeron said. “Not often, but now and again. It depends upon the captain with whom our own captain does business.”

“So Terahns are not unfriendly,” Lara said. “I wonder why it is you have never really made friends with them, Archeron.”

He shook his head. “Trade is our only link, Lara.”

As she lay in her bed that night Lara said to her crystal guardian, Ethne, I am curious as to the land on the other side of this sea.

Then go there, Ethne replied.

Should I? Lara wondered. And since when have you begun to give me direction again? You have been insisting I make my own decisions for some time now.

But this is a new direction for you to take.

Will I be protected if I go to the other side of this sea? Does magic function on that side of the sea, Ethne?

Magic acts everywhere, Ethne responded dryly. How many times have I told you, Lara, daughter of Ilona and Swiftsword? You are protected. Wherever you go, my child, you are protected.

Because I have a destiny. And Lara chuckled aloud.

Ethne laughed softly, but agreed. Aye, because you have a destiny.

But what is that destiny? Lara demanded once again.

Follow your instincts, my child, and you will learn it. Then the flame in the little crystal flickered and banked low. Ethne had no more to say.

Follow her instincts. Her instincts were not telling her a great deal these days, and she was becoming bored living in King Archeron’s palace. She was accustomed to being useful, and she was not useful here. But she was now extremely well rested. Four months had passed since Vartan’s murder. The Gathering was now over, and the clan families of the Outlands were preparing for winter. Did the Fiacre miss her? Did her children miss her?

Dillon would, Lara knew. But her daughter? Anoush would have probably forgotten her by now, and would be looking to Noss as her maternal figure. Noss was a good mother. But I miss my children, Lara considered. Sometimes I hate this mysterious destiny that has taken them from me. She cried softly for a short time, and then slept restlessly.

The next few days she spent most of her time out of doors, for she suddenly could not bear being confined within the palace. She walked the beaches for miles, and then walked back again. But for the waves and the seabirds soaring above her, all was quiet. The grassy dunes above the beach were golden with the cooler weather, but it never became truly cold here along the sea.

One day Lara had ridden several miles from the palaces and towns of the Coastal Kings when curiosity directed her mount up into the dunes. She rode on as the dunes gave way to a wide swath of green land, and saw beyond it gently rolling hills. All of it was empty of domesticated animal, or people. There wasn’t a house or a field to be seen in any direction. Here was certainly land enough for Hetar’s burgeoning population. She wondered why it was not being utilized. Another question for Archeron to answer, she thought, stopping to gaze all around her. She turned her horse back toward the sea, and rode back to the palace. The day was becoming gray with an impending storm.

Why was it, Lara wondered, that as each day passed she was finding far more questions than answers? She asked Archeron about the fertile lands beyond the beach.

“We do not choose to allow strangers to inhabit our land,” he answered her.

“But they are your fellow citizens of Hetar, my lord king,” Lara said.

“They are people of the City and the Midlands,” Archeron replied. “Hetar’s provinces are almost equal in size. If we allowed the overflow from the City and the Midlands to come here we would lose our lands. They would crowd us out. They would want to enter our towns, and they do not understand us so they would cause difficulty. Eventually someone would learn the secret of our trading custom. They might even want to build their own boats, and sail upon the Sea of Sagitta. No. We will not allow our open land to be exploited by the folk from the City.”

“The land lies useless. Why not farm it yourselves, and sell what you do not need to the City?” she suggested.

Archeron shook his head. “The land has always been just the land,” he told her. “We are not farmers, Lara. We are traders.”

Lara was astounded by his attitude. The Coastal Kings possessed great riches, and yet they had never shared these riches, nor did they want to share them. In the years since she had left the City, much had changed if the gossip was to be believed. The government was beginning to encroach upon the forest and the edges of the desert, yet here was all this unused land going to waste. She wondered if all the Coastal Kings felt the same way that Archeron did, but then, he was High King, and perhaps he was right. But it was a question she was going to ask Arcas when he arrived home.

Chapter 4

GAIUS PROSPERO looked across the table at his guest. His thick fingers closed about the stem of the jeweled goblet by his right hand. He lifted it to his lips, and sipped the wine within appreciatively. “So, you depart tomorrow, Arcas.”

The young Coastal King nodded. “In the morning.”

“And you will not forget your promise to support me in the vote before you go?” Gaius Prospero’s cold dark eyes narrowed as he looked at Arcas.

“You have my vote, my lord,” Arcas said. “Though the council is disbanding for a recess, I will return when it reopens again.”

Gaius Prospero nodded, satisfied. “I am told that the widow of the Outlander, Vartan of the Fiacre, is visiting with your father. It is said he is quite taken with her beauty. Lara is an ambitious girl, and now that her little orgy among the savages is over with, I suspect she looks to wed higher. The passage of years makes it impossible under our laws to enslave her again. She would even be safe in the City now. But perhaps living by the gentle sea suits her better. An old man could be tempted by such faerie beauty, and her magic could make an elder potent again. If she loved him, she might even give him a child.” He smacked his lips appreciatively. “I would have liked to have her, but I could not bring myself to squander half her value just to satisfy my lustful cock.” He chuckled.

“Do you have spies everywhere, my lord Gaius?” Arcas asked his host dryly.

“Everywhere,” Gaius Prospero agreed with a smirk. “I hear your father and Lara ride each afternoon along the beach. The soft earth would certainly make a good bed.”

