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Witch's Journey
by Karen McCullough
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Witch Romance

Copyright ©2002 by Karen McCullough

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

Chapter One

“No,” Flame insisted. “Not see. Do nothing."

“But it's a child,” Jinissa protested, listening to the terrified moans and shrieks from off to her left.

The fire elemental was right, of course. She shouldn't look. She couldn't afford to do anything. One of the basic rules for someone in her position: don't give yourself away, don't let them know what you are. Public use of her power would tell everyone in town they had a Calavrian witch in their midst. She couldn't afford any temptation to a revealing display.

She tried to pretend she hadn't heard the scream, going about her business of carrying laundry to the wash-house. But paying no attention to the fuss would also draw suspicion. She turned to see what caused the commotion. A child, a small boy, maybe six or seven years old, hung on a high branch of a pine tree, at least thirty feet above the ground. Along the trunk of the tree, knots and smaller branches provided foot and handholds, enough to let him climb that high. But he'd settled on a longer limb, and it was now cracking under him. A panicked mother stood directly below him and screamed. Neighbors held out unhelpful arms. A couple began to scale the tree themselves.

Flame, still wrapped around her finger in the form of a lightning-shaped ring, quivered and hissed. “Not good, looking. Shouldn't look. Will think."

They couldn't climb fast enough to grab the child. And even if the people below could catch him before he met the hard ground, another branch ten feet below might cause considerable injury.

“Not safe,” Flame insisted. “No looking. No thinking. Do nothing. Will hurt you."

Flame was right. She owed nothing to these people, would only endanger herself if she reacted. A ripping crack tore the air as the branch canted even further downward, and the child scrabbled to hold on. The people beneath gasped, while the mother shrieked and begged for help. Jinny bit her lip and ran her hands into her hair. The child was doomed, to serious injury, if not death. She could do nothing about it. She dared not do anything about it.

“Do nothing,” Flame agreed. Jinny always wondered how the elemental managed to read her mind so accurately.

Even if she did rescue the child, that good deed would weigh nothing against the heinous accusation against her. Witchcraft was feared and reviled in this land, more than the grossest of other perversions and sins. The child's own life might be forfeit, having been saved by the exercise of a power these people saw as something dangerous and demonic. In their warped thinking, he wouldn't deserve a life preserved by the use of an accursed power.

“Don't look!” Flame's words hissed and crackled. “Too soft, you."

Over the shrill cries of the adults on the ground, she heard the child's whimper and the clawing of small fingers. She could picture the upcoming scene in her head: the small body sliding off the hanging branch, tumbling down, knocking against other limbs on the way, then possibly caught or possibly not by people on the ground. She could hear the screams, almost smell the blood. Jinissa covered her ears and tried to look away.

“Good,” Flame agreed. “Close eyes. Close ears."

A louder cracking sound from the branch drew even more yells and moans from everyone present. The child shrieked as the branch shook him off. The boy's blue eyes looked around wildly, and for a moment it seemed that he met her eyes with a pleading glance. Not possible, of course. He couldn't know she had any help to give him.

But she couldn't ignore his eyes, either.

“No!” It was more crackle than word.

She ignored Flame's protest. It was stupid, it was dangerous, it might well be fatal. She couldn't watch the boy die right in front of her when she might do something about it.

Jinny held out a hand, focused her mind on drawing the forces of air together around the falling child, calling the breezes and herding them into the path she desired. Wind swirled around the boy. Flame moaned. Wind sang in joy, sailing at her command as it formed a cushion to slow the child's descent and protect him from knocking against other branches on the way down. She gathered more and more of the air, until she had enough of it, then held it in place while the boy floated down, avoiding obstacles in the way, and came within reach of the many upheld arms. Sudden cries of “magic” and “witchcraft” mingled with the gasps and sobbing relief, alerting her to the danger she was in.

Flame writhed around her finger. “Go,” it insisted. “Fast."

Once the boy was in his parent's grasp, she let go the wind cushion, whirled and ran. Too late, though. Before she'd gone far, footsteps sounded behind her, gaining on her, and then hands fell, hooking her clothes, wrapping around an arm and an ankle, bringing her to the ground. She hit hard. Breath whooshed out of her lungs. Flame jerked on her finger. Sudden, sharp pain flashed through her head, her vision fogged. Even the yells and shouts faded moments later as she sank into darkness.

Chapter Two

A cool, dank draft blew over her, and one hip dug uncomfortably into something hard. Her head throbbed. Even with her eyes open, darkness pressed against her. For a panicked moment she thought she was blind, until she turned her head and noted the narrow slivers of light leaking around what must be a door. Memory dribbled back slowly: the child falling, her foolish impulse to save him, the mob catching up with her.

Jinissa tried to roll over to relieve the pressure of her hip on the unforgiving surface and found it unexpectedly difficult. Her hands wouldn't go where she needed them to be. A bit of struggling made her realize they were bound tightly together at the wrist. Her ankles were likewise drawn together and held by rough rope. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she could see more of her present quarters. It was a tiny, rectangular room, with the door on one of the long sides and the rough wood cot she lay on taking up the entire wall opposite it. A narrow foot space ran alongside the cot. The walls were stone on two sides and wood on the other two, all solid, with no openings save the door and a few cracks where boards met less than perfectly. She wouldn't suffocate, but the air wasn't fresh either.

Flame could take care of the ropes in short order. She reached for fire with her mind and met emptiness. Nothing. No hint of the elemental, or any other, anywhere in the vicinity. No response at all. She crooked her body enough to get a view of her hands. No lightning-squiggle ring encircled her finger. Her chin rubbed something brittle and dry, bound snugly to her throat by an encircling leather strap. Witchbane.

That explained the absence of flame and the lethargy which made every movement an effort. She tried to twist her neck and shake it loose, with no success.

Unable to do much beyond wiggle, and realizing the witchbane would make her wear out all the quicker, Jinny lay still and waited to see who would come or what would unfold. Nothing happened. No one came to visit or bring food, or water, or word of her fate. Eventually she dozed again. She woke and tried to move again in the constraints of her bonds, then tried to loosen them somewhat. The ropes refused to yield even a bit of slack. She accomplished nothing but to rub skin off her wrists and ankles.

After a long time, someone did come in and bring a bucket of water, which he set in a corner of the cell, then left again. She tried to call to him to stay, throwing questions at him as he left. “What's happening? What are you going to do with me?"

He ignored her completely, leaving and locking the door behind him with no comment. The water was welcome, though she had to squirm and hop over to it, then lap it up with her tongue like an animal at a stream.

Time passed. She dozed and woke, drank more of the water periodically and worked at her bonds. Rumbles from her empty stomach told her it had been a long time since her last meal. No one brought food.

The passage of a day was marked by a slight increase of light inside her cell and the subsequent darkening. Jinissa berated herself at least once an hour for her stupidity in saving the child and exposing herself. She was every bit as foolish and incompetent as the Elder Council had feared she was. The weakening of her body from the effects of the witchbane and lack of food brought weakening of her spirit as well. Occasionally a few hot tears leaked from her eyes and trickled down her temples. What would happen to her now? She supposed the best she could hope for was a quick, easy death. Hanging or beheading. Not fire, Powers please, anything but fire.

Just the thought of fire kindled a burst of energy that had her struggling to free her hands. It didn't work, but did start her thinking of other opportunities she might get to try an escape or even ways to make opportunities. She ran a variety of scenes through her head. If they tried to burn her, perhaps she could bend enough to let the flames consume the witch-bane first, then hope she could recover enough strength in the few minutes she'd have after that.

She dozed and woke several more times before the door opened to admit several people. As a group, they came and took hold of her arms and dragged her roughly to her feet.

“Come on, witch,” one man said as they pulled her toward the door, heedless of her difficulty walking with bound ankles. “There's business to attend to."

She squinted as the light assaulted her dark-adapted eyes. Several minutes passed before she could see well enough to sort out the people in the room. Four men and two women. She recognized all but one of them. She knew them reasonably well after six months of living in the same town and interacting with some on a daily basis. They'd been reserved but not unfriendly, accepting her as a stranger with reservations. There was nothing but hostility now, even from the father of the child she'd saved. Given what she knew of their attitude toward her kind, she could have expected nothing else.

The stranger, a short, stout man with a red face and bad teeth, was no better. He glared at her as she was pulled forward. “This is the witch?” he asked the others. “She doesn't look like much."

“Don't be fooled,” the boy's father answered. “She put a curse on my boy, Sam. Made him think he could fly. Damn near killed him. Witch's trick if I ever heard of one."

Jinissa tried to jerk herself loose from their grasp, but at least four persons held her and she couldn't shake off all of them.

“We'll put a stop to that nonsense,” the newcomer said. “I see you've used witchbane to contain her, but I've got something better.” He opened a cloth sack and withdrew a circlet of metal from within. Fixed in the center of the band was an iron disk, engraved with ... Jinissa sucked in a sharp breath when she looked closely at the design. She tried to back away when the man advanced on her, holding the band, his intent to fasten it around her neck all too clear. But the others held her, halting her retreat, preventing her from wiggling clear of it. Despite her desperate efforts to evade it, the circlet was brought to her neck and the disk pressed against her throat. Only when it was touching her skin did they remove the strap holding the herb in place.

The metal burned faintly where it touched her skin. The sigil of the witch-bane, cut into both sides of the disk, produced an uncomfortable tingle. She made one last desperate effort to jerk her arms and head loose from their grasp, enough to use her power, but she heard the tiny click of a lock mechanism closing. It sounded like a death knell.

At least the sigil wouldn't have the same sapping effect on her energy as the herb itself. But it would be just as effective in preventing her from using magic, and far harder to remove.

The stranger turned a mocking smile on her. “Not so feisty, now, eh, witch?"

Her own rasping breath sounded unbearably loud in her ears. The skin of her throat prickled where the disk lay against it, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her rub or scratch it.

“What now, magistrate?” one of the townspeople asked the newcomer.

“A trial, of course,” the magistrate answered. “Summon the witnesses."

A woman and man left the building, to go round up the rest of the town, it turned out. People arrived quickly, pressing into the small area that served as the public meeting room. Jinny was dragged to a side wall and held against it. The magistrate seated himself in the only chair in the room, behind the only other piece of furniture, a rickety table. When the crowd filled the room and flowed out the door, he pounded on the table with a heavy wood seal and yelled loudly for order.

“The charge against this woman, Jinissa Var-Ton as she was formerly known, Jinissa Calavrian as she will now be called, is that of being a witch, a traitor and a spy for the Calavrians. Who accuses?"

A number of people stepped forward to offer their accusations. The incident of her saving the child was presented, although several people agreed they'd seen her making odd movements toward the boy before he climbed the tree. Consensus soon grew that she'd ensorcelled the child into going up the tree in the first place so he'd be injured or killed. Then other incidents suddenly occurred to people. Animals had died soon after she passed by, objects disappeared, people taken sick following visits from her. None of it true, but the more the stories were repeated, the more they were believed.

When all had finally had their say, the magistrate stood and faced her. “You've heard the accusations made against you, Mistress Jinissa Calavrian. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Jinny thought of all the things she'd like to say. She could remind the Thompkins family of the help she'd given them with harvesting, the Martins, of all the extra cooking she'd done for them when the mother of the family took ill, and old Halwyn, of the salve she'd offered to ease his arthritis. She could make all the logical arguments about how ridiculous it would be for her to do something so stupidly revealing as ensorcelling a child. But these people were beyond logic. They thought with their prejudices and looked no further. “There's nothing to say,” she answered quietly, determined to preserve the only thing remaining to her, her dignity, in the face of their furor.

“The penalty for the treachery of spying for the Calavrians is death,” the magistrate proclaimed.

She sucked in her breath, but allowed nothing to show on her face. She'd known it was so.

A few folks yelled, “Burn the witch,” and others took up the cry.

The magistrate allowed it to go on for a few minutes, then held up an arm. He shook his head. “I regret to tell you,” he said to the crowd, “that king's law no longer permits execution by fire. The witch must be sentenced to hang."

The crowd murmured its regret.

“But,” the magistrate added, “there's no proscription on the penalties that may be imposed prior to execution. Therefore I proclaim that, as an example to the community and a warning to all, prior to execution by hanging for the charge of treachery to the people of Lendiil, the prisoner Mistress Jinissa Calavrian is to receive thirty lashes as penalty for the charge of spying and be branded with the sign of the witch in penalty for witchcraft. Thus it shall be done in the name of our liege, King Randell of Lendiil."

A wave of cold shock poured over her, freezing her for several moments, followed by the worst fear she'd ever felt in her life. The sentence of hanging didn't surprise her. She'd do anything in her power to avoid it, but it didn't hold any terror for her. What would come before did.

She barely heard the magistrate add that the sentences for spying and witchcraft would be carried out at midday the following day, with execution to follow a day later. The buzzing in her ears drowned all else until the exploding lights at the borders of her vision expanded and swallowed her again.

When she woke, she lay once again on the hard wooden bench in the tiny cell. The lack of light suggested several hours had passed and it was night. She wished she could sink back into the faint, but sleep wouldn't come. Instead her thoughts churned with dread of what would happen. She tried to concentrate on concocting plans to escape or, failing that, to force them to kill her quickly. No good ideas presented themselves, but mulling those possibilities did provide the only acceptable place to let her mind roam.

Eventually she dozed again but roused when someone appeared with another bucket of water in the morning. The next few hours were the longest of her life. The metal disk at her throat created an itchy burn that continued to be uncomfortable. Worse, it drained both the power and the spirit from her.

When they came for her, she tried to be calm and dignified. She'd considered trying to beg and plead for mercy but decided it would avail nothing but to give the gathered crowd yet more satisfaction. Icy disdain would be her course. Four men showed up to escort her to her fate. They untied her ankles, letting her move more freely, before half-dragging her out of the cell. If she got any opportunity to wiggle free of her escort and run, she would take it.

