Page 11 of Blood Slumberm

She danced just out of reach in a teasing circle. “Oh yes. All the pomp and circumstance.”

“Fucking war mages.”

She let out another laugh. “So, what really happened?”

“The legend is far more interesting.”

“What people believe and what actually happened are both useful to know. But I prefer knowing the truth. It’s usually more dangerous than tales.”

Her circling brought her closer and closer. She tapped her waist to show him what to do next. He gripped her again, just a little closer than the dance called for. He felt no reaction in her poised body, but her aura betrayed that his touch excited her. Despite her masterful court face, she was transparent to his Hesperine senses.

He wanted explanations for her maddening emotions. It would be wise to indulge his curiosity about her, he reasoned. The more he knew, the better armed he would be against any betrayal. “Will you tell me the truth of how you became a mage of Chera?”

She paused to adjust the position of his arms for the next phase of the dance, and he thought she might not reply. But when they began moving again, she spoke.

“My magical ability manifested when I was a young girl. Of course, this meant I would be required to enter a temple. But I was my parents’ only heir, destined to marry a suitable man to rule Aligera. Unwilling to give me up to the Orders, we hid my magic from everyone. My parents took the secret to their graves. Even my husband died without ever knowing.”

“Your grief runs in my veins.”

She gave him a curious look.

“That’s a Hesperine saying,” he hastened to explain. He supposed he had absorbed more impractical Hesperine principles than he’d thought. “It’s how we offer condolences.”

“Thank you, then.”

“So, you were left ruling Aligera on your own as a young widow? My, how men must have circled like vultures.”

She turned her back to him, and he did as she instructed, dancing after her, close enough to touch.

“I could have held my throne against all contenders,” she declared, “if Rixor had not betrayed me.”

“He somehow found out about your magic?”

The dance brought them face-to-face now. Hurt welled up in her, but she continued matter-of-factly. “Yes. He revealed my ability to Kaion, our cousin in the Order of Anthros. Thick as thieves, those two. Kaion had me impressed into service to Chera, earning him accolades for apprehending a wayward sorceress. And Rixor, next in line, inherited everything that is rightfully mine.”

One hundred years later, the Pavones inside and outside the temples were up to the same tricks. He hated to admit how much he and Celandine had in common. “Will this Kaion be at the feast?”

“Do you really think I would drag you right out of your bed and into the clutches of a fire mage, who can wield your opposing element against you in your vulnerable state?”

“Of course you would. That’s why you need a Hesperine, isn’t it? To disguise not only your appearance but your magic. Rixor and Kaion know your face, but worse still, the mage knows your aura. It is no trivial thing to hide your innate magical ability. There is not a mage in all the Orders who would help a rebel sorceress against the Anthrians. So you need a heretic.”

They were spinning closer again. He could feel the dance reaching its climax. This time when he grasped her waist, she took his free hand in a punishing grip.

“Will you run back to the safety of your bed now, Hesperine?” she challenged. “Or do you want your own revenge?”

He pulled her closer. “You should have told me about Kaion right away.”

Her scent filled with that primal mix of fear and desire again. “And if I had, what would you have done?”

“I would have agreed to your plan even more eagerly,” he told her. “I want vengeance on the mages of Anthros as much as I do on Rixor’s line. I will destroy them both.”

She looked into his eyes, her mouth close enough to kiss. “Then you are precisely the heretic I need.”

five

Five Nights later

Tonight,itwasnotthe sweetness of Celandine’s blood or the rush of her lively emotions that greeted Troi when he awoke. His room was cold, the house quiet, except for her fretful weeping.

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