“It does,” Arcas answered, not showing his irritation. “I’ve taken many a girl in the dunes by the sea, my lord Gaius.” Was the smug and power hungry Master of the Merchants suggesting that his father was Lara’s lover? The thought that his father might have gotten what he could not have infuriated Arcas. A long time ago Lara was meant to be his personal Pleasure Woman, but that the Head Forester had seen her and paid an obscene sum to possess her. When Arcas had learned of Vartan’s death several months back from the ubiquitous Jonah, Gaius Prospero’s valued right hand, he had begun to consider the possibility of having Lara for his own again. Once he had told her he would never have kept her as a slave—but that had been a lie. If he could have her, he would imprison her in his apartments and never let her free. She would be only for him. For his pleasure. For his eyes alone.

To consider that his father had gotten there before him was a thought not to be tolerated. Archeron was newly widowed of Arcas’s mother. Could he have loved Alina, and been so quick into another woman’s bed? Yes, he could, if the woman was Lara! And Gaius Prospero knew it or he wouldn’t have said it. Arcas thought the Master of the Merchants had actually enjoyed imparting the information to him. Damn Gaius Prospero to Limbo, he who intended packing the new High Council with his adherents, and having himself elected emperor of Hetar! But the pleasant smile Arcas wore never faltered. Finally he arose.

“I should be getting back to the Council Quarter,” he said. “King Balasi and I want to depart early. I will see you in a few weeks, Gaius Prospero. My felicitations to your two wives, the lady Vilia and the lady Anora.” Then with a bow he left Gaius Prospero. He did not look back, or raise his hand in farewell.

The Master of the Merchants smiled to himself as his guest departed. He had been unable to resist taunting King Arcas with thoughts of his father and the beautiful half-faerie woman. He knew how very much the younger man desired Lara. When the Winter War of five years ago had ended, and Gaius Prospero had gathered all the information he needed to learn how he had failed to annex the rich mountain region of the Outlands, the Master of the Merchants had discovered that the daughter of the Crusader Knight known as Swiftsword was responsible in great measure for his defeat. It was she who had advised the Outlanders against him. At first he could not believe it. He had been amazed that the exquisite creature he had bought from her father to sell into one of the great Pleasure Houses of the City had become such a skilled warrior and strategist. Once he had lusted after her himself, but now he considered her his enemy. He would have his revenge on her for that earlier defeat, and engineering her husband’s death was just the beginning. And yet he wondered, if she came into his life again, would he still desire her?

It had taken five years to regain his popularity among the people. Five years to quiet the outcry against him by his fellow magnates, to calm the leaders and men of the Mercenary Guild. Seven carts piled high with Hetarian dead driven into the heart of the City was not a memory easily erased. And though they had buried those unfortunate dead quickly in mass graves, the stink of their rotting bodies had lingered in the air for days, reminding everyone of just what had happened—and who was responsible.

It hadn’t been his fault, he convinced himself. But he had been unable to ride out in the streets for weeks afterwards. On the rare occasions he had ventured out, surrounded by mercenaries paid to protect him, people had cursed him and thrown refuse at him. He could never forget that, nor would he forget those who had turned away from him in those wretched streets, or refused to return his messages. He knew they plotted against him, but most were still fearful of his wealth, which could yet buy death for Gaius Prospero’s enemies. They might hate him, but he still wielded some small power.

The Head Mistress of the Pleasure Mistresses’ Guild owed him a great favor for having sent Lara from the City to be sold. She had come to him some months after the Taubyl Trader had taken the faerie girl away and told him so. He had not wanted to see her, but Jonah had convinced him otherwise, reminding him that to lose the lady Gillian’s favor was an error he did not want to commit.

“You do not want to lose her allegiance, my lord. There will come a day when you can hold her to account, but now is not the time.”

So Gaius Prospero had welcomed the lady Gillian, and offered her refreshments and listened while she apologized to him.

“I know you are angry, Gaius, and disappointed by my decision in the matter of the faerie girl, Lara, but she really would have been too dangerous a possession for any of our Pleasure Houses to hold.”

“You have cost me a fortune,” he had grumbled at her. “I had to buy Vilia a new cart and horses to match. I had promised her, and had I not purchased them she would have complained, and many would have believed I couldn’t afford them. And the girl ended up escaping from the Forest Lords, and in the end has led this Winter War, which has almost destroyed me, Gillian. The monetary loss is bad enough, but worse, my prestige has been threatened.”

“Gaius, Gaius,” she murmured soothingly. Then she had come and sat in his lap and begun kissing him with slow, hot kisses. Her tongue slipped into his mouth to play with his. One arm curled about his neck, while her free hand found the opening in his robes, and began to fondle his sex. When it was rigid the lady Gillian positioned herself so that she might absorb his fleshy cock into her body. “There now, Gaius, isn’t that nice?” she purred at him. “I know taking pleasures cannot really make up for your loss, but I want you to know that despite everything that has happened I still consider you my dearest friend, and I will always ally myself with you in whatever endeavor you pursue. And I will advise the Guild of the Pleasure Women to follow my lead as well.” Her arms wrapped about his neck, and she tightened the muscles within her sheath around him.

Gaius Prospero groaned with pure delight. When she leaned back he reached out and fondled her large breasts beneath her gown. “Gillian, you are an amazing woman,” he told her. “Now ride me to ecstasy, you delicious bitch, and I will consider forgiving you.”

And so she had, and while she did Jonah watched with both amusement and interest. The Head Mistress was a powerful friend to have, and Gaius Prospero would have been foolish to make her an enemy. After she had gone, Gaius Prospero had admitted as much to Jonah. With her allegiance assured, Gaius Prospero set about rebuilding his alliances.

He soothed the Guild of Mercenaries and the Order of the Crusader Knights with promises for the future. They would take the Outlands, but first they must rebuild their forces. It would take time and careful preparation, Gaius Prospero told them. Hetar would not fail again. They had moved too quickly before. This time, he would put all his own personal resources at their disposal, and Hetar would triumph.