As they led her from the building, someone kept a hand on her at all times, giving her no opportunity to escape. When she saw the whipping post waiting for her, though, she almost collapsed involuntarily. She had to remind herself to keep her head up and not let the tears go. When both her arms were freed momentarily while they prepared to chain her wrists, she ducked quickly and tried to work her way between two of the men. It availed nothing, however. One of the men dove at her and snagged her dress. The fabric tore as she tried to rip herself away, but he held on until the others helped. Moments later metal cuffs circled her wrists and they were drawn up and over her head, pulling her body closer to the post.

The magistrate stood behind her and intoned a speech about the wickedness of the Calavrians, the danger of spying, the wonderful wisdom of the king, and the lesson that the young people of the town should be taking from this display.

With her face pressed to the post, she no longer worried about anyone seeing the tears running down her cheeks. A sharp, hard tug on the back of her dress tore the fabric. A cool breeze blew over the cringing flesh of her bared back. Jinny prayed for help, for release, for strength to bear what couldn't be avoided. The crowd cheered but she refused to look at what they were excited about. She heard the rustle of the whip being drawn and braced herself for the first cut.

Chapter Three

A commotion broke out before the lash could fall. Through the haze of terror and anticipation, she heard the clop of a horse's hooves approaching rapidly. The newcomer didn't hesitate but forced his way through the gathered spectators. The crowd moved aside, making way for the horse and rider.

“What's going on here?” a deep, resonant voice demanded. “Is this the witch you captured?"

Jinny strained to look up at him. From her angle she could see only the back of his head, which featured a mane of long, wildly disordered black hair. He was a big man, sitting easily and confidently on an enormous dark horse. A voluminous cloak enveloped him completely except where he'd thrown back the hood and pushed the fabric up his arms to leave his hands free.

Several people, including the magistrate and two of the town elders, hurried forward. She couldn't tell if he was actually known to them, or if they paid respect to the authority he carried so aggressively, until she heard a couple of them address him as Lord Stephan.

“It is the witch, milord,” the magistrate said.

The man turned briefly to face her. Jinny got a quick glimpse of a definite and vivid face, with features cut in hard planes and sharp angles. Surprisingly young—in years, anyway. Not in experience. Black eyes showed no hint of softness or mercy.

“Flogging to death is not an approved method of execution."

“No, of course not, milord,” the magistrate said. “It's merely a preliminary and the penalty for spying, rather than witchcraft. We felt it would be instructive for the youth of the town to see the price for defying the king's law."

“Indeed,” the man answered. “So it might be. But I cannot permit it."

“Milord!” the magistrate protested. “Trial was held in accordance with the king's dictates. The punishment is harsh, but it is within guidelines."

“No doubt,” the lord said. “But the king's direct order takes precedence. He wishes to question the witch himself. I'm sent to bring her to him with all haste. Therefore, I request your claims be suspended in favor of the king's. And since we must leave quickly to reach the pass before the snows come, I must have her in condition to travel. This punishment, well-deserved as it is, must be held for some later time."

Jinny's befogged brain, driven almost beyond her ability to cope, registered the reprieve. Had her wrists not been held so firmly, she'd have slipped to her knees as the relief made every muscle in her body slack.

“Release her and take her back to wherever you've been holding her. Make sure she's fed, both tonight and in the morning. We leave with first light, and I want no delays. She'll need a heavy cloak and boots."

They obeyed him with only minimal murmuring, though she heard sounds of disappointment from the crowd. When her wrists were lowered, she had trouble standing. Her legs didn't seem able to support her weight. The men who'd escorted her to the post half-dragged her back inside. Jinny clutched her torn dress when it started to slip off her shoulders.

“Find her another dress, too,” the man directed.

Jinny looked up at him again, meeting his gaze. Hostility radiated from the most extraordinary and compelling set of features she'd ever seen. He wasn't handsome, not even close, but handsome would be far too weak a word anyway. The man had the kind of presence no one could resist or ignore. Black brows slashed violent arcs over intense black eyes dominating a pale-skinned face. A wide mouth pressed into a solemn, straight line below a stark, jutting nose. He might have saved her from a horrible punishment, but it wasn't from kindness or compassion. She could almost feel the intensity of his hatred when he looked at her.

He turned to the gathered crowd and addressed them. “The king also orders that you look to the fortification of your town and prepare weapons. There are rumors of war to the east of us. The likelihood of it coming here is small, but it's best to be ready."

He abruptly turned his horse and scanned the buildings around him. After stopping to listen to his words, her captors pulled Jinny into the jail building and returned her to the tiny cell. Some time later a woman entered, set the tray she bore on the floor, not gently, and left again without a word.

They hadn't retied her hands, for which Jinny was grateful, as it meant she could eat without having to stick her head into the bowl. After several days with little food, the bowl of stew was the most appetizing thing she'd smelled in a long time. She ate every bite and used the hunk of rough bread to sop the last bits of juice clinging to the sides of the bowl.

The relief and food combined to make her fall asleep rapidly. She woke in darkness, with rough hands shaking her. “Get yourself up and moving,” a woman's voice ordered, not kindly. “You've got to eat and change. The lord will be ready to go shortly. Won't do to keep him waiting. He hates your kind fierce enough as it is. Don't want to make him angry by being late. Food's down there.” She pointed to the floor. “Put this on when you're done."

Jinny ate the breakfast of corn porridge and pork strips with just as much enthusiasm as she'd downed the previous evening's dinner. The dress they'd left her was made of rough sacking material, as unattractive and uncomfortable a garment as they could possibly have provided. But it covered her decently and was warmer than the torn one anyway.

She'd just cinched the rope belt around her waist when the door opened again to admit a party of several large men to escort her out. The lord wasn't in the outer room. Her escorts pushed her into a chair and someone rammed a pair of battered leather boots onto her feet. They sort of fit, but she saw no use in complaining about pinched toes and heels that would slide when she walked. One of the men ordered her to stand, then swirled a large, rough cloak around her shoulders. A softer, fur lining made it surprisingly comfortable and quite warm.

The outer door opened and Lord Stephan entered with the magistrate. It was still mostly dark outside, but she could hear the howling of a strong wind. The nobleman seemed to bring some of the wildness of the weather into the room with him. He looked around, nodded when he saw her in cloak and boots, pulled a rope from somewhere below his own voluminous wrap and tossed it to one of her captors.

“Bind her wrists,” he ordered.

The man nearest her caught the rope and wound it around her wrists, pulling it tight enough to make her wince, since her skin was still abraded and tender from earlier attempts to free herself. She swallowed her protest, and not just because it would be a waste of energy. Something about the way the lord looked at her brought out a fierce pride, a desire to hide all weakness and stand as straight and tall as she could. Even stretched to her full height, she would barely reach his shoulder.

“Bring her outside."

Lord Stephan turned and left again, confident they'd follow. Outside, three horses pawed the ground impatiently. Two bore large packs strung over each side; the third was the horse he'd ridden the previous day. A scabbard hung over the back end of the saddle. A large red jewel set into the sword's carved handle glinted when the first rays of sunlight hit it.

Wind blew Jinny's hair into her face and whipped the edges of the cloak around her body. The lack of another available horse disturbed her, especially when the man vaulted onto the first, took a length of rope attached one end to his saddle and tossed the other end to one of her captors, saying, “Attach that to the ropes on her wrists. Good, solid knots."

They tied the rope to the one already circling her wrists. The magistrate walked over to the nobleman's horse and exchanged a few words with him, so low she couldn't hear them. But she saw him hand something to the lord, something small enough to fit in the palm of the hand without being visible. The key to unfasten the band around her neck, she presumed. It was pushed into an inside pocket of his cloak.

“Let's go,” Lord Stephan said, guiding his horse into the center of the road. The rope stretched, then jerked at her wrists, forcing her to move along with him. Jinissa's stomach clenched with the realization that he expected her to walk. How far did they have to go? He'd talked about a mountain pass being closed by snow; the mountains were many miles to the west, barely visible in the distance on the clearest of days.

She started to walk, head down to keep the hair from blowing into her eyes. The poorly fitting boots made her keep a close watch on the road to avoid stumbling on ruts or holes. People lined the streets, watching them go, but most were silent. A couple of handfuls of dirt were thrown her way and one even hit her shoulder, but a hard glance from Lord Stephan put a stop to it.

He kept the horse to a pace that didn't push her too hard. Despite her situation, Jinissa heaved a sigh of relief on leaving the town. She'd lived there for the last six months, but had never received friendly treatment from the natives. They hadn't known till the end she was a Calavrian witch; being a stranger was reason enough for their coolness. She'd probably just confirmed all their suspicions. She left the town and its inhabitants behind with no regrets but considerable fear for the future.

The walking wasn't bad at first. The pace was brisk but not not too fast. A refreshing wind blew her cloak around, helping to clean from her nostrils the lingering smell of days in the dank, smelly cell. By holding onto the rope, she was able to keep it from tugging and rubbing on her wrists. The road grew rougher as they moved away from the town but remained level.

Trees gathered more densely by the sides of the road, broken by a few cleared patches or plowed garden areas. The farther they traveled, the fewer signs of settlement she saw. They passed an occasional house, a few goats or cows chewing lazily in a fenced pasture, and once a woman working in a garden who stood to stare as they went by, but she didn't wave or shout a greeting.

Jinny couldn't help wondering what waited at the end of the journey. The king wanted information from her. That was surprising. What could she know that might interest the king? Then she thought of a few things: the centers of power in Calavria, the condition of the armies, where they were stationed, what kind of fortifications they had. Not that she knew those things, but she had some facts. She wouldn't give them to him, and he'd have to try to force it from her. And he couldn't know what she might have learned of his country; what she might have passed on to her own people about its weaknesses. Certainly he'd want to know that. How resilient could she be to torture? The thought of it terrified her, but she'd given an oath to her country not to reveal any of its secrets. She would no doubt be sentenced to death anyway. If it came to that, the best plan might be to look for a way to anger everyone enough to earn a rapid execution.

Would it make any difference if she told the king who her mother was? Could she tell him? She'd been warned to tell no one in her own country, but here it would matter little. Despite her parentage, she had no hostage value or any political capital to trade. Which meant her mother's name would probably avail her little to reveal it.

She'd have to search for a way to escape. Preferably early in the journey when they weren't too far from what passed for civilization in this land. Having lived in a town or protected enclosure all her life, Jinny had no confidence in her ability to survive for long in the wilderness. She hadn't learned to hunt or recognize edible plants. If she could get rid of the sigil, she could use magic to hunt for a while and protect herself, but ignorance would trip her up eventually.

Where should she go? She couldn't return to Calavria. And word of her presence would no doubt have already spread through this part of Lendiil. To the north there was reputedly only inhospitable wasteland. East seemed the only option. The land of Pyrlla was on the other side of the Eastern mountains, but she knew nothing about it save that it existed, and rumors of war there had drifted into Lendiil. She wasn't even sure they spoke the same language, and customs would no doubt be different. Still, if she could escape, it offered her the only real chance to find a place she could settle into and live quietly.

The journey wasn't difficult but it got lonely. Lord Stephan stayed several paces ahead of her and didn't speak, didn't even turn to look at her. She wished she had someone to talk to. She missed Flame. The elemental had been with her for the last twelve turns of seasons. It was the only real companion she'd had in a long time. It wasn't the wittiest or most charming of company, but it was loyal and it cared for her, in its own way.

The sun rose and the day warmed, but they kept going, moving toward the west along the rough road. The wind calmed to a gentle breeze. Near midday, they reached a crossroads, where Lord Stephan stopped and dismounted from his horse. A stream lay just beyond, and he led both her and his horse to its edge. He drew a cup from his saddlebag and dunked it in the water, drank, refilled it again and drained it again. Jinny waited, wondering if he would get her a drink or make her crawl to the edge and lap as the horse was doing.

But he went to the stream, filled the cup and brought it to her, pushing it into her bound hands. She drank it all. Without asking, he refilled it and offered her more. After she drained the second cupful, he fastened the loose end of the rope around his wrist, leaving slack between them, then nodded to the ground, and said, “Sit down. We'll rest here for an hour or so."

Jinissa sat, managing it as gracefully as she could under the circumstances. Lord Stephan took care of the horses, then removed a few items from packs on one of them. He tore off a couple of pieces of bread, handed one to her, did the same with a stick of dried meat, then sat some distance away to eat his own food. The bread was coarse, but fresh, and the meal in general was better than what she'd had for breakfast.

Stephan sank against a tree trunk when he was done, gathered the loose rope between them and set it under his arm, then closed his eyes. Moments later, he began snoring gently. Jinny briefly considered the possibility of trying to get away, but decided he was probably just dozing and would feel any tug on the rope. Better not to alert him that she was looking for an opportunity and wait for a likelier chance.

She pillowed her head in her arms and tried to relax. But her worries gave her no rest. How long would they be traveling this way? Could she survive it for an extended period of time? And what would happen at the end? That last question concerned her the most.

Chapter Four

She wasn't aware of dozing, but apparently she had. A hand shaking her shoulder startled her awake. “Time to go,” he said, turning to the horses again as soon as he saw she was alert.

Jinny stretched and shook herself. A few muscles had stiffened and now protested, but as they got moving again, they loosened and let her travel easily at the pace Lord Stephan set.

The afternoon passed much as the morning had. He set a steady, sedate rate of travel that let her walk in easy rhythm. The countryside remained wooded with occasional breaks into grassy plains. A few remote home sites nestled into hollows or sat atop low hills, but they didn't stop to seek rest or refreshment at any of them. They passed no towns or villages.

She worked on plans for escape. The first need was a knife or anything with a sharp edge that would cut the ropes. Lord Stephan had that fancy sword strapped to his horse, and he probably wore a knife somewhere as well. If she could get to it without his hearing, cut the rope and take one of the horses...

They paused at another stream in mid-afternoon to drink and rest. Lord Stephan filled several water bottles. Jinny hoped for an opportunity to make a break while they were stopped, but he left her hands tied and kept an eye on her the entire time.

It was harder to get going again in the late afternoon. She was tired and her feet started to protest. The muscles and joints that had tightened during their stop didn't want to ease as quickly this time. She didn't see any point in complaining, didn't even want him to know she was flagging, so she forced herself to stretch her joints loose before they started, then to walk fast enough to keep up the pace. When she stepped on an uneven spot of road once and stumbled, he felt the pull on the rope he'd tied to his saddle. He looked back, reined his horse to a halt, and waited until she'd righted herself before setting out again. He didn't ask if she was all right or make any other comment.