With Jonah by his side, Gaius Prospero had worked out just how the acreage belonging to the Outlands would be divided up. Jonah cleverly divined just whose aid was most needed by his master. They were given their choice of land or slaves. And of course, the Midland farmers must be given land as well. Each year the old farms produced less, for the earth was tired, and this condition was causing a scarcity of foodstuffs. New farms needed to be opened up, new orchards planted, new pastures sown for grazing.

It had been difficult for Gaius Prospero in those early days following Hetar’s defeat.

But Gaius Prospero had managed to keep his head above the water in those dark days. And much of his success was due to his former slave, Jonah. Jonah was clever, and he always looked ahead. Although he prided himself on his own mental skills, Gaius Prospero was not above using the abilities of others, and in Jonah he recognized an ambitious man. Better to have that man on his side. He had offered Jonah his freedom on the condition he remain with him for a term of ten years. It was not a verbal agreement, but one that was written down, and signed by both parties. Jonah even insisted on paying his former master the price of a sturdy male slave in order to make certain the transaction was completely legal and could not later be challenged. Two copies were made, one to be held by Gaius Prospero, the other by Jonah—although the Master of the Merchants did not know where his former slave kept his copy.

And so, working together they had struggled to rebuild Gaius Prospero’s reputation. It had taken longer than the Master of the Merchants had thought it would, and it had certainly cost him a great deal more in hard coin than he had thought to spend. He had opened his storehouses to feed the many poor in the City during the winter months. He had given free entertainments in the public stadium, and held races open to the public with prizes that while unimportant to him were considered generous by the people. And he had taken a second wife in a public spectacle that delighted the City and had capped his return to favor.

Usually a magnate wanting another woman to wed divorced his current wife. But Hetarian law allowed a man to have three wives at one time. When Gaius Prospero had married Vilia he had divorced his childless first wife, Hedda. Vilia was quite adamant in that she would not play second wife to another woman, and Hedda was more than willing to accept a generous settlement to let him go. Only later did he discover she had been cuckolding him with a younger man. But Vilia, beautiful and already burgeoning with their first child, soothed his ego with caresses and kisses.

Gaius Prospero knew, however, that Vilia would not divorce him so he might wed another woman. And divorcing Vilia who was the mother of his four children would have been a ruinous proposition. Particularly given the expense involved in regaining his reputation. When he had told her he planned on taking a second wife she had, to his great surprise, laughed.

“Do so,” she said to him.

She loosened her gown, revealing her wonderful breasts. He had always been fascinated by her bosom, and he could not take his eyes from it now. “You do not mind?” Unable to help himself he reached out and began to fondle her two full breasts.

“No,” she told him. Her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips.

Suddenly he was suspicious. “Have you taken a lover, Vilia?” he demanded, his fingers digging into her flesh.

Again she laughed. “I am not Hedda, Gaius. You are all the husband I want. But if the truth be known your appetites are too great for me to satisfy. I am happy to let another woman carry some of the burden. It is your Pleasure Woman, Anora, is it not?” She smiled as his hands became gentle again. “I imagine you are tired having to constantly go to her only to find her engaged with another, when it would be so much simpler to have her here with us.”

He nodded, amazed at the depth of her understanding.

“You must make the wedding a great public entertainment. To take a Pleasure Woman, buy her freedom and then wed her will but cap your return to popularity, husband. I shall welcome her before the masses, and we will provide a celebratory feast for all in the City,” Vilia said. “At the end of the evening I shall lead her myself to the bridal chamber, and we shall offer gifts to all the children who are born nine months to the day of your wedding to Anora.”

Gaius Prospero had been astounded by Vilia’s cooperation and her clever suggestions. He had rewarded her by putting her on her back then and there and using her lustily. He would never divorce Vilia now, he decided. She was a perfect first wife—and far too valuable an ally.

Vilia had been true to her word, arranging a great public celebration of his marriage to Anora to welcome this new wife. The Master of the Merchants had never known such utter bliss in his home life. The two women even conspired to entertain his lusts together now and again. He was amazed, and more than pleased by their cooperation. He had gold. His lustful desires were constantly and well satisfied. There was nothing left for him to desire but complete power, and it was now within his reach.

His clever plan to assassinate Vartan of the Fiacre had been genius. He had learned of the jealousy harbored against the Lord of the Fiacre by his younger brother. The brother was, if his spies were to be believed, unfit to rule. He was a young man filled with a sense of his own importance, which was based on naught. The Master of the Merchants secretly contacted Adon’s ambitious wife, Elin, having first sent her a faeriepost to arrange a meeting place with her in the Outlands. He had flattered and cajoled her until the stupid creature had been convinced to do his bidding. She, in turn, persuaded Adon that the lordship of the Fiacre should be his and not his brother’s. She prevailed upon her husband to do Gaius Prospero’s will, assuring him that he would be both rewarded and supported by this powerful man. And then she gave her husband the dagger with the poisoned tip that he was to use to accomplish his task. When he hesitated, Elin nagged Adon until finally he acceded to her wishes.

Now with Vartan dead, Gaius Prospero’s first order of business when spring came again would be to invade the Outlands once more. Vartan and Lara had been the heart of the Outlands’ resistance. With the Lord of the Fiacre dead and his wife driven away by Adon, the Outlands would fall into Hetar’s hands. Oh, there had been a message to the High Council that an Outlands lord named Rendor was now their council head, but this fellow, whoever he was, would not have Vartan’s influence. And he would be the first of the lords to be executed when Hetar claimed the Outlands.

In the meantime, it but remained for Hetar’s High Council to make Gaius Prospero their emperor once the winter recess was over. Emperor Gaius I—he liked the sound of it, the Master of the Merchants considered with a cold smile. Once, long ago in its very distant past, Hetar had been ruled by a line of emperors. It had been one land then, and not divided into the four provinces. It would be one land again, and the Forest Lords, the Shadow Princes of the desert, the Coastal Kings, and the Midlands governor, Squire Dareh, would pledge him fealty and do homage to him. The Crusader Knights would be his personal army, and the Mercenaries would fight under them and police the land for their emperor. And they would all obey his will, for what Gaius Prospero desired was for the good of Hetar. The emperor would be Hetar incarnate.

The touch of a gentle hand on his sleeve startled him.

“What?” he demanded.

“It is late,” the lady Vilia said. “Your guest has gone, Gaius, and yet here you sit while your two wives eagerly await your coming. Anora says you must be punished for your neglect of us. She says your bottom must be whipped most thoroughly, Gaius. Come.” She drew him up, and led him from the dining chamber.

Gaius Prospero’s heart began to thump with excitement. He had first been drawn to Anora because of her skills at punishment, and she had taught Vilia some of her art.

“Will you both beat me?” he asked hopefully. He loved it when together they plied their custom-made whips on his bare flesh. Each of the dozen thin strands of leather flowing from the carved wood handle was tied with several knots. The knots bit into his tender skin, arousing him greatly.

“Yes,” Vilia said to his delight. “You are deserving of both of us tonight, Gaius. I hope you will be up to the task ahead,” she murmured with distinct meaning.

Gaius Prospero’s breath was already coming in short bursts as his emotions were hotly kindled. Could his life be any better? he thought happily. Everything was happening as he had planned it. Vartan was dead. He would soon be emperor. And tomorrow, Arcas would return to the coast to do battle with his own father over the beautiful Lara, who would then be forced to seek refuge elsewhere. Arcas was doing his bidding, and he did not even realize it.

And while the Master of the Merchants gloated with the success of his schemes, Arcas lay awake in his bed in the Council Quarter considering all that Gaius Prospero had said that evening. Alone, his emotions cooling, he considered that the wily Gaius could very well have been baiting him. He was a very manipulative man who did nothing not to his own advantage. Arcas’s father, Archeron, was an elder. Surely he was not truly interested in Lara as a lover. Yet Lara’s faerie magic could possibly convince Archeron that he did love her. Was his father potent enough to create another son? Would Lara’s faerie heart give him that son? Arcas tossed restlessly. The dawn could not come quick enough.

In the years since the Winter War the Shadow Princes had made an arrangement using their own magic that allowed the diplomats from the other provinces to go and come from the City immediately. Times had changed, and these representatives could no longer spend long days of travel between their own homes and the City. Each of the council members was assigned a time, and then transported to his own province on the assigned day. The last to go were the Shadow Princes, and the transport was closed by the final traveler. This prevented misuse of the Shadow Princes’ magic.

Arcas and his fellow king, Balasi, arrived shortly after dawn. They would enter the transport together, but each would reappear in their own home. With a nod of thanks to the Shadow Prince in charge Arcas stepped within the conveyance, and a moment later found himself in his father’s Great Hall. He nodded pleasantly to the servants sweeping the hall. “Good morning,” he said.

“Welcome home, my lord king,” they chorused.

“Where is my father?”

“It is his custom of late to break his fast with the lady Lara, my lord king,” a servant answered. “You will find him in her apartments in the guest wing.”

So, Arcas thought, irritated, he eats the morning meal with her. Is that after he has spent a night of passion in her arms? He hurried to the part of the palace to which he had been directed. An attentive servant flung open the door to the apartment. Arcas followed the sound of laughter through the chamber and out onto the terrace.

“Arcas!” His father arose from the table smiling, and embraced him warmly.

“Father,” he said, but his eyes rested upon Lara. She was even more beautiful, if such a thing was possible. He returned his father’s embrace, then releasing him said, “Greetings, widow of Vartan.” He quickly caught her hand and kissed it.

Lara withdrew her fingers from his grasp. “Welcome home, King Arcas,” she replied. “I know how very much your father has been awaiting your return.”

“Sit down! Sit down!” Archeron invited his son. “Eat! If I know you, Arcas, you rushed to get home, and have had nothing since last night’s dinner.”

“Which I ate with Gaius Prospero,” Arcas volunteered. He reached for the bread, and tore a large piece off the loaf on which he spread fresh butter. A servant put several hard-boiled eggs, a bunch of grapes and a slice of salted meat upon his plate. Another servant filled the goblet by Arcas’s hand with sweet frine.

“And how is the wily Master of the Merchants?” Lara inquired.

“Soon to be created emperor,” Arcas said softly.

“Your High Council is made up of fools that they would give Gaius Prospero such power,” Lara replied bluntly. “He will abuse it, for he cannot help himself. His ambition knows no bounds, my lord king.”

“She is right,” Archeron spoke up now. “If we must all answer to Gaius Prospero as the supreme ruler of Hetar then what will happen to us, my son? Will our secret remain safe then?” The older man looked very concerned.

“You have told her?” Arcas demanded. Then he laughed. “Of course you have told her. You are bewitched by her. All men are.”

“Your father told me because I asked what was on the other side of the sea,” Lara explained. “Any stranger remaining in your kingdom for a time would wonder, Arcas. There are no manufactories here, so from where do your luxury goods come? You are the most distant province from the City. Few except the Taubyl Traders have ventured here, and they remain but long enough to sell their goods and purchase yours.”

“You are clever as well as beautiful,” Arcas replied.

“And you are as bold as you ever were,” Lara noted. She then concentrated upon her meal. This young Coastal King had irritated her the first time she met him, and it would seem that nothing had changed.

“Hetar will be stronger under a single ruler,” Arcas told them.

“I think you are wrong,” Lara said. “A High Council with all the provinces represented gives a greater voice to the people of Hetar. And there is no danger to us.”