By the time he found a place to camp for the evening, Jinny was struggling to stay upright. Her feet hurt from the unaccustomed exertion and in places where the boots were starting to rub. Her body ached all over and her mind was going numb. When he stopped and dismounted, leading the horses to a small grassy clearing near a narrow stream, she picked out a soft spot and sank down on it. Lord Stephan tied the other end of the rope to a high tree branch just out of her reach. He left enough slack to let her settle comfortably, but not enough for her to move around much.

She watched him unload the horses and settle them for the evening with water and feed bags. Then he began gathering wood for a fire. If he would just get far enough away, she could yank on the branch, maybe break it, and pull herself loose. She watched him, trying to be casual about it and suspected she wasn't succeeding. For a big man, he moved with tightly controlled grace. When he threw off the cloak, which hampered his efforts, she realized he wasn't as bulky as she'd initially thought. Some of his size was an illusion created by the voluminous cloak draped over a tall frame and broad shoulders. His shoulders tapered down to a much narrower waist and long legs.

Unfortunately, there was plenty of loose wood in the vicinity. He never had to go far enough afield in his search to be out of sight. Once he had a stack of fallen branches ready, he got a flame going and warmed a meaty stew he must have had tucked in one of the packs. Before handing her a plate, he used another piece of rope to fasten her ankles together, then freed her hands. He did it all without a word to her. He barely looked at her except when his actions compelled it.

They ate in silence. The woods around them were calm as well. A gentle breeze ruffled a few leaves and occasionally she heard the scuff of a small animal rooting through the brush. Jinissa was used to being around people, even if she didn't make a great effort at prolonged contact with most of them. She looked over at the man opposite her. The firelight cast strange flashes of light and shadow on his dark face, emphasizing the demonic cast already shaped by the hard planes and sharp angles of his features, magnified by its harsh expression. He terrified her, but she couldn't afford to let him know it.

Even so, after a while, she found the quiet so uncomfortable, she had to try to break it.

“How long will it take us to reach the mountains?” she asked.

He looked at her briefly but didn't answer. Instead, his expression went cold and blank. She couldn't read anything there.

“I'm just curious. Wondering how long this trip is going to take,” she said.

“Long enough,” he answered, finally, quellingly.

“It's not every day one gets an invitation to meet the king,” she added.

One arched, black eyebrow quirked and his lips thinned. An angry demon with revenge in his grasp. “I wouldn't be quite so eager, if I were you.” He put his empty plate aside and rose to his feet, forestalling further questions. He cleaned the dishes and refueled the fire.

When they'd both taken care of personal needs and rolled into their cloaks for the night, she tried again. She had to, it was too unbearable to think of her only companion for the next however many days as an inhuman monster. “What's your king like?” she asked.

The silence lasted so long she'd decided he wouldn't answer. Then he said, “He's a king. And a good one. Hard when he needs to be, merciful when it's called for. As just as he can manage. Go to sleep."

He turned his back to her. Exhausted as she was, she expected to fall right asleep, but it didn't happen. Her mind had awakened and insisted on thinking, considering what might occur at the end of the journey and how she could avoid it. She concocted several possible escape plans. Her hands and ankles were still bound and the end of the rope holding her wrists attached once again to the tree branch. She could wiggle and get comfortable, but if she moved very far, the branch creaked and groaned. If she could reach the pack he'd brought close to the fire without causing the tree limb to creak, she remembered watching him stash the knife he'd used for preparing dinner.

She waited a long time, forcing herself to stay awake and alert until the stars had moved significantly in the sky and Lord Stephan snored lightly beside her. Then she levered herself up carefully, inch by inch, making sure she put no pressure on the rope. It took a long time. Her body resisted, tight muscles and joints protesting. The effort left her panting, but she got to her feet without causing even the slightest groan from the branch. Getting to the pack presented another set of challenges. The rope around her ankles was tight enough to keep her from doing anything but shuffling each foot ahead, taking tiny steps or trying to hop. Not wanting to risk the pull on the rope a hop might cause, she hobbled toward the pack. A slight swishing noise came each time she slid a foot forward, barely audible even to her. It was slow, but she made progress.

Until suddenly, from out of the quiet darkness, a hand circled her arm and whirled her around. “Going somewhere, witch?"

Her bound ankles couldn't adjust to her changed posture and she nearly fell. The hand tightened on her arm and steadied her. She found herself looking into the hard, accusing face of Lord Stephan, barely visible in the combination of dappled moonlight and flickering glints cast by the dying fire. She hadn't heard him move or rise. His black hair was tousled, but otherwise he looked alarmingly awake. How long had he been watching her?

“I ... I needed ... Personal needs, you know."

He glanced in the direction she'd been proceeding. An eyebrow twitched and his lips curled derisively, but he decided not to make an issue of it. Instead, he did something that surprised her even more. He picked her up bodily, with an arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, and carried her a few feet. He set her down in the dark shade of a bush at the extreme end of the rope's slack. The branch groaned when her arms pulled at it.

When she was done, he returned and picked her up again. She was amazed at how easily he lifted her. A strange feeling shot through her while she was folded in his arms. Safety and peace. Security in his strength. Odd. Very odd. And ridiculous. This was her captor, a man she hated, who hated her, transporting her to a terrible fate, making her walk while he rode. A cruel, hard man. She let her head rest for a moment against his chest. A peculiar tingling marked the parts of her body where his arms wrapped around her.

He set her down gently on the ground where she'd been resting previously. She thought his hands lingered a moment or two longer than necessary before he removed them.

There was nothing soft or gentle about his voice, however, when he spoke. “Next time, tell me before you get up. Otherwise I might get the wrong idea."

“We wouldn't want that to happen.” It came out sounding weak, pathetic. But she was confused and frightened by her reaction to him.

The rustle of cloth and the crackle of a few dried leaves underneath his bedroll told her when he'd settled himself again. She struggled to find a comfortable position. It took her a while to fall asleep. Too many strange, unfathomable thoughts roiled in her head. The man looked like a demon, acted like a demon. But when he'd held her, her terror of him had been mixed with something else. She didn't know what that ‘something else’ was or what it could be. She struggled to sort it out, to find a name for it in her experience, but after a while all her confused thoughts spun together, then drifted away.

Jinny jerked awake to the sharp sound of a twig cracking. She sat up and looked around, momentarily disoriented and unsure of where she was. Lord Stephan was building a fire. He glanced her way, but didn't say anything before he went back to piling the sticks together.

When they'd eaten a mushy oat porridge, drunk some very bad tea he made by boiling water and leaves in an old tin pot, cleaned up and taken care of personal needs, he retied her wrists and released her ankles. They set out on the journey again.

She'd had enough rest to refresh her body and take the edge off the sore spots on her feet. She still felt stiff and achy, but stretching helped loosen tight joints and muscles. She kept up with his pace and marched through country growing yet wilder and more sparsely populated. The weather remained breezy and chilly with some high clouds. The borrowed cloak kept her warm enough, however.

The last homestead she saw was behind them well before midmorning. By noon, her feet were starting to get sore again and her legs ached. She tried to be careful how she set her feet, to minimize the rubbing of the boots on tender parts of her heels and toes. The day didn't warm, though the constant movement kept her from feeling chilled. They stopped around midday for a quick meal and drink of water. He allowed only a brief rest time, however. In the afternoon, the tops of hills began to appear in the distance, the first sign of the mountain range that would challenge their passing.

A bank of deep gray, lowering clouds hung over those mountains, threatening the kind of weather Lord Stephan seemed to fear. Jinny had little experience with snow. Her homeland was in a warmer climate where snow occurred rarely. She'd seen it only twice in her life; once when she was a child, and once since she'd come to Lendiil. It was cold, wet, uncomfortable and fantastically beautiful. She didn't think she'd want to spend a lot of time trying to walk through it.

But, on the other hand, if they met with a lot of snow, they might be forced to turn back, abandon the attempt to reach the king or at least settle in for a long wait before the journey could be completed. Snow might not be such a bad thing. She had no real measure of Lord Stephan's determination to get her to his leader. He might feel obliged to push through bad weather and take their chances on being trapped somewhere or even buried or frozen.

Lord Stephan looked up at the clouds frequently and began to pick up the pace more as the day wore on. She had to walk faster and faster, with the boots rubbing more as she struggled to keep up with him. She stumbled a couple of times, but righted herself without falling. It took a toll on her, though. As the sun sank toward the western horizon, almost directly ahead, falling between the peaks of two hills, he increased their pace yet again, until she had to practically run to keep up. Her feet weren't up to it. The faster she tried to go, the more the boots rubbed and the more their awkward fit made her steps chancy. Worse yet, the path began to rise, gently, at first, but even a slight incline evoked another level of effort from a body already heavily taxed.

She debated telling Lord Stephan she couldn't keep it up, especially when a sharp, shooting pain began to lance into her side at sporadic intervals. But she saw no point in it, no reason to expect any sympathy or mercy from him. A complaint would only reveal her weakness, affording him a satisfaction she was loath to offer. Evening was only a short time off, she told herself, forcing her brain to ignore the fiery pain of blisters on her feet and an ankle that had twisted enough to ache. She could manage for a little while longer. She hissed as she tried to pace her running and breathing to a level she could maintain for the little bit of travel time remaining in the day. Spots began to gather at the edges of her vision and a swimmy sensation fogged her thoughts.

She forced herself to go on, ignoring burning feet, aching calves, stitches in her side, lungs starting to strain and even the sting of the rope around her wrists beginning to abrade whenever she failed to keep the pace and the slack pulled tight. Her world narrowed to her body and the stretch of road directly ahead. She didn't think. She tried not to feel. All her energy focused on holding on. Set one foot in front of the other, kick out, step, and again, and again.

Then suddenly, abruptly, the stars at the corners of her vision danced across her path. The landscape convulsed. Trees around her whirled and bent into strange contortions. The horse just ahead faded to a brown blur suddenly oriented oddly sideways. Fiery pain burst in her wrists, and intolerable pressure along her arms threatened to pull them right out of their sockets.

Small objects collided with her shoulders, torso, arm, hip and leg. Ligaments and tendons in her arms screamed in protest as they stretched past bearing. Then all movement ceased abruptly, and the blackness wrapped her in comforting arms of forgetfulness.

Chapter Five

Something cool and wet dribbled down the side of her face. It ran into her ear. Jinissa lay on the ground and couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. They must have stopped for the day, but she didn't recall it happening. She tried to move and every muscle in her body screamed in protest.

“Stay still for now,” a voice advised.

She turned enough to see the speaker. Lord Stephan hovered, looking anything but sympathetic despite his words.

“What happened?” she asked. “Why am I ... ?

“You fainted. Why didn't you say you had a problem?"

The ground she lay on was hard and damp. A twig poked her left hip. She struggled to a sitting position, moving slowly and carefully, trying to assess the damage. Nothing seemed to be broken or strained, but she found several bruises and a lot of sore muscles. He studied her with dark, accusing eyes but didn't move to help her. She finally got herself semi-upright, leaning on one arm.

He drew a deep breath before he spoke. “I'm not a gentle or sympathetic man, but I'm not cruel. If you'd said something, I'd have stopped."

She looked at him. His face was hard and shuttered, its strong, bold lines tightly controlled. “How should I have known that?"

He flinched and his eyes widened briefly. He stood and walked away from her. He stopped, his back held straight and tense for a moment, then he shook his head and began to gather wood for a fire. For the next few minutes, he searched for fallen branches and twigs, going back and forth, but never out of sight.

When he finally got a good fire going, he came over to her.

“Get closer to the warmth,” he suggested, and this time he did reach down a hand to help her upright. He dropped her hand the minute she stood. Jinny was fine until she tried to take a step and the boots rubbed her blistered feet. When she staggered and almost fell, he reached for her again.

“What is it?” he asked, putting an arm around her waist to help her hobble closer to the fire. “Is something broken?'

“No,” she answered. “Feet."

“What about them? Did you twist something?"

“Rubbing.” She collapsed to a level, clear spot of ground.

“I'm sorry?"

“The boots. They don't fit very well."

He nodded, went down on one knee by her feet, and began to tug her boots off. They raked the blisters as they came off, making her wince and struggle to suppress a cry of pain. “No hose?” he asked when he'd removed them.

She shrugged. “Nobody offered any."

His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together. “Idiots,” he muttered, then sucked in a sharp breath. “Great Randa's ghost! Why didn't you say something?"

“I thought we'd already settled that issue.” Jinny winced when his fingers brushed one of the broken blisters as he picked up one foot and turned it.

His eyes met hers briefly. A complex set of emotions swirled in the dark depths of his. Some habitual hatred remained, but there was also a more immediate anger, which probably wasn't rooted in any real concern for her, but she thought she saw a flicker of sympathy as well, despite his self-description. As before, he didn't answer her accusation. After a minute, he gently placed her foot on the ground and went to one of the packs he'd removed from the horses. He poked around in it until he found what he wanted, then returned to squat next to her feet again.

He pulled the stopper from a small bottle and began to smear the salve it contained over the raw spots on her feet. It burned. Jinny pressed her lips together, clenched her fists against the pain and managed to endure it without a sound. She did breathe a deep sigh of relief when he set her second foot down on a cloth he spread beneath her so her feet wouldn't have to rest on the ground.

“Any other injuries?” he asked.

“This,” she answered, pulling the cloak back off her right arm. When she'd been dragged behind the horse, the cloak had been thrown back and the right sleeve of the sacking dress shredded, along with some of her skin beneath it.

He winced when he saw the raw, abraded patch stretching from just above her elbow to her shoulder. “Most women would have whined and moaned until I couldn't stand it,” he said. “A lot of men, too."

“I'm not most women."

“You're a witch,” he agreed.

“I'm a woman. A woman with talent."

“A talent for staying quiet when anyone with sense would have been protesting and telling me there was a problem."