“The Outlands presents a danger,” Arcas quickly said. “They must be subdued.”

“The Outlands present no danger to Hetar,” Lara snapped. “That is Gaius Prospero’s excuse to take what is not his. Do you think we have not heard that the City is riddled with poor? That the soil in the Midlands no longer produces enough crops to feed the people? The farmers have pushed into the forest, felling trees and clearing the land to plant. That must sit well with the Forest Lords. And Gaius Prospero has even dared to venture into the sandy grass of the desert as well. Do not tell me that his nefarious plans for war are because Hetar is threatened, for it is not!”

“How can you know these things?” Arcas wanted to know.

“Do you think Gaius Prospero is the only one with spies?” Lara taunted him.

He laughed. “I suppose not,” he said. “This is a high-stakes game that is being played. The future of Hetar depends upon who wins.”

“You have land here in your own kingdom that lies fallow and unused,” Lara said to him. “I have ridden across it on many an afternoon. Why will you not share your lands with those who feed Hetar? You would not have to give it away, or even sell it. You could lease it to the farmers, and those who did not produce would not have their leases renewed. And the purpose of the land would not be for settlement, but only for growing. The Midlands farmers coming here could not bring their families. They would only work the land. They would pay their leases yearly, and then from their profits give Hetar’s government a quarter share.”

“Lease our land?” Arcas looked horrified. “It is ours. We do not want strangers coming onto it.”

“You would rather involve Hetar in another war to try and take land from the Outland clan families?”

“The Outlands are populated by savages,” he said. “They do not deserve the land. It should belong to Hetar.”

“You know you speak foolishness, Arcas,” his father said. “You are more aware than most on Hetar that the Outlands are populated by peaceful people who simply wish to be allowed to live their lives as they see fit, and as their customs dictate.”

“I will grant you Rendor is a fine fellow,” Arcas admitted, “but as for the others—” He stopped.

Lara was shaking her head. “Did you find my husband a savage, Arcas?” she asked him. “I found more civility and kindness among the Fiacre than among the good people of Hetar. Did not the mercenary Wilmot tell the High Council the truth of the Outlands when he spoke before them? For Gaius Prospero to persist in the fantasy of savagery, and to use it as an excuse to invade the Outlands, is just wrong!”

“You speak treason,” he said in a threatening voice. “You are Hetarian.”

“No, I am Lara—widow of Vartan, daughter of Swiftsword, half-mortal, half-faerie. I was born in the faerie realm and raised in the City, but I found my greatest happiness in the Outlands,” she told him. “I use the small magic I possess only for good, Arcas. I will speak against intolerance and injustice while there is breath in my body.”

“How can someone so obviously meant for pleasure debate on such things?” he asked her.

“You are hopeless,” she told him.

He did not understand her, Arcas thought irritably, but he found he still wanted her. Yet in the days that followed she grew no warmer toward him despite his many compliments. But her sweetness toward his father seemed to grow. And as Gaius Prospero had told him, Archeron and Lara rode out together almost every afternoon. They did not ask him to join them, and on one or two occasions he had suggested going with them his father had said no. Arcas had been amazed by the refusal. Was Gaius Prospero right? Was his father Lara’s lover? Still, Arcas could find no other evidence of such a relationship. And he had easily learned that his father spent his nights in his own bed, and not in Lara’s arms. This knowledge made him want her even more. Perhaps she was one of those women a man must force to his will. Of course! That would have been the way the Fiacre lord, Vartan, obtained her. Lara was a strong woman. She needed a strong man to tell her what to do, and how to do it. Then she would melt with passion.

IN THE DARK of an early winter’s night Arcas made his way to Lara’s chamber. He entered quietly, making his way to her bedside. Flinging off his chamber robe he gazed down at her sleeping form. She was exquisite. Perfectly made with lovely breasts, and just the faintest swell of belly. Her skin was like white silk. Her golden hair like thistledown. His male member was hard with his deep longing for her. He was about to climb into her bed and take her for his own when suddenly her eyes opened. Even in the dimly lit room he could see the icy green glare.

“Get out!” she said quietly.

Arcas was about to bluster a refusal when he became painfully aware that his male organ had suddenly gone limp, and was shrinking at a most alarming rate.

“Get out,” Lara repeated, “or do you wish me to make it disappear entirely, Arcas?” Her cold voice matched her cold eyes.

The Coastal King turned and fled, not even bothering to gather up his robe. Looking at it, Lara pointed a finger, and the garment disappeared. Then turning over she went back to sleep again. But when the morning came, she found she was very angry. She would not tell Archeron of his son’s breach of good manners. It would hurt the man who was sheltering her so generously, and drive a wedge between father and son. She could not do that. It is time for me to move on, she thought. But where? She listened to the roaring of the waves as they pounded upon the beach below.

To Lara’s surprise Arcas sought her out that morning. He knelt before her.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. Then he sighed. “I cannot help but desire you, Lara, and I have presented my case badly. When we first met I offended you, and now I have done it again. I apologize.”

“What is it you want of me?” she asked him quietly. “I only share pleasures with those whom I choose, Arcas.”

“And I am not one of those fortunate, am I?”

“Vartan is gone from me but six months, Arcas. I am not ready yet to love again, or even share my body again. I am sorry,” Lara told him. “Get up now.”

He arose. “Do you deny that you are my father’s lover?” he asked half-angrily.

“Yes, I do,” Lara told him. “Your father is my dear friend, but he is not my lover, nor is he ever likely to be. Is that why you did what you did, Arcas? Because you were jealous?” Her tone with him had softened.

Hearing it he nodded, lowering his head as if in shame. The bitch had refused him twice now. He would have his revenge on her. He had but to find a weakness in her character he might exploit. “Will you forgive me?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she told him. He could never know she did it for his father’s sake, and not his. Arcas was a fool. She had known it the first time they met, and he had but confirmed her belief with his behavior last night. “It will please your father we no longer quarrel.”

“Yes,” he answered her. “We should be friends, and allies. My father tells me that you are interested in our trading partners from the Dominion.” He smiled.

“I am!” she said enthusiastically. “Tell me what they are like, Arcas? What do they look like? Do their women travel with them? Are there faeries in the sea?”

He laughed. “Would you like to see for yourself, Lara? I had planned to captain one of my ships to the meeting place while I was home. Travel with me, and you can meet some Terahns for yourself. And I swear to behave myself,” he concluded with a rueful smile.

Could she trust him? she wondered. Her instinct warned her no, but instinct warred with her curiosity. “Perhaps another time,” she said. “I have never traveled upon this sea of yours, and I am quite in awe of it. It is a powerful force, Arcas. I don’t think I am yet ready, or even brave enough to sail upon it.”

“Then another time,” he responded. “I will take a second voyage before I leave again for the City. Mayhap you will come with me then, Lara. It is not because you are still angry with me, I hope.”

“Nay, of course not,” she lied facilely. And she even gave him a smile.

He departed the following day, and returned ten days later. She enjoyed the time Arcas was away. She did not like the man, and he had obviously become an ally of Gaius Prospero, which did not please Archeron at all. They had quarreled the night before Arcas had gone to sea. Archeron feared a more centralized authority could endanger the monopoly the Coastal Kings had on the secret of their sea trade. But Arcas had assured his sire that he was not that big a fool.

“Do you think I want us powerless?” he demanded of Archeron.

“Of course not, but if the secret is made known we may have no choice, Arcas.”

“We are the only ones who can build sailing vessels or man them,” Arcas responded. “The magnates in the City have no talent for that, nor a way to accomplish such a task, my father.”

“The wood we need to build new ships we have always purchased from the Forest Lords,” Archeron said. “Now the City allows the Midlands to encroach into the forests.

“Gaius Prospero plans a new invasion of the Outlands. Once he has accomplished that what is to prevent him from invading our lands, building his own ships and launching them into the sea? My brother kings and I will not cooperate in this planned incursion into the Outlands, Arcas. And do you truly believe that the Shadow Princes will allow an army to cross their territory? So your powerful friends must either push into the mountains once more, or go through us. Given what happened last time what do you think they will do, Arcas? And will you help them?”

“The clan families in the mountains of the Outlands were weakened by the Winter War. They were easy to subdue the first time, and will be easy once again,” Arcas answered his father.

“The Outlands will not be easy to subdue this time, Arcas, and if you think they will be you are badly mistaken,” Lara joined the discussion.

“What do you know of it?” he asked her.

“What I know is not for your ears, Arcas, for you would immediately send off a faeriepost to Gaius Prospero. You have, I note, kept in touch with the City since your return.” She smiled sweetly, teasing him, “Unless, of course, your correspondence is poetry being sent to a favored Pleasure Woman.”

He laughed aloud, but neither confirmed or denied her suspicions. And then he had gone the following morning, and Lara had been glad to see him go. But Archeron was yet concerned by his son’s attitude, and fretted to Lara.

“If only he would choose a wife. But each year on his birthday he admires the young women presented to him, but chooses none to wed. He is older than I was when I chose Alina. If he does not marry, and beget children our line will die out,” Archeron said. He looked at Lara. “My son admires you greatly.”

“I know, but he is not the man for me, my lord king,” Lara answered him quietly. “And I yet mourn Vartan. Faerie women, even half-blooded ones, do not love lightly.”

“But he does respect you, Lara. Perhaps if you would remind him of his duty to the Coastal Kings he would see reason. He told me that he invited you on this voyage, but that you refused him. I thought you were interested in the sea, and the Dominion beyond it. That cannot have changed.”

“I was fearful of traveling upon those rolling waters,” Lara lied.

“You need not be. I will take you out in my own small boat rather than riding out this afternoon. You will see you have nothing to fear,” Archeron said.

That afternoon Lara took her first voyage upon the Sea of Sagitta, in a small boat with snow-white sails that King Archeron manned himself. She found the motion of the sea, the wind on her face and in her hair, exhilarating. And by afternoon’s end, to her utter amazement, she was controlling the small vessel herself. Each day after that Archeron and Lara sailed his small boat together. She realized that she could no longer use the excuse of her fear of the sea to avoid a voyage with Arcas, yet still she did not trust him. But Archeron pleaded with her to accompany his son when he sailed forth again. Arcas was happiest, his father said, out upon the sea. She would remind him of his obligations to his own kind, and he would hopefully choose a wife and forget Gaius Prospero’s great ambitions. Nothing must change. The Coastal Kingdom must remain the way it had ever been.

And Lara agreed because she could not offend this man who had been such a gracious host to her. She could not tell him that his son was a lustful and ambitious man who would do only what was best for Arcas. Besides, it was a short voyage, Archeron explained. She would sail to the meeting place, the cargoes would be exchanged and they would return. Archeron would tell his son to invite the Terahn to a meal so she might speak with him, and learn firsthand of the Dominion. Then they would return home.

Arcas returned with his ship’s hold filled with luxury goods. He would make another voyage in a week’s time.

“Lara will go with you this time,” Archeron told his son.

“You are no longer fearful of the sea?” Arcas asked dryly.

“I have taught her to sail,” his father replied.

“I find the sea beautiful, and I very much like riding upon it,” Lara said. “I shall enjoy meeting the Terahns, my lord king.” And as she spoke, Lara realized her concerns had vanished. Besides, what could Arcas do to her out at sea? She would travel with both Andraste and Verica as always. She wished she had her horse, Dasras, though she could only imagine Dasras’s opinion of the sea. It would not be a good one, Lara thought with a small smile. She had been wise to leave him with the Fiacre.