“I didn't see the point in wasting the energy. Especially not with your people. With you. And it's so..."

“What?"

She shrugged, though the motion pulled the abraded skin of her arm and made it sting. “Demeaning."

“Protesting?” He looked up, moving his gaze from her injured arm to meet her eyes. “Too proud to complain,” he said softly.

She refused to let him off that easily. “It may be a fault, but it doesn't excuse your indifference."

A corner of his mouth crooked into something almost like amusement. “Agreed.” Then his face hardened and set again. “Don't presume on it."

She gave back the stare, just as hard, just as cool. “I wouldn't."

He nodded sharply and turned his attention back to her arm. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the salve over her injury. He worked from her elbow up, smearing a thick layer of ointment over the rough sections. His touch affected her in a strange way. She liked it. She wanted more of it. Odd little tingly sensations spread from the places where his fingers met her skin. She was disappointed when he finished and recapped the jar. And yet, she didn't like him. He was her captor. He looked at her with hatred in his eyes, he forced her to walk behind his horse, and he was taking her to a king who would in all likelihood have her tortured before he executed her. He was arrogant and unfeeling, though not, as he'd pointed out earlier, cruel. She hated him. How could she like having him touch her? It was crazy, stupid, absurd. It was true, nonetheless.

Lord Stephan stood and moved away, leaving her to her disturbed thoughts about him. He began gathering the things he needed to prepare a meal. Jinissa settled herself more comfortably, wrapping her cloak tight. Darkness was closing in around them and the breeze was cool, but the warmth of the fire and the cloak enveloped her. Burning twigs hissed and occasionally popped. She was dozing lightly when he shook her shoulder again and offered a bowl of thick bean soup and a hunk of chewy bread.

As she tucked into the meal, he sat on the opposite side of the fire and began to eat. Jinny savored the rich, hearty food after the long, strenuous day and tried to concentrate her attention on it. The flavor rewarded her mouth for the effort of eating and it warmed her going down. But she couldn't fight a consciousness of her companion. And he was aware of her as well. Twice, when she looked over at him, she met eyes trained on her, studying her with a slightly perplexed expression. He would immediately bury the confusion and let his hatred of her kind fill his eyes. She had to look away, though it galled her to drop her gaze first.

Finally he stood, gathered their utensils, and cleaned up after the meal. He fed the horses and settled them for the night, collected extra wood for the fire, and brought out blankets to lay on the ground for bedding. Unlike the previous night, he handed one to her.

They both wrapped up and lay down to sleep. He didn't tie her hands or ankles or restrain her in any way, so she was able to shift into a comfortable curl. Jinny watched the stars poking through clouds in the night sky for a while and considered trying to escape. Unfortunately, she didn't think her body would cooperate. She couldn't move easily or quickly, and she probably couldn't go any distance with her feet in their present state.

An odd, wailing howl sounded from somewhere well away. Jinny shivered. “What's that?"

“Wolves,” Stephan said.

“Will they ... bother us?"

“Probably not. There's easier prey around. But I'll keep the fire burning to discourage them."

If anything else were needed, that decided the issue of trying to escape. In her present condition, she'd be easy prey. Jinny had just dozed off when another howl cut across the night and a second answered it from a different direction. She sat up to look at Lord Stephan, but he appeared to be asleep.

She didn't think she'd be able to doze off again, knowing those beasts were somewhere nearby, but she did.

They woke with first light the next morning. After a breakfast of salted meat and bread, Lord Stephan began to rearrange the packs, piling all of them on one horse.

He turned to her finally and said, “You ride today. I can't afford any more delays.” He brought a pair of thick socks as well, which he handed to her without comment. Once she'd donned them and dragged the boots over them, he wound the rope around her wrists again. There was a saddle under the packs the horse had been carrying. Jinny wondered if she'd be able to get into it.

Even after some mild stretching and bending to loosen, she remained stiff and sore in places she'd never been aware of before. Her first attempt to climb into the saddle didn't augur well. After struggling to get her leg into the stirrup, she was halfway over the animal's back when her knee buckled and spilled her backward. Her second effort took her only a little further. On the third attempt, she received assistance from Stephan who'd come up behind her and put a hand under her bottom. He pushed until she was far enough over the saddle to settle into place. He shook off her thanks without a word, gathered the reins for all three horses, and mounted with a swift, easy grace she couldn't help but admire.

They made faster progress with her riding. The hills that had loomed in the distance a day ago drew gradually closer and steeper. The road also began to wind up and occasionally down, but in general they spent most of the time climbing. They saw only one possible sign of habitation the entire morning, a thin trail of smoke rising in the distance.

The sun rose and shone weakly, but the weather was chillier than it had been. A dense bank of blue-gray clouds gathered directly ahead, shadowing the distant crevice in the hills that, she presumed, marked the pass they were set to attempt. A low area between two ridges looked like the most promising place to try crossing, and the road they were on appeared to go toward it, but they still faced a considerable climb to reach it.

Lord Stephan watched the roiling waves of blue-gray clouds moving in their direction.

“Does that mean bad weather?” she asked him, tipping her head toward the sky.

“It could,” he said.

They stopped briefly for lunch and a short rest, then resumed the trip. He pressed their pace to the fastest the horses could manage. By early afternoon, Jinny had decided riding was better than walking, but just barely. She was collecting a new set of sore spots and muscle strains to add to her discomfort. The weather grew noticeably colder as they ascended through the foothills. She wrapped the cloak more tightly and kept her head down against the wind. To complete her discomfort, the skin of her throat itched beneath and around the sigil's metal band.

The hill country was lightly wooded, with frequent clearings or rocky outcroppings. Gullies carved by runoff intersected their path at all angles. Several times the road had to bend around a large boulder or swerve around a sharp drop. Small animals scurried across the way ahead of them. A skunk, dozing in the middle of the road, challenged them for a few moments before deciding to yield position.

By mid-afternoon, the clouds had completely obscured the sun, turning the day gloomy and threatening. Rising wind whipped hair into her eyes and the cloak around her body. The air had a damp, chilly feel, and even with the exertion of staying on the horse as they picked their way over occasionally steep, rocky terrain, she found herself shivering at times. Her icy feet grew numb. She wrapped some of the cloak around her hands to try to protect them from the cold.

An hour or so later, the first flurries swirled around them. Unused to snow, Jinny was initially charmed by the loveliness of the flakes and the graceful way they drifted on the wind, fell to the ground and settled. She soon discovered they melted into cold dampness on her clothes and hair and pierced her skin with an icy burn when the wind drove them into her face and ears. Following Lord Stephan's example, though awkwardly with her bound wrists, she shifted the cloak to cover her head.

The flurry strengthened, with flakes coming faster and more thickly, until wind-whipped falling snow reduced visibility to just a few feet ahead of them. Jinny began to wonder where they'd find decent shelter for the night. The thought of sleeping on the ground while snow gathered on top of her didn't appeal. She scanned the sides of the hills around them for signs of a cave or recess that might offer better protection, and wondered what Stephan was thinking. He seemed to be searching for something as well.

With the storm obscuring the light, darkness fell early. But Stephan appeared determined to go on. She hoped he didn't plan to spend the night in the saddle.

She finally worked up the nerve to draw her horse even with his and ask, “When do we stop for the night? And where?"

The wind whipped her words and carried them away. He took so long to answer, she wasn't sure he'd heard, but finally he said, “There should be a shelter along here soon. I believe we're close to it."

“What kind of shelter?"

“You'll see."

They rode on, through a fog of blowing snow so thick, there were times she could barely see him ahead of her. The wind howled as it blasted through the trees. The white stuff gathered on the ground, in scattered patches at first but growing into a blanket covering everything, obscuring the trail and its markers. She started to worry they might drift off the road and get lost.

The light was nearly gone by the time they finally found the shelter Stephan had mentioned. In the gloom, she didn't even see it until they were right beside it, and then all she could discern was the dark shape of a small hut. Roughly built from wooden logs, it nonetheless looked welcoming, simply because it had walls and a roof. A small outbuilding beside it offered shelter for the animals. He helped her dismount. For a moment, when her feet hit the ground, her body was pressed up against his, and again she had that strange sense of security and peace. He stepped back quickly and she shivered. The feelings were a lie, a cheat. Where did they come from?

He released the rope binding her wrists.

“You can try to run away,” he said, the words clipped. “But I don't recommend it. You won't last an hour in this, and even if you do, I'll find you again."

He was right, unfortunately. As badly as she wanted to escape, she didn't dare try it at night, in a snow storm, with wolves in the vicinity.

While Stephan settled the horses, she studied the hut. A couple of rough stools and a cabinet were the only furniture, but it did have a large fireplace on one side, with a substantial pile of wood stacked beside it, and a box of tinder and a flint on the mantle above. Tucked in the cabinet, she found several pots of various sizes. The tinder and flint represented an unaccustomed challenge to someone used to having fire elementals at her beck and call, but she finally got a spark struck and nursed into life. By the time Stephan finished with the animals, Jinny had a fire blazing and a pot of snow melting by its side.

The place was surprisingly snug. The roof didn't leak and only a few small drafts found a way through unmortared chinks between logs. The front door closed tightly, and wood shutters guarded the windows. The room began to warm as soon as the fire was established. Jinny peeled off her damp cloak and spread it over the side of the woodpile to dry. She let herself sit for a moment with her feet to the fire, warming blissfully.

Stephan brought in the packs and stood for a moment with his hands held out to the fire, rubbing them together. They were red from the cold. Jinissa used some of the water from the pot, now simmering nicely, to make each of them a cup of tea.

He took it from her without a word, but he did nod acknowledgement. She sat again, balancing on one hip, legs bent, to keep from stressing sore muscles, while he remained standing, drinking periodically and staring at the fire. If he continued his policy of silence toward her, this was going to be a long evening.

“How long do you think the snow will last?” she ventured after the quiet had stretched uncomfortably.

“Not long, I hope. The early snows aren't usually too heavy. Not at this elevation. When we get higher...” He let it hang.

“Can you find the trail, even with snow on it?"

He gave her a quick, puzzled look. “If it isn't too deep, yes."

“How deep can it get?"

“In one fall? It can get as high as your waist. But usually only near the top of the ridge. And later in the winter. We shouldn't see anything above our knees."

Since he seemed ready to part with information, she pressed on. “How long does it usually take to make this trip?"

He hesitated. “In good conditions, seven days. We might yet make it in nine or ten."

“If the snow doesn't last too long."

He nodded. “Among other things."

“What other things?"

“Rock slides, flooded creeks, problems with the horses, illness, animal attacks ... my stupidity.” He shrugged.

“Animal attacks? The wolves?"

“And bears, though usually not in the winter. The wolves are the real danger."

“I thought you said they wouldn't attack us."

“Not as long as they have other, easier prey. If the snow gets heavy or food is scarce, they might try to take down one of the horses."

“Or one of us?"

“It's happened.” He set his cup on the mantle and crossed the room to search for something in the packs. He came back with a knife and a couple of potatoes and carrots. He washed, peeled and chopped them, then tossed them into a pot with some of the water she'd heated

“How do we hold them off?” she asked him.

“The wolves? Keep out of their way. Keep moving."

“And if they do attack?” she asked.

“We hope they don't."

“Oh."

Two strips of tough, salted meat, torn up, went into the pot as well, followed by a spoon's worth of herbs he took from a pouch. He hung the pot on the hook and swung it over the fire to boil.

Silence descended again. She brewed more tea and they each had another cup while the soup simmered. They didn't talk again until after they'd both eaten.

When the dinner utensils had been cleaned, he went out to make sure the animals were secure and came back with a potful of snow, which he set to melting by the fire. “I want a wash,” he said.

She nodded. “I'd like that, too, but...” She looked around the room, although she already knew there was no possibility of any privacy.

He studied the walls, his glance alighting on a couple of hooks driven into the wood. “I think we can manage.” He took a length of rope from his pack, probably the same rope he'd used to bind her earlier, and strung it from one hook to the other. When he draped two of the blankets from the rope, it formed a reasonably private nook by cutting off a small corner of the room. He pulled one of the benches back there, set the pot of warm water on it and handed her a small bar of soap, a towel, and the pot of ointment for her blisters and abrasions. “You first."

Although the corner was far enough away from the fireplace to be chilly, the warm water felt wonderful on her sweat- and grit-encrusted skin. She peeled off the sacking dress, wet a corner of the cloth and ran it over her entire body. It felt especially soothing on the rough, itchy skin touched by the sigil. She used another section of cloth to dry off again. Once that was done, she leaned over and put her head in the bowl to wash her hair, squeezing the extra water out of it afterward and finger-combing it. She generally fastened her wavy, light brown hair in a twist at the back of her head, but when allowed to flow freely, it fell halfway down her back. The ointment soothed injuries that had begun to sting again at the water's touch. She hated putting the grimy sacking dress back on over her clean body, but she had no alternative.

Once done, she took the bowl outside, dumped it out and scooped up more snow to heat for Stephan's turn. She paused to look around the area. The storm had ended and the sky had cleared. Amid bright clusters of stars, a huge, near-full moon rode radiant in the sky. The thin coating of snow on the ground reflected its light back, making the world stunningly bright. For a moment, she just stood there and gaped. She'd never seen the world look like that, silvered with the radiance of moonlight on snow. She could see up the side of the hill they were on, to the top, with each tree visible as a dark but clear shape frosted with white.

Suddenly the door opened behind her and Stephan charged out. He almost barreled into her, but stopped abruptly, steadying himself on her shoulder. He let go again quickly. “What are you doing?” he barked.

“Looking. It's so beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

“It's beautiful,” he admitted, taking a quick glance around. “But your hair's wet and you've no cloak. You'll freeze. Get back inside."

She nodded, starting to shiver, and went in with him.

When the new snow had melted and begun to simmer, Stephan ducked behind the curtain. Since he was quite a bit taller, his head and shoulders remained visible. Jinny turned away. She threw more wood on the fire, wrapped herself in a blanket and sat close to the warmth, finger-combing her hair so it would dry in some order.