Several days later they prepared to depart. Arcas had turned over the master’s cabin to her although he told her he would join her for meals there. The quarters were spacious, located in the rear of the vessel with a large window overlooking the sea. The ship itself was sturdy, and built of a fragrant wood that perfumed the air most pleasantly. It was fitted with large square creamy silk sails, and flew multicolored pendants from its masts. Each of the flags flying indicated whose ship it was, and the cargo it carried, Archeron explained to Lara as they watched the vessel being loaded with large baskets of salt and silver boxes of pearls. Finally he escorted her aboard his son’s ship, and bid her farewell.

“You are bringing your sword and staff with you?” Archeron asked her, curious.

“I would never leave them alone,” Lara told him as she lay them on a table in the great cabin. “They are a part of me.”

Archeron kissed her on both cheeks. “I will see you when you return. I shall be interested to hear your opinion of the Terahns you meet.” He bowed, leaving her, and went ashore.

Lara went out upon the deck as they set sail. Being upon this large ship was very different from the smaller one in which she had first traversed the sea. She felt much safer. She reached for the crystal about her neck. Well, she told Ethne, we are off upon a new adventure, my friend. The tiny flame in the crystal flared up.

Now the real adventure begins.

Do not speak to me in riddles. You know how much I dislike it.

Look upon Hetar well, my child, Ethne responded.

Will I not see it again? Lara asked. Her heart was beginning to beat rapidly.

One day, but not soon, Ethne said. There are other places you must be to accomplish what you need to accomplish, my child.

Riddles again, Lara chuckled. I have a destiny. I am protected.

I am glad you remember it, Ethne murmured mischievously.

I cannot forget it, for you will not let me, Lara told her guardian.

Trust only yourself, Ethne warned her, serious again.

I do not trust Arcas, Lara answered. But I could not find a way to avoid this voyage. I did try. Should I leap from this vessel and swim ashore while I can?

This journey is meant to be, but Arcas will betray you, Ethne said.

Lara nodded.

Arcas now joined her as Lara stood leaning against the rail, watching the coast slowly recede. “Are you getting your sea legs?” he asked her.

“Sea legs?” She turned a puzzled glance to him.

“Are you becoming used to the motion of the ship?” he repeated with a chuckle.

“Yes,” she answered him. “It is very different, however, than sailing your father’s little boat along the shore.”

“He taught you to sail the boat?” Arcas was interested.

“I wanted to learn. Your sea is so different from anything I have ever known. I would wager that most who live in the City have no knowledge of the sea,” Lara told him. “It is quite magnificent. I hope we will have no storms. The storms I have seen roll into your coast from this sea can be frightening.”

“My ship can weather any storms,” he assured her. “I quite enjoy riding out the fierceness. To outmaneuver the wind and the waves is exhilarating.”

“I will accept your word for it, Arcas,” Lara told him with a small smile.

But the weather around them remained fair. Her first night at sea Lara slept surprisingly well. On her second day she watched great fish who escorted their ship through the waves, leaping gracefully alongside the vessel. At dinner that evening she asked Arcas a question that had been in her mind all day.

“Where are the men who sail this ship with you? I have seen few.”

“The ship sails itself,” Arcas explained. “Did my father not tell you?”

“It is alive?” Lara queried him.

Arcas nodded. “Each of our ships is imbued with a powerful sea spirit who guides it, and keeps it safe. The few men you have seen with me are here to keep the vessel company, and to load and unload the cargoes. And I have a single steward who cooks and serves us. The ship does everything else. I tell it where I wish to travel, and it takes me there. Of course the Terahns are not aware of this. I do not believe they have magic, or if they do, we have seen no evidence of it.”

“Are they not suspicious that there are so few men aboard your ships?” Lara asked him. “Surely they must have noticed.”

“The ship knows how to protect itself,” Arcas explained. “When we reach our meeting point it works its magic, and the Terahns see a full complement of sailors aboard. Some of these magical creatures even help with the cargo transfer so the time involved is exactly what it should be. If I am familiar with the captain who meets us I will ask him to join us for a meal. This way you may meet a Terahn for yourself. I believe my father told me that was the purpose for your accompanying me.”

“Yes, I should like to meet a Terahn,” Lara said.

On the third day of their voyage Lara again sat out upon the ship’s deck and watched the waves and the iridescent fish who accompanied them, leaping and arcing from the sea. She found them very beautiful. Again that night she peppered Arcas with questions.

“You say the ship is inhabited by a powerful sea spirit. Are these other beings who live beneath the waters? Are there Sea Faeries like our Forest Faeries, our Mountain Faeries and the Peris of the desert? And how did you get a powerful sea spirit to take your vessel upon itself? Do you know its name? Is it a male or female spirit?”

“There has always been a compact between the Coastal Kings and the sea spirits,” Arcas explained. “We do not know how it came about as we do not know how our trade with the Terahns began. It has just always been. When a ship is built it is then set upon the waters, and we invite one of the sea spirits to come inhabit it, and make the vessel its home. They have never rejected us. Our people are blessed by the sea. As for faeries, I do not know if any exist beneath the sea. There are ancient tales claiming a civilization there, but I have no knowledge of such a thing.”

“Magic is everywhere,” Lara told him.

“We will reach the meeting ground early tomorrow,” Arcas told her.

“I will be up early,” she assured him, relieved that his behavior had been good during their voyage. He had not touched her even casually, or made suggestive remarks to her. He had behaved well, and yet Lara sensed her instincts about Arcas were correct. He was absolutely not to be trusted. Given the opportunity, he would betray her. But to whom? And how?