For a while, the only sounds were the hissing and popping of the fire and the occasional splash of water. Then suddenly something slid down the chimney and landed in the fire, breaking one half-burnt log and sending a fountain of sparks flying. A cinder landed on her dress, below the blanket. She yelped and surged to her feet, brushing the thing off before it could burn through. Then she leaned over the fire, peering into its depths, wondering if a bird or squirrel might be toasting there.

“What happened?” Stephan asked from close behind her.

“A bird's nest,” she answered, spying the remains. “Old one, I think. It fell down the chimney into the fire. Sent things flying."

“Are you hurt?"

“No."

“You yelled."

“A cinder landed on my clothes. I got it off before it burned through."

She backed away from the fire and turned to him. Fresh, tight-fitting pants clung to long legs, showing clearly the line of muscle and ... She jerked her sight upward but that wasn't much better. He'd rushed to her aid without taking time to put on a shirt or tunic.

She gulped as she stared at him. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. She had little experience with the male body. She'd helped care for a couple of sick, elderly men and had seen a few withered chests and legs, but she'd never been confronted with the mostly bare body of a strong, healthy young man.

Silky-smooth skin covered the lean, hard muscle of his chest. Wide shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and flat stomach. A dusting of dark hair roughened the flesh just below his throat. She let her gaze climb to his face. He'd shaved and washed his hair. The removal of grime and beard stubble revealed hollow cheeks beneath sharply cut cheekbones. A strange glitter lit the narrowed, dark eyes that studied her with the same intensity she bent on him.

The demon had a regal form, graceful, and powerfully attractive. He was so beautiful, it scared her. And excited her. Drew her, most of all. She wanted to reach up and touch his broad shoulders. Wanted suddenly to throw herself against him, feel his arms wrap around her, his lips on...

She couldn't. It was insane. He hated her. She hated him. She stepped back, but she couldn't stop looking.

And he stared at her as well, dropping his eyes to skim down her body, lingering on the slight swell of her breast beneath the ugly dress. When he returned his gaze to her face, something darkly unreadable lingered that wasn't hatred at all. But it wasn't friendship, either.

The fire crackled in soothing rhythm. What she felt burning in the air between them had a similar but inaudible crackle. And heat. Oh, yes, heat. Her skin flared as though an unseen spark danced along it. And it was from him. She didn't recognize the sensation that rocked her, only knew something inside her wanted to be close to him. Strange flutterings shook her stomach and made her hands tremble. Whatever she felt, he shared some of it. She could tell by the way his eyes widened as he stared at her and his breath grew uneven. Just as hers had.

He might hate her, but he wanted her. Wanted her the way a man wants a woman. She felt it, too, but she wouldn't give in. Couldn't give in. Would he try to take her by force?

He swallowed hard and she heard the sound. One of his arms came up and reached for her. Fingers alighted on her cheek, traced gently down the side of her jaw. The sparks jumped between his skin and hers. She leaned closer to him. She had to, she was drawn to him like a plant to sunshine.

A sudden, loud pop from the fire made them both jump and broke the spell. They stared at each other in mutual shock and chagrin. Stephan jerked back sharply to shake off whatever had possessed him. He turned partly away from her.

She admired the musculature of arm and shoulder. His build tended to long and graceful, but there was rock-solid strength there as well.

Then she got a good look at his back. A stab of shock twisted her stomach and made her suck in a sharp breath. Ridges of white scar tissue, the remains of a brutal whipping, marked his flesh so densely there was more scar than smooth skin. Most of the marks ran from side to side across his shoulders, crossing each other to form a web that stretched to the small of his back. They were old, long-healed.

He heard her reaction, wheeled to throw a challenging grimace over his shoulder. “Not pretty, is it?"

“No. Who...? They're old. You must have been ... very young."

“Ten years ago. I was sixteen."

“Who?” She swallowed hard. “Why?"

“Who?” He turned to look her full in the face and his expression was demonic again from the anger and hatred simmering there. “Your people, of course. Why? Something they said I did. They never bothered to find out the truth."

The further shock hit her like a fist in the gut and for a moment she couldn't say anything. Finally, she stammered, “I'm ... I'm sorry.” The words sounded ridiculously inadequate.

He turned silently and went behind the curtain again. He stayed there for much longer than it should have taken him to don a clean shirt and tunic.

Chapter Six

They set out early the next morning. Jinny left the hut with some regret. Aside from the comforting warmth and sheltered sleep it had provided, the cabin had also been the site of the first real companionship he'd offered her. Of course, that had changed after she'd seen the scars and asked about them, but before then he had softened just a little toward her.

She wrapped her cloak tight against the morning chill. Stephan re-tied her wrists and helped her mount the horse. Muscles she'd abused with yesterday's ride weren't ready to be pounded again just yet and let her know it. She steeled herself to ignore the various aches and pains.

The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, promising better weather. He set a brisk pace, though not as fast as they'd traveled yesterday. Steeper stretches, an increasingly winding and sometimes narrow way, and slick spots where snow was packed more thickly dictated a cautious speed. Stephan appeared to have no trouble finding the path, even beneath the thin crest of white.

By mid-morning, the temperature had risen enough to melt most of the snow. She missed it when it was gone, but the sun's warmth was welcome, and the steeper terrain provided plenty of distractions.

They were traveling into seriously mountainous territory, which meant the trail rose rapidly and grew more twisted, sometimes circling large, rocky outcrops that loomed high over their heads. Twice they hit patches where loose stone and jagged, protruding tree roots on a fairly steep incline forced them to slow the horses to a cautious walk. Water from snow melting higher up ran down the bare rock and across their path. It mixed with loose soil on the trail to create slick spots. The pack horse slid on one, nearly falling. Fortunately he was able to right himself without a serious tumble.

If they sometimes rode with walls of rock or the sides of a hill rising beside them, at times they skirted steep drop-offs as well. Just before midday, they rounded a sharp bend and found themselves staring down a steep gorge. It dropped to their left just a few horse-widths beyond the trail's edge. She was grateful for that margin of safety. Only a couple of large trees had managed to dig into the near-sheer, rocky side of the gorge, so the view over the land below was magnificent and unimpeded. They were looking back over the way they'd come.

It made her a little dizzy, but it also provided a dazzling view. Jinny was stunned to see how far up they'd climbed. Looking down the gorge, she could see the road they trod, and, well below, the cabin where they'd spent the previous night. Farther off, long stretches of countryside were broken by empty clearings and a few home sites. In the distance, thin curls of gray smoke rose from occupied dwellings. Beyond even those, a small smudge might be the town they'd left behind days ago.

Lord Stephan didn't stop to let her gawk, so she got only a brief, breathtaking glimpse. She would have loved to take her time to study the land from this astonishing angle, but saw no point in arguing about it.

A few minute's travel beyond the top of the gorge and they reached a level spot running along the side of the ridge. The drop-off wasn't as steep here, and the view was mostly obscured by the thick growth of trees that turned the trail into a narrow slit. In summer, she speculated, it would be like riding through an enclosed tunnel. With nothing else to distract her at that point, her mind slid back to the evening before and her interaction with Lord Stephan.

She'd never reacted that way to a man before—not that she'd had a lot of traffic with them, but there had been a few of her own age who'd expressed interest in her, had tried to coax her into a kiss, or more. Some of them had been rather comely, even, but none of them drew her as powerfully as Stephan did. What did that say about her—that the only man she was attracted to hated her as an enemy? What did it make her? Maybe someone who deserved what would be coming to her unless she could figure out a way to escape.

At least she had some insight into his profound hatred for the Calavrians. The extent of his scars indicated he'd been subjected to a prolonged and brutal whipping, one that must have caused him pain she could barely imagine and nearly killed him. What kind of crime had he been accused of to earn a punishment so severe? One for which he claimed innocence. How traumatic would it be, for someone who wasn't even quite an adult yet, to be accused of a terrible crime, to face such a hideous penalty, and have no one believe you—or even try to discover the truth—when you said you weren't responsible for it?

No wonder he could look at her with such hatred if he saw in her the people who'd treated him so.

They stopped for a midday meal near a stream, but didn't linger. Not long after, Jinny noticed her skin prickling more intensely beneath the sigil. The thing had bothered her a little since it had been put around her neck, but now the irritation grew worse. She tried not to scratch, but it was starting to burn. Another strange feeling came to her, in small, quick bursts at first, growing to longer, wave-like washes rushing over her body. It took her a while to identify the inner feel of contained magic, mostly because she didn't expect to sense it in this supposedly magicless land, and especially not while wearing the sigil. Where did it come from, though?

The mountain rose sharply to one side of them and a thin stand of trees covered the other. No buildings, campsites or other signs of habitation. No obvious source for the wash of power. She tried to open herself to it, even while knowing it would make the sigil burn more. It had a strange feel. Normally that sense of magic emanated from an individual who controlled the power or a spell under someone's order. It would have a person's unique smell, touch or feel about it. This seemed disembodied, yet strong. Very strong. Immensely strong. The sigil itself started to feel hot. If it grew worse, it could represent a real danger to her.

Did Stephan sense it? She glanced at him. He sat his mount as straight as usual, but the rigid set of his shoulders and neck might signal increased wariness. He looked around uneasily.

She kicked her horse to move up beside him. At that point, the trail was just wide enough to accommodate the two of them riding abreast.

“What is it?” she asked him. “Even you can feel it, can't you?"

“Even me?"

“I understood the Lendiili had no ability for magic."

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Magic? I can feel ... something. It's not comfortable."

“It's magic. I can sense it even with the sigil on. A tremendously powerful source or reserve of it. I've never felt anything like it before. Where's it coming from?"

“The shrine."

“Shrine?"

He turned to stare at her. “You've never heard about the shrines?"

“I've never heard of anything that holds a power like this."

“I don't know much about them. They've been here as long as anyone can remember, and no tale I know of concerning their creation has come down to us. We avoid them if we can. But there are a couple close to the road. This one isn't too far ahead now."

“Can we stop? I'd like to ... see what's there."

His body went completely rigid. The eyes he turned on her snapped with anger and ... something else. Fear? “We don't stop. I want to make it to the next shelter before nightfall.” He clucked to his horse to increase their speed.

“There's another shelter?” she asked him.

“Yes."

She sighed with relief at that news. The thought of sleeping outside, with wolves and other wildlife too close, terrified her. And it might snow again, though the sky gave no warning such was likely. As they rode, she let her mind drift from the puzzling shrine to the promise of shelter. “Who built them?"

“The shrines or the shelters?"

“Both."

He looked around the barren countryside before answering. “The shrines, I have no idea. I don't know if anyone knows. The shelters were built by past kings for the use of travelers. In other seasons, there's more traffic on this road. The shelters are set a day's journey apart, more or less, to provide a safe place to stop and spend the night."

“Oh."

She couldn't focus on shelter anymore, though. The feeling of raw power surrounding her grew too weighty. It enveloped her much as the cloak did, pressing on her in a less physical but more demanding way. It sparked in her mind and begged her attention. She scratched at her throat where the heat increased and grunted as the discomfort became pain. Lord Stephan's gaze flicked toward her and rested for a moment on the area, which had to be getting red. Then he stiffened and stopped the horses abruptly.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You're ... What the...? What is that?"

She looked down at her hands. Around her fingers and moving up her arms, tiny spots of bluish light sparked into life and flared out. Where one disappeared, two more flickered to replace it. She searched for the magic with her mind. At the very edge of her awareness she could almost grasp it, tendrils of raw force drifting around her, reaching for her. It sensed her presence, just as she could feel the magic. It reached out, sought her, wanting to fill her and serve her. Wanting to be freed.

“It's the power from the shrine. It must be close. It senses I'm one who can work with it, and it's trying to ... touch me."

He looked ahead and pointed to a spot just off the road. “There."

She stared at the place he indicated. For a moment, she saw nothing but the hillside, partly obscured by scattered trees and thin, winter undergrowth. Then she picked out a dark smudge that could be the entrance to a cave. A closer view revealed a stone arch that supported an opening. Strange symbols—stars and circles with triangles in them, lightning bolt squizzles and other shapes and forms she didn't recognize—were incised into the stones.

“That's all...” She stopped, because that wasn't all there was to it. The power she was sensing flowed from the cave's dark mouth, invisible but tangible, tasteable, filling her mind to the point of sending her senses reeling. No personal source backed it. The force lacked the coordination or direction of called magic. Rather, it seemed to be pure force, raw and random, somehow confined or centered in that cave.

But it was reaching out for her, trying to break through the barrier of the sigil. And her throat burned where the heat of the metal pressed her skin.

Lord Stephan drew in a sharp breath and stared at the disk as though he expected it to suddenly fly from her body and release all the witch's might. For a moment she dared hope it might happen. Power surged over and around her, flicked against her, touched, probed, struggled to find a way past the blocking of the sigil. Its glow surrounded her, and she tried to grasp it, pull it into her hold so she could use it to free herself.

Lord Stephan muttered something that might have been a prayer or a curse. He kicked his horse and set them moving again. Faster than they had before. Clearly he wanted to get away from the shrine as quickly as he could.

As they approached and then passed the dark opening, the force from it poured over her like a breaking storm. Awe-inspiring levels of magic crashed over her, brushing her skin with chilling intensity, except where the fire raged in the metal against her throat. So strong, she couldn't imagine she couldn't use it, despite the sigil. But when she tried a simple spell, one any child could master, nothing happened. She waited seconds to see the spark of flame pulse on her fingertip, but it didn't. She could feel the magic, taste it, almost hear it singing a high-pitched, throbbing, uncoordinated melody, but she couldn't draw on it.

By then, they were riding past the shrine. From the nearest point, she had seen nothing more remarkable than the stones lining the cave's entrance. Part of her wanted to go in there, explore it, find the source, but another part of her warned that a force so strong, yet so weakly bound, could be powerfully dangerous. Better she leave it undisturbed. In any case, her captor wouldn't permit it, and until she could reach the magic, she was at his mercy.

They rode on, leaving the mysterious dark opening in the rock behind. The heat at her throat faded along with the feeling of being surrounded, almost smothered, by the power. It released her reluctantly, trailing small, sighing flares along her skin as she moved out of its grasp.