She was up and dressed early. Out upon the deck she watched as the Terahn ship, quite similar to that on which she stood, approached. Their vessel already had what Arcas called a sea anchor out to keep them in place, and their white sails had been lowered, rolled and tied to keep them from blowing in the wind. The Terahn ship reached them, and took the same measures. Two wide planks with wooden handrails were placed between the two vessels, and immediately the cargo began being transferred between them. Lara watched fascinated as sailors from the Terahn ship unloaded their cargo onto Arcas’s ship, and an equal number of men from their ship hurried back and forth across the second gangway with cargo from the Hetarian ship.

By midafternoon the transfer of cargo had been completed and one of the gangplanks removed. Arcas did know the captain of the Terahn ship, and, as promised, had invited him to dine with them. He arrived in the hour before the sunset. Arcas welcomed him, and drew Lara forward to introduce her.

“This is the lady Lara, a famed leader of our world,” Arcas said. “Lara, this is Captain Corrado of the Dominion.”

The captain bowed and kissed Lara’s hand.

“I am pleased to meet you, Captain Corrado,” Lara told him.

“I had been told Hetarian women spoke,” the Terahn said. “Our women do not.” He then turned away from her, and began to speak with Arcas.

Lara was very surprised, but she had wanted to meet a Terahn. Their women did not speak? How odd. Perhaps that was why he had been so dismissive of her. Women were obviously of little importance in the Dominion. Yet without women, who would birth men? She wondered if anyone had ever considered asking a Terahn male that pertinent question.

The meal was served, and the two men continued to converse. Lara had to admit that Arcas did try to include her in the conversation, but Captain Corrado would each time answer Arcas while ignoring Lara. She wasn’t learning anything about the Terahns except that the men were horribly rude. She almost signed aloud with her relief as the meal came to an end.

“Captain Corrado has brought us a fine Terahn sweet wine to complete our meal,” Arcas said, and he pointed to indicate a little stone bottle.

The steward uncorked the bottle and poured the liquid into little silver goblets, setting them upon a tray and passing them about. First to Captain Corrado, then to Arcas, and finally to Lara.

“Let us raise a toast to the friendship between Hetar and the Dominion,” Arcas said, and he raised his goblet. “To friendship, and continued trade!”

“To friendship and trade,” his companions echoed.

Lara sipped from her goblet.

“No, lady, with this particular wine one must drink it down immediately,” Captain Corrado spoke directly to her, and then he demonstrated by quaffing his goblet.

He had actually addressed her. Lara was surprised. Perhaps she had misjudged him. Arcas had downed the contents of his goblet. Good manners required that Lara do the same, although she found the vintage a bit too sweet for her taste. It was her last memory for some hours to come.

The two men looked at the girl who had collapsed upon the floor of the cabin. Arcas looked to his steward. “Carry her across to Captain Corrado’s vessel. His steward will tell you where to put the lady.” He then turned back to his companion. “You will tell the Dominus that she is a gift from King Archeron, Corrado.”

“Not from you, Arcas?” The Terahn was curious.

“She is fond of my father. When she is told he betrayed her it will give her pain. I want her to feel that pain,” Arcas replied.

“You hate her, don’t you?” the Terahn said.

“I wanted to love her,” Arcas admitted.

“But she rejected you, and this is your revenge. Well, the Dominus enjoys women with spirit, and I imagine this one will give him great pleasure. She is incredibly beautiful.”

“She’s not a virgin,” Arcas felt he should say.

“Of course not,” the Terahn replied. “No one that beautiful would remain a virgin. Who is she, Arcas? Tell me her history. The Dominus will be interested.”

“Her father was a mercenary who became a Crusader Knight. Her mother is faerie. She was sold as a slave to advance her father’s career, but escaped into the Outlands, a lawless area, and married one of their leaders. When he was killed she returned to Hetar. As her husband was respected by his kind, so was she,” Arcas told the Terahn captain. “There is little else to tell.”

“It’s enough of a story,” Captain Corrado replied. He arose from the table. “I will be on my way now. What do you intend telling your father, Arcas?”

“I have not decided yet,” came his answer. “Perhaps I shall say the weather grew rough and she fell overboard. Despite our efforts she was lost to the sea. It is a plausible excuse, Corrado. My father is a simple man and will accept such a tale.”

The two men went out onto the deck, shook hands, and the Terahn crossed over to his ship again. No sooner had he stepped from the gangway than it was drawn back to the Hetarian vessel. He turned, but Arcas had already disappeared back into his cabin. Captain Corrado wondered what had induced him to leave the deck so quickly.

Entering the master’s cabin Arcas looked about for Lara’s sword and staff. They would be valuable to him, and she would certainly have no use for them now. But both of the objects that he sought were gone. He called to his steward. “Where are the sword and staff belonging to the lady?” he asked the man.

“Why they are there in that corner, my lord king,” the steward said. He walked to where he had directed his master, and his glance was puzzled. “They were here. I saw them when I passed by to take the lady to the Terahn ship, my lord king.”

Arcas swore under his breath. “They have followed her,” he said. Why had he not thought to enclose them in a cabinet this morning? The damned staff and sword were magic, but if they had not seen her taken away they would have been his. He swore again, but then he said to the steward, “Tell them to raise the anchor. It’s time for us to return home.”

“Yes, my lord king,” the steward said.

“It is unfortunate that the lady Lara tumbled over into the sea during a bout of rough weather, isn’t it?” Arcas told his servant.

“Yes, my lord king. Most sad,” the steward answered meekly, and he backed from the cabin bowing.

She could have been his queen, Arcas thought. Now she would be a pleasure slave for the Dominus of Terah. And the Terahns were not known for indulging their women. But it had been her choice. She could have been his queen!

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.