She wouldn't let him see it, but part of her soul wept to have been so close. So very close. If the power had been just a little greater, she believed it would have overwhelmed the barrier made by the sigil and swept in to serve her. She might have used it to esacpe from him, find her way through the woods. Back to some civilized place where she could settle and live quietly. She'd learned her lesson about using magic, at least publicly, even to save another life.

“You said there was another shrine?” she asked.

For a moment he didn't speak, and she wondered if he would answer. He didn't look at her when he said, “A couple of days farther on, if we continue this pace. It's even closer to the road."

“Has anyone gone into them? Looked at what was there?"

Again he turned that look of distaste on her. “Why do that? One might as safely investigate a mountain lion's den."

“Are there mountain lions here also?"

“A few. They're not as bold as the wolves. They won't bother us."

She nodded and let her horse drop back. The trail narrowed again as it headed into another sharp bend. Jinny had things to think over. The shrine—what an odd thing to call it. In her own country, a shrine was a place built to commemorate the life and works of one who'd recently passed on. It had power about it, but no magic. All her life she'd been told there was no magic in this land. She'd even heard the opinion expressed that the Lendiili couldn't be completely human since they lacked the power.

There most certainly was magic here. Not in the forms she was familiar with, the tendrils of power that could be gathered from the air and wrapped around one to keep handy for use. She'd never heard of a force that dwelt apart, unused, somehow centered in a deserted cave. Yet it was undeniably magic, and awesomely strong. Could a Calavrian even dare try to use magic of that sort? Would it answer the usual calls? Or would it turn on the one who tried to call it, overwhelm them, drown them? She couldn't even guess at the answers to those questions. Fortunately the intense itchy burn at her throat waned as they moved away.

As she mused on the strangeness of the force she'd experienced, the sun began to sink lower in the sky, sometimes cut off completely by the ridge they followed. A chill breeze brought her back to the present. Shadows grew longer and deeper, and Stephan increased their pace. She wondered how far the next shelter was. Hopefully, not very. No more than an hour or so of daylight remained. Traveling after dark would be suicidal in such perilous territory.

Time passed and they continued through rough country, until finally the terrain leveled out. When the hills opened to a shallow, narrow valley, the journey became easier. The road was straighter and marked by fewer obstacles. They did have to ford a river some four horses wide. The water was shallow, never reaching above the tips of her boots, but icy cold where it splashed her as they crossed.

“Not far now,” Stephan said to her as they ascended the bank on the other side.

She shivered and hoped he was right. The last rays of sunlight barely made it over the edge of the valley. Moments later, even those were gone and twilight spread a blanket of gloom across the landscape. A single, bright star emerged from the darkening background of the sky and winked at her. Some distance away, a lonely wolf cried.

The stark, eerie sound reminded her of how alone they were, how far from any other people, or any help. She desperately wished she could communicate with Flame. The desolate landscape chilled her soul. Jinny was cold and lonely and scared to her very bones. The trees loomed large, their dark branches reaching like threatening hands. Then her stomach rumbled and she almost laughed, although it would have come out with a somewhat hysterical edge. On top of everything else, she was hungry.

Another wolf howled, closer this time. Her horse whinnied and shook himself nervously. Stephan led them faster through the darkness of the trees. Jinny wanted to ask him how much farther it was to the shelter, but he was concentrating so intently on picking their rapid way in the darkness, she didn't want to disturb him. Then she had to turn all her attention to keep her seat on her mount as it broke into a canter and shied nervously at the same time.

A low, prolonged growl sounded far too close to them.

Chapter Seven

Terror shook her, turned her blood to ice and her skin to stretches of gooseflesh. The wolves were closing in, and she had no idea how far they were from shelter. Jinny began to claw at the metal band holding the sigil, reaching for the lock in the back, desperately trying to force it open. If she could only get rid of it, draw on her own magic, she could repel a few of the beasts. But the lock refused to give and she succeeded only in further abrading the skin around the band.

Then her horse slipped and, for the next few minutes, she could do nothing but hang on and hope the poor creature wouldn't go down. It didn't. After long seconds of struggle and tipping, it finally righted itself. Stephan barely paused before dragging them along again at breakneck pace.

In what was near-complete darkness, Jinissa saw the gleam of fierce, hungry eyes from behind a bush just off the trail.

She screamed to Stephan that if he'd only remove the sigil, she could help. He didn't hear or took no notice. Intent as he was on picking the way in the darkness and keeping control of the horses at their rapid pace, she doubted he'd even heard.

Finally she saw the outline of a hut ahead. A vicious growl not far off the path made her horse check and shiver, nearly throwing her. She held on tightly and dug the toes of her boots into the animal's ribs to urge it on. As they raced toward the cabin, she looked back and saw the gleam of eyes reflecting the light of the newly risen moon. Not the other horse, which dashed along right behind hers, but other animals, lower to the ground, following. Several of them.

They were getting close to the shelter, but the wolves were right behind. As they raced across the last few yards to the building, aiming for the side where an extension of the hut offered shelter for the animals, Jinny realized the door was tightly shut. One of them would have to dismount to open it, while the other led the animals inside.

A few feet from it, Stephan suddenly turned and, without a word, threw the reins of all three animals at her. She caught them. He slid off his horse and ran to the door of the extension. A wolf growled. Close. The door refused to yield to Stephan's initial pull. As he tugged, Jinny saw the low-slung shadows of several four-legged beasts closing in. She moved her mount forward to position it between the wolves and the man. Stephan braced himself and gave a sharp yank. The door began to swing out, creaking and groaning loudly. The wolves were within ten yards by then.

As soon as the opening was wide enough for a horse, Stephan yelled, “Go!"

Jinny had already turned her horse and nudged it forward and through, pulling sharply on the reins until the other animals were inside as well. She turned to watch as Stephan slid through the opening behind her with two sets of slavering jaws snapping at him. They had teeth. A lot of sharp, jagged teeth. Stephan yanked the door shut, nearly trapping a muzzle in the opening. Bodies thunked against the wood as he dropped an upper and lower bar into place.

Realizing they were safe, for the moment at least, Jinny sagged in the saddle and let out a long, relieved breath. Stephan stood with his back against the door, dragging air into his heaving lungs. For long moments, the only sounds were their deep breaths, the nickering sighs of the horses and an occasional thunk against the wooden side of the hut.

He gathered himself finally and came over to the horse, reaching up to help her down. She slid off its side into the circle of his arms and sagged against him. He tightened his hold, rubbing his hands along her back. He was so much taller than she that the top of her head barely reached his chin. She let her cheek rest against his chest and listened to the rapid pounding of his heart.

“I was so...” For a moment she couldn't draw enough air to force the words out. “I was so afraid."

She started to shake. He pulled her closer against his body and held her tightly. She wanted to put her arms around his waist but her wrists were still bound, so she just held them to one side. He didn't say anything, just reached up and stroked her hair gently. For a while, all she could think of was the relief that they'd both survived.

“I would've thought you'd hope the wolves would get me,” he said after a few minutes. His voice rumbled through his body to her ear. “You could escape with the horses and enough food to get you wherever you wanted to go."

“I don't think I could stand seeing even my worst enemy torn apart by wolves."

She felt rather than saw him nod. By then, the surge of terror and reaction was starting to fade and she was becoming aware of other things—how good it felt to be close to him and have his hand on her hair, the reassuring rhythm of his heart thudding under her ear, the smell of leather and horses and sweat and a faint hint of the soap they'd used the previous night. Finally, he straightened and moved away from her. She felt momentarily bereft. Taking a deep breath, she wrestled her emotions under control.

Jinny looked around the room, and noted a door opposite the way they'd entered. “I hope that goes into the cabin. I'd hate to have to go outside again."

“It does.” He began to unload packs from the horses, but stopped and came back to untie her wrists. “Go in and start the fire."

By the time he joined her and stood in front of the blaze to warm himself, his usual cool attitude toward her was back in place. He didn't speak as he soaked up the heat or when he accepted a hot drink from her. He prepared another stew from dried meat and vegetables, offered her bread and fruit, and they ate in silence.

After a while, she couldn't stand the quiet anymore. “How much longer will it take us to get there?"

He stared into the fire for a few moments before answering. “Six or seven days, if the weather holds."

“Do you think it will?"

He shrugged.

“And if it doesn't?"

Again, he hesitated. “As long as it takes."

His curt tone and short answers didn't encourage her to keep trying, but even his rudeness was preferable to the uncomfortable silence. “Could we get trapped up here by snow?"

“It could happen."

“How long could we ... last?"

He shook his head. “As long as we had to.” He tossed something, a small piece of food, possibly, into the fire and watched it hiss and flare. “If need be, we can hunt, set traps. We won't starve. If we have snow, we have plenty of water, and there's enough wood to keep the fire going. We can survive until it thaws."

“I guess that's ... a relief."

It was more than that, she realized, considering the possibilities. It could actually be a sort of a reprieve. She almost hoped it did snow, as long as they could get to a shelter before it grew too bad. Of course, that meant she'd be trapped for days, maybe weeks, with only Stephan for company. The idea should have appalled her, but it didn't. She actually found it rather intriguing.

She found him intriguing. Which was stupid and ridiculous, of course, but the more she learned about him, the more she wanted to know. How had he gone from someone the Calavrians had accused of a terrible crime to a high-ranking nobleman and an emissary of the king in this land? On the other hand, if his scars had been earned in the king's service, then perhaps his position had been a reward. She wanted to ask him about it but knew it would only draw an instant snub.

She turned to study her companion, who was staring into the fire, apparently lost in thought. The flickering blaze cast the bold line of his cheek and the angle of his jaw in high relief. The bulk of his black hair was tied into a queue with a leather thong, but strands had come loose around his face. A few fell forward across his wide brow, almost brushing his eyes.

He suddenly twisted his head to meet her stare. For a moment, their gazes locked. His eyes were so dark and deep, so mysterious, they gave away almost nothing. She wondered what he could read in her own light, blue-gray eyes. Would he even care if he could read anything at all? But he didn't look away. Something seemed to interest him.

As they watched each other, she felt that odd, sparking heat between them again, the air in their vicinity growing heavy and dense, pulling them together. She wanted to move close to him, reach out and touch his face, run a finger along the slanting arch of his eyebrows, feel his lips...

This time, he broke the spell by suddenly shaking himself and turning away. He surged to his feet and began to gather the dinner utensils, putting them in a pot of water to soak, his movements rapid and jerky. His breath wasn't quite steady.

Jinny silently berated herself, both for the weakness of being attracted to him, an enemy, and for letting him see it. He could use it against her.

They cleaned quickly and settled for the night. Unlike previous nights when her exhausted body had propelled her rapidly into a deep, soothing rest, sleep refused to come. She couldn't find a comfortable position. She was shaky, restless. She lay awake for a long time, aware of wanting—needing—something she couldn't quite define. It was a sort of hunger, a hunger for contact and completion, but at the same time it was also a yearning for closeness and sharing that was both physical and emotional.

With him, though? He hated her kind, hated her personally, was taking her to the king. But the way he'd held her in the shed with the animals hadn't suggested hatred. And the way he sometimes looked at her, the hunger in his eyes, wasn't hatred. But he disliked feeling it as much as she did. She could see his anger every time he became aware of letting down his guard around her.

After a while, she noticed Lord Stephan shifted positions almost as often as she did. Did he suffer from a similar need, his own brand of wanting? Something kept him from peaceful rest for a long time.

Eventually she did fall asleep, but woke with the first light, feeling less rested than she would have liked. As they prepared to set out, she felt the same odd tension between the two of them. They exchanged no more than a few necessary words and avoided touching each other or even getting too close.

Once the packs were strapped to the spare horse and they were ready to leave, she waited for him to retie her hands as he'd done on previous days. When he started to mount his horse, she held out her wrists and asked, “Haven't you forgotten something?"

“Not needed now,” he answered.

“You don't think I'll try to run away?"

“You're not stupid. You wouldn't last a day if you did."

“I might decide getting eaten by wolves was a better choice than whatever your king might be planning for me."

For the first time, she saw a flicker in his eyes when she mentioned the end of their journey. It disappeared quickly, buried by a return of the anger and hatred he felt for all her people. It might have been her imagination, but she didn't think there was quite as much heat in his hatred this time.

“Your choice,” he said. “But, in your place, I'd risk waiting to see what happened at the end of the trip. Run away now and it's certain death, a decidedly unpleasant one at that."

“You don't think I have the courage to try it."

His mouth quirked, though the result was more grimace than smile. “You've got more than enough courage. But you've also got too much sense. Let's get moving."

The weather had turned colder overnight, and the temperature dropped even more the higher they climbed. Jinny wrapped her cloak tightly around herself. The wind began to pick up as well, increasing her discomfort. Once they reached the other end of the valley, the trail began to wind and climb toward the pass through the ridge again.

At that altitude they saw few other animals, though they occasionally heard a bird call or distant shuffling through the underbrush. She wondered if the wolves prowled this high. They halted only once and didn't linger, taking only long enough to accomplish what was necessary.

Shortly after they finished their midday meal, they hit their first real obstacle. They rounded a bend where the road skirted a cliff rising almost straight for forty or fifty feet, and found the way ahead blocked. A rock slide had buried a stretch of the trail. Stephan stopped to study the expanse of scattered, piled debris covering their path. It sprawled over a hundred yards or so of the trail and ran down the side of the mountain far enough to make going around it arduous.

Jinny pulled her horse even with his and stopped beside him. “Can we go across it?"

He scanned the buried expanse of road, then ran his eyes along the new flood of stone down the side of the mountain. “We could if we walked, but I doubt the horses could manage it. I think we'd better look for a way around."

“If we walked them across they should be able to do it."

Stephan continued to frown at the rocks. “I doubt it."

“Going around could take us half the day."

“Better than losing one of the horses."

“It might ensure we lose one of the horses. Or more than one. Or even one of us."

“How's that?” he asked.

“We won't make it to the next shelter before dark. The wolves..."

He looked down the hill. “We don't have to go that far out of our way."

“Which rock slide are you looking at?"

“The one right in front of me,” he snapped back at her. “The one that appears to end right down there at that stand of trees."

“That stand of trees is at the edge of another cliff."

“There's a clear way between the trees and the edge."

“That's a ledge not a path."

He glared at her. “This is my trip. They're my horses. And I say we go around!"

“Well, heck, if you're that eager to take a detour, by all means, don't let me keep you."

“We're both going around,” he said.

“I can walk my horse across that."

“That's my horse,” he shouted. “And you're damn well not going to walk her across. We're going around."

“You know, if you'd take this wretched sigil off me, I could take care of this in about five minutes,” she said.

His anger faded to something darker, hotter, more disturbing. “And be off in the sixth minute."

“Not if you asked—"

“It's not going to happen."

“You're—"

“In charge here,” he interrupted. “Just because I didn't tie your hands again doesn't mean you should forget it. Enough arguing. Let's get going."

She muttered under her breath about stubborn aristocrats, shrugged, and wheeled her mount to follow him back the way they'd come. He found an opening to leave the trail, and they made their way downhill to go around. It wasn't easy once they were off the cleared road. The path through the trees and underbrush was narrow. Occasionally they had to fight for passage through thick vegetation. Jinny ended up with scratches on her face from branches she hadn't been able to duck. The slope was steep and covered with a dusting of smaller stones spread from the slide itself. The combination made for chancy footing and slow progress.

They finally reached the bottom of the dip where a dense row of pines had halted the rocks’ further spread. On the other side of the trees, the hill dove into a steep drop-off. Stephan stopped to look at it for a moment, then nudged his horse forward between pine trees.

Beyond them, a narrow, clear way did indeed snake between the stand of trees that had stopped the rockslide and the lip of the cliff. The path was barely wide enough to let the horses pass in single file, and nothing, absolutely nothing, lined the edge to keep them from falling if they placed a foot wrong. Jinny looked over the edge and shuddered. The side of the mountain dropped at a steep angle and went down a long way. The view was fabulous, but she didn't dare look. She watched Stephan dismount and lead his horse onto that narrow track along the edge. She dismounted, too, but when her turn came, she couldn't bring herself to move.

She'd never realized she was afraid of heights. She'd never had an opportunity to find out before. Her body froze in place between the last couple of trees. She told her feet to move, to walk forward, but it simply didn't happen. Her palms grew sweaty and her heart raced, pounding so hard she half-expected it to burst right out of her chest. No matter how she berated herself for a fool and a coward, she simply couldn't make herself proceed. She hated it, too. Hated letting him see this weak and cowardly part of her.

“Witch!” His call drew her out of her frozen contemplation of the dirt path at her feet. He'd stopped a little way ahead when he realized she hadn't followed him. “What are you doing?"

“I don't like this."

“Don't look down and you'll be all right."

“I can't.” She almost choked on the admission.

“What do you mean, you can't?"

“I can't."

“Of course you can. It's narrow, but it's passable."

“I can't.” Her voice shook.

He studied her for a moment and sighed heavily. “This isn't a great time to decide you're afraid of heights."

“I ... I know."

“Look at me,” he demanded.

She met his eyes.

“You can do this,” he insisted. “Follow me. Look only at me. Don't look down."

If she could call on her magic, she could form a cushion of air at the edge to catch her if she slipped. But magic was beyond her reach. Stephan wouldn't be impressed by her request to remove the sigil. She forced a foot to move forward slowly onto the path. Her heartbeat accelerated to a point where she wasn't sure her chest could contain it. Sweat formed on her brow and began to drip into her eyes. There was nothing to grab if she lost her balance. A gray haze gathered at the corners of her vision.

“Witch!” This time his call was more than a plea for attention. “Step back. Now! Step back.” The edge of alarm in his voice convinced her to obey.

She retreated to collect her senses that had started to scatter.

He looked around, but with his own mount and the pack horse behind him there wasn't enough room for him to get by and come back to her.

“Wait there,” he said. “I'll be back. Don't move."

She nodded and leaned against the nearest tree. Her knees felt rubbery and unreliable. She closed her eyes and tried to force air into starved lungs. After a while, she grew calmer.

A touch on her shoulder signaled Stephan's return. She looked up at him but couldn't quite meet his eyes. Her cowardice was too humiliating. He looped her horse's reins around a tree branch and said, “I'll come back for her.” Then he took a piece of rope, tied it around her waist and fastened the other end around his own middle. “If you lose your balance, I can hold you,” he said. He clasped her hand with his free one.

“We'll take this one step at a time,” he said, his words gentle but authoritative, subtly reassuring. “Don't look down, don't look out. Don't look anywhere but at me. Look at me, witch,” he demanded.

Reluctantly, she raised her chin to meet his eyes. They were so dark, so deep, she could lose herself in them, and right then they held no hostility or anger, only gentleness, concern, and a demand for her trust.

“I won't let you fall,” he said. “Can you believe that?"

“I...” She drew a deep breath. “I'll try."

He nodded and led the way onto the path.

The trail was too narrow to let them walk abreast. He moved ahead of her, but slowly, and he looked back frequently. “Watch me,” he insisted. “Keep a hand on my waist. If you start to lose your balance, grab hold."

Under other circumstances, Jinny might have taken considerable pleasure in doing just that, but right then it was all she could do to keep her mind on maintaining her senses and putting one foot ahead of the other. It was an effort to remain steady while threading her way past trees that sometimes extended roots or branches to the very edge, at the same time trying to ignore the sheer cliff they skirted. There were rocks, too, that rolled and slid underfoot, threatening her precarious composure. If she lost her balance and toppled, she'd take him with her. Despite his insistence, she didn't really believe he could stop her from falling. And, oddly, she didn't want to risk his safety.

The trip along that perilous path seemed to take hours, though it was probably much less. Jinny narrowed her focus to the body of the man moving right in front of her. By concentrating on him and an awareness of moving her feet, she was able to blot out everything else. Move one foot, check that solid earth held beneath it, look at Stephan's back, maintain balance, and then do it again. And again. And again.

When he finally stopped, she failed to notice right away and careened into him. Thrown off-balance by the collision, she flailed her arms wildly before throwing them around his waist. He shifted his stance to hold them both upright. He felt warm, solid and reassuring. With her eyes closed, she rested her cheek against his back and struggled to get her breathing back into normal rhythm. Sweat dripped down her temples and collected under her dress.

A warm, strong hand covered hers where they clenched in his stomach. “It's all right,” he said. “We're away from the edge."

He had to repeat it a couple of times before his meaning broke through her panic-befogged brain. Finally, she lifted her head and dared to look around.

He was right. They'd veered off the treacherous strip along the edge, back up the side of the mountain, far enough to eliminate any immediate danger of a fatal fall. Her legs suddenly went rubbery and she began to slide down.

Stephan felt her give. He turned within the circle of her arms and caught her, holding her up with an arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She had to draw a deep breath before answering, “Yes.” She sighed. “Thank you. I'm sorry I was such a ... coward."

“You're not a coward. We all have something we're irrationally afraid of. But you crossed that path anyway."

“Only because you coaxed me through it."

He shrugged. “A coward wouldn't have done it at all."

“I don't feel very brave right now. I feel shaky."

He helped her sit on a large rock that had rolled away from the main slide area. “I have to go back and get the horse,” he said. “Will you be all right here?"

She nodded. It didn't seem like much time at all before he returned. Certainly not as long as it had taken the two of them to make the trip one way. They mounted as soon as he returned and worked their way back up the hill to the road. Once they were on it again, he pushed their pace to the fastest they could manage, in hopes of reaching the next shelter before dark.

Chapter Eight

They rode fast and steady for the next several hours. Fortunately, the road threw no further obstacles at them. Jinissa gradually regained her mental equilibrium, although the humiliation of her behavior still burned. As the afternoon passed, though, other worries began to take precedence. First and foremost was the problem of making it to the next shelter before nightfall. At the speed they were traveling, she couldn't ask Stephan how far it was.

In addition, the temperature was dropping again, and clouds gathered overhead. Not only did that argue for a chance of bad weather in the near future, but it also meant an early sunset and an even greater possibility of being too far from shelter when the wolves began to prowl.

From the elevations she could see around her, Jinny deduced they were nearing the highest altitude they would reach. Periodic stretches of treeless plain let her see the road winding ahead, flanked by higher mountains on either side.

They made good time, though, and reached the next shelter before complete darkness had descended. No wolves disturbed their trip. Exhaustion from the mental stress of the cliff path and the physical exertion of the fast, steady ride had begun to fuzz her mind by then.

The cabin they found this time was more elaborate than the previous shelters. The main building had two rooms, one of which featured a rope-sprung bed and straw-stuffed mattress, cabinet, hip bath and even a few extra bits of clothing hung on pegs. The other room had several chairs, a rough table, a dry sink, and several more cabinets in addition to the fireplace and tools. Once again, a sizeable stack of cut wood waited ready for use.

As usual, Stephan settled the animals in the building provided for them while she built the fire and started water boiling.

He came in with the packs and accepted a cup of tea from her, sipping it while he warmed himself in front of the fire. His mouth twitched a couple of times and he rubbed at his eyes, dragging his fingers down the length of his face and pinching the bridge of his nose as though it ached. His shoulders were held rigidly tight. The way he stared into the flames, eyes narrowed and brow pulled into a frown, made her wonder if he had something troubling on his mind. When he turned toward her abruptly, she wasn't entirely surprised.

“You said earlier you could get rid of those rocks on the path if I removed the sigil. I wouldn't have believed it, but I saw ... at the shrine. You weren't exaggerating,” he said, making the words sound like an accusation.

“Whatever you may think of me, I don't lie any more than I have to,” she answered. “I'm not very good at it."

He shook his head. “I lived with the Calavrians for a while. None of them could do anything like that. Small sparks for fires, a breeze here and there to dry clothes in an emergency, that was about the limit for most people. I once saw a group of men use magic to move a single, large stone. They were all too exhausted to work—they could barely move—for the rest of the day. Yet you claim you could have dealt with all those rocks yourself. After seeing what happened when we passed the shrine, I believe it, too. But I never met anyone in the town who could use power like that. They said some of the nobles could.” He looked at her and held her gaze with the force of his own will. “What are you?"

She tried to look away, but something about his eyes and the expression on his face refused to let her go. What could she tell him? She'd spoken only truth when she said she wasn't good at lying. “I'm not sure what I am, in truth. I don't know much about my parents. I never met either of them. But..."

“What?"

“I was told I was ... One of my parents was of the nobility. But my birth wasn't legal, and no one acknowledged me."

He drew the obvious, and wrong, conclusions, and it satisfied him. “I see.” His mouth twitched as though he wanted to say more, but then he grimaced and rubbed at his eyes again. “Some things, anyway. Others, I still don't. Back in that town, what did you do to give yourself away? Why did you reveal yourself? You're too intelligent to make a stupid mistake like that."

“They didn't tell you?"

“I was told you'd ensorcelled a child and tried to kill him.” He snorted lightly. “I was prepared to believe anything of a Calavrian witch. Then.” He looked at her and held her gaze, demanding an answer. “What really happened?"

She told him about hearing the child in the tree yelling for help, her indecision about doing something for him, and her inability, in the end, to ignore his plight.

“Did you think they'd thank you for it?” he asked.

“I knew what to expect, and gratitude wasn't any part of it. I didn't do it for thanks. I did it because I could. Or rather, because I had to, since I could."

“You had to.” He sighed deeply, and whatever conclusions he drew didn't improve his humor. After a few more minutes of staring at the flames, he shook his head, winced, then crossed the room to find the supplies he needed to work on dinner. Watching him, Jinny wondered if he felt even more tired than she did or if something else bothered him. He moved more slowly than usual. Deep frown lines cut between his eyebrows and bracketed his mouth.

They didn't talk as they ate. Remembering her cowardly behavior from earlier, Jinny wished she could crawl inside a cave somewhere and hide. His silence didn't make her embarrassment any easier, but Stephan appeared to have problems of his own. Though he said nothing, his frown deepened, he still held his shoulders rigid, and he rubbed at his temples and the back of his neck occasionally as if they were aching or uncomfortable.

When they finished the meal, he sat longer over his empty plate than she'd come to expect. Watching him rest his head in his hand, considering his general, uncharacteristic air of dejection or lethargy, the lines of strain narrowing his eyes, and the way he rubbed the skin around his nose and temples, she couldn't refrain from asking, “Are you all right? Do you have a headache?"

He shook himself and straightened in the chair, but didn't rise. “It's nothing,” he said in that quelling tone he used to such good effect. The throatiness and the way his words stretched undermined his effort.

Jinny refused to be put off by it. She walked behind his chair and put her hands on his shoulders. Muscles bunched in tight, painful knots there. She tentatively worked her hands across the tops of his shoulders and back. He flinched from her touch initially and started to protest, but she clutched at him and pulled him back toward her. When he didn't object any more or move away, she began to press more firmly and knead his flesh, working her fingers under the neckline of tunic and shirt to rub along his collar bone.

“Let me do this,” she pleaded. “You'll feel better, I promise. You've been taking care of me for days. Let me give you what help I can.” When he still held himself tense, she made her next words a bit more of an order. “Relax. I'm not going anywhere, and I need you too badly to risk harming you. I'll never get out of these mountains alive without you. I need you healthy."

He murmured something she couldn't understand and eased himself into her care. His skin was warm, possibly a bit warmer than it should have been, and pliant beneath her hands as she patted, pinched and rubbed. She could only reach a limited area of his shoulders and neck, but she worked as far as she could reach under his shirt. After a while, his breathing slowed and became more quiet.

She stopped to throw more wood on the fire. He waited in the chair when she returned. Instead of immediately resuming the massage, she tugged his arm until he stood. “Come in here and lay down,” she suggested.

It surprised her that he let her lead him into the other room. He stumbled and nearly fell headlong on the way. She steadied him and looked up into his eyes. They were narrowed to slits, his face pulled into tense lines of stress or pain. “You're sick,” she said, regretting her words when they sounded like an accusation.

“No.” He shook his head. Winced. “Headache.” The word came out slurred. “Get them occasionally. Don't last long."

“Lie down,” she said, helping him to sit on the side of the bed. As he began to slide down, she added, “Wait.” She released the laces on his tunic and helped him pull both it and his shirt over his head. “Now lie down.” And when he was on his side, she added, “Roll over."

He complied. Jinny sat on the side of the bed and started to massage his neck and shoulders again. Although his flesh was warm and firm, she had to steel herself to run her hands down over the ugly scars on his back. It couldn't hurt him anymore, they were long healed, but it still gave her a shivery feeling when her fingers slid along those white ridges. The pain he must have suffered was almost more than she could stand to think about.

She chose to concentrate on trying to ease the discomfort afflicting him right then. For a long time, she continued to stroke and squeeze gently, massaging the tension out of bunched, tight muscles from his neck, across his shoulders and down his spine, until he relaxed and his breathing stretched into the longer, calmer rhythms of sleep. Even then she didn't want to stop. She liked the feel of his body under her hands and knowing she had the power to help him, to ease his pain.

Finally, though, aching muscles in her arms forced her to halt. She stood, careful not to disturb him, spread a blanket over him, cleaned the dinner dishes, built the fire, washed herself as best she could and considered the problem of where she should sleep. The bed was big enough for both of them, but sharing it with him didn't seem like a good idea. On the other hand, she wanted to be close enough to hear if he roused in the night and needed help.

After some debate, she wrapped herself in a blanket and settled on the other side of the bed. With his height, Stephan took up more than his share of the mattress, but she was small enough to fit in the remaining space without touching him. Exhaustion claimed her almost immediately and she fell into a deep sleep.

She woke to gray morning light creeping in around the window shutters and the sound of someone moving around, clunking silverware. When she rose and joined him, he looked up from the pot he was stirring and nodded acknowledgement, but said nothing. Apparently he didn't plan to mention last night. He looked better, though, the lines of strain around his eyes and mouth no longer evident.

She felt oddly shy with him. “What's cooking?” she asked.

“Oat porridge. Almost done.” He poured her a cup of tea from another pot near the fire and handed it to her. “We leave as soon as we can. The weather looks chancy."

She nodded and went to clean herself. A peek past a shutter on the window revealed a cold, gray, overcast day. Not a pleasant day for traveling. Her body was growing weary of the pace, but there was no sense mentioning it to Stephan. If he cared at all, it wouldn't weigh much when compared to his evident eagerness to get her to his king.

When she returned to the other room, he had the porridge ready and waiting for her. They ate rapidly in uncomfortable silence. As they were cleaning the pots and utensils, he suddenly asked, “Witch?” He stared at her, looking at her harder, more deeply than he ever had before. “Do you have a name?"

“Don't most people?"

“I suppose. It sounds stupid to keep calling you Witch."

“It's Jinissa. Jinny. The rest is up for grabs. I told you I had no father acknowledge me."

“Jinissa."

She liked the way he said it, slow and with a bit of caress. He stooped to replace a pot on a low shelf of one of the cabinets. As he straightened and turned toward her, he said, “About last night. Thanks. It did help me sleep better.” His tone was faintly grudging although she thought his gratitude real enough.

“You're welcome. Are you better this morning?"

“Fine. The headaches never last long."

“You get them often?"

He shrugged. “Three or four times a year. For as long as I can remember. One healer told me it had something to do with being sensitive to changes in the air. Making the trip over the mountains usually triggers it at some point.” He stopped and drew a breath, then pulled himself straighter, his body and face tensing into harder lines. “Jinissa—” He hesitated. “I'm grateful for what you did. It helped me feel better, but you shouldn't think it can mean anything more."

“More? Like what?"

“I mean it won't ... change anything."

“What would it change?"

He sucked in a deep gulp of air. “My plans. My feelings about you and your people."

“You think I'd expect it to?"

A bit of color swept across pale cheeks. “It's the kind of thing some women would do to ... garner favors from a man. To make things easier for themselves."

“Kind of thing? What are—? Oh.” Fury followed hard on her comprehension of what he implied. “You think—” Her voice shook and she took a long, hard breath to regain the control to speak. “You think I did that just to manipulate you? Get you to treat me better, maybe even let me go or plead with the king on my behalf? You—” She couldn't think of an epithet strong enough to express her feelings and ended up settling for a litany of lesser ones. “You swine. Chicken brain. Jackass!” She let her voice rise on each one and finished it off by slamming a pot on the table as hard as she could. The vibration ran painfully back up through her hands and arms while the metallic clang hurt her ears. She left the pot on the table and ran into the other room to compose herself.

Behind her, she heard him call, “Jinissa! Wait!"

She ignored him and he didn't press.

There weren't many things remaining to do in preparation for leaving. For good measure and to work off some of her fury, Jinny grabbed the broom standing in a corner and swept the floor, though it didn't really need it. She washed the last of the dishes, dried them off, put them away and took the pan of water to toss it out the door.

By then Stephan had the packs loaded on the horses. When he came back in to announce he was ready to leave, he gave her a long, thoughtful look, but didn't say anything. He helped her mount and they set out again.

The day was gray and chilly, with a damp wind blowing from the west. The weather echoed her feelings.

Anger had faded to a low burn with a raw, scraping edge of hurt. Why she was hurt, she couldn't quite imagine. What had she expected from him? No matter that his attitude had seemed to soften in the last day or two. He still hated her, hated her people. It truly might not occur to him she could actually have compassion for a fellow human being's suffering and want to ease it for no other reason. In which case, the conclusions he'd jumped to had been the obvious ones. But by the Shadows of the Greater Powers, she wouldn't give him another opportunity to accuse her. Next time he had an ache or pain, he could live with it.

It took her a while to get over her roiling emotions enough to notice the weather. In fact, it wasn't until the first flakes of snow began to fall that she realized how raw and damp the cold breeze blowing around her felt. They'd probably been traveling for an hour or so by then. She glanced at Stephan to get his reaction to the snow. He seemed as lost in his own musings as she'd been in hers.

But what were their options anyway? Given the rugged, isolated country they traversed, there'd be no other place to stop along the way. They either pressed on to the next shelter or returned to the previous. He showed no sign of feeling a need to turn back.

He did begin to push the pace, though. Through the next hour's travel, the snow intensified, falling harder and faster, turning from small pinheads of white fluff to larger flakes that settled on the ground and stuck. The wind increased also and drove the white puffs into her face.

Before they'd gone much farther, they had to slow down again. Wind-driven snow blew around them so thickly, they could barely see a few feet ahead. When it started to accumulate in a white layer on the ground, the horse's steps grew more cautious and it became harder to pick out the way.

Stephan suddenly drew his horse to a halt and studied the path ahead and the sky above. “We have to turn back,” he said. “We won't make it to the next shelter if this keeps up. And I think it will."

Jinny looked at the sky. Unfamiliar as she was with mountain weather patterns, she saw nothing to make her think the storm would abate soon. “Can we find our way back?"

“Right now. Not if we wait much longer. And the road's getting more treacherous by the minute."

She nodded and wheeled her horse around as he did. The snow grew heavier as they made a much slower return to the shelter. The hour and a half's distance they'd gone that morning seemed to take twice as long to retrace. At times, the accumulating snow obliterated all sign of the road. Stephan seemed reasonably sure of the way. She hoped he was right.

After a while, though, she began to wonder. The white swirl erased all features of the landscape more than a few feet distant from them. The wind was at their backs, which made the return journey slightly easier, but melting snow started to soak through her cloak in places. Her hands and feet grew numb while her shivers escalated from occasional to constant.

A sudden clatter from behind and the frightened neighing of a horse startled her out of the haze of misery she'd sunk into. She turned to look back. The pack horse was no longer directly behind her, but off to the side of the road, and oddly, all she could see of it was a head sticking up from a sea of snow.

Stephan had stopped, too, and returned to her side while he studied the situation. He dismounted, gave the reins of both horses to her to hold, and trudged through snow nearly ankle-deep to the horse's side. She saw when one of his boots hit the same depression the horse had slid into. Fortunately, he was expecting it and was able to throw his weight backward to keep from sliding into the same ditch.

He righted himself, came back, and stopped at the side of her horse. He took the reins he'd handed her, separated the pack-horse's lead from the other and tied it securely around the pommel of her saddle, looping it several times before knotting it.

Snowflakes settled in his wind-whipped black hair and on his eyelashes when he looked up at her. “Hold your horse as steady as you can,” he asked. “She'll want to move forward when I add the extra weight. Don't let her. I have to see if he's hurt before we decide what to do next, and I need the lead taut."

She didn't have to ask what he'd do if the horse was injured. She prayed it wouldn't come to that. Stephan was attached to his horses, and it would cost him dearly if the horse couldn't be rescued.

Her mount did try to move forward when Stephan began descending into the ditch. He used the lead he'd tied to the pommel, the other end of which was still attached to the pack-horse, as both support and guide. It took considerable persuasion on her part to hold her mount steady. Stephan's body gradually disappeared from her line of sight as he descended, until only his shoulders and the back of his head were visible. Then even those disappeared as he bent to check the horse.

His head bobbed up and down several times over the next few minutes. Jinny waited, holding her breath and shivering in the icy weather. She pulled the cloak tighter to keep out the blistering wind. Finally his head reappeared, turned toward her. “He seems to be okay,” he yelled, but even so it was hard to hear him. “I'm coming up. Hold her steady."

Jinny again concentrated on not letting her mount move while Stephan used the lead to pull himself back up the slippery, snow-covered side of the ditch. His cloak billowed in the fierce wind, hampering his movements. When he was once again at the top, he returned to her side and said, “When I tell you to, turn your horse and get her to pull slowly. Try not to jerk or pull too fast. If we can keep the pressure steady and firm, we should be able to get him up and out. I'll help guide him."

Jinny nodded her agreement. Stephan went back to the edge of the ditch, took firm hold of the lead, then turned and said, “Now. Pull."

She was far from an expert rider, and it took all her concentration to make her mount move in careful, gentle steps. The horse balked a bit when the rope stretched taut and the weight of the other animal began to tug at it. Jinny turned only a quick glance toward Stephan, watching as he used the lead to guide the horse up the side of the slope. Then she had to bend all her attention to keeping her horse from succumbing to the pull of the weight and turning around or skipping backward again.

It seemed like a long time they fought an awkward tug-of-war, with horses on either end that wanted to be doing almost anything else and the humans trying to convince them to act in a way contrary to their instincts. Progress was slow, measured in inches, and sometimes they lost as much ground as they gained when one or the other horse balked. But they kept up the effort.

“Almost there,” she heard Stephan yell at one point. “Keep her pulling. Don't let her slip now!"

Jinny's arms and shoulders ached from the effort, but she kept her mount under control and exerting the relentless pull on the lead. She lost track of time, but kept her hold on the horse until at last she heard Stephan's triumphant shout: “Got him. Ease off."

She sagged in the saddle as her horse finally had its way, turning and trotting a few steps toward her equine comrades. Jinny heaved a few deep breaths, and then Stephan was beside her, his dark eyes exultant at their success. “Good work,” he said.

She could only nod, because the sight of Stephan smiling knocked all the air out of lungs she'd just recently refilled. If she'd been attracted to him when he was dour and glaring his hatred at her, his approval made her want to jump off the horse, right then, into his arms. She wanted to get close to him, hold him. Damn it, she wanted to kiss him. She wanted it badly.

He might be wanting it, too. When he took her hand, his wasn't quite steady, though that might have been due to his recent effort. But the look he bent on her as their gazes continued to cling held something else, an awareness, an eagerness, a heated intentness that was more than gratitude.

But then a blast of freezing wind blew a heavier gust of snow into their faces, reminding them of the danger. “We'd better get going, before this gets too thick,” he said, taking the leads for both his horse and the pack-horse from her. He mounted and turned back down the road.

The weather continued to deteriorate. The wind picked up until they were making their way through blizzard conditions, with wind-whipped snow pelting them so hard they could barely keep their eyes open enough to see where they were going. The whining roar assaulted her ears, and occasional swaying tree branches brushed her or dumped icy wads on her.

For a while, the warmth of Stephan's approval was enough to keep her energized. Until the memories of the morning returned. His warning about attempts to manipulate or influence him echoed in her head. Anything she did to explore what she'd seen in his eyes would surely be interpreted as just that.

Another, treacherous part of her mind had to speculate, was there a chance she could do it? If she really exerted herself to attract him, to seduce him, could she induce him to change his mind about taking her to the king? Was there even a possibility it could work? She didn't know. It was possible, but she didn't know.

Visibility grew so short that, before they reached the shelter once again, Jinny'd had time to grow seriously worried about getting lost in the snow. What would they do if they couldn't find the shelter? How would they survive? Could they at all? They'd probably freeze to death, and that didn't sound like a pleasant way to go. It might be better than being torn apart by wolves, she supposed. Maybe better than whatever the king had planned for her. She didn't want to die in any of those ways. She wanted to live and take her chances with whatever would come next.

But the odds were starting to look grim as they crept forward through shrieking wind and bombarding snow, trying to keep ice from forming on their skin and their extremities from freezing solid. Death was starting to look like a reality, and maybe she should find a way to welcome it. She hadn't been that bad a person, she hoped. Maybe whatever came next would be kinder than this life had been so far.

Even with that thought in mind, she was glad to see the cabin finally loom before them. Dark and rough though it was, it looked almost welcoming.

They both went about their normal routine on reaching shelter. When Stephan came in to warm himself in front of the fire she had blazing high, his expression made clear the softer feelings of earlier were gone. Had he been speculating in paths similar to her own? If so, he'd reached his own obvious conclusions. The grim mask of his face refused to reveal anything, but the hatred of her kind was back in place.

She hated to see it. Hoping to shake him out of it, she asked, “How long is this likely to last?"

He shook his head. “Maybe a day. Not much longer, I hope."

“So we're stuck here for a day or two, at least."

“At least. Unless the weather changes drastically in the next few hours."

Jinny considered the implications as she sipped a cup of tea while cozied close to the fire. A day or two in the company of Stephan. What would he do? Would he refuse to talk to her for the entire time? What did they have to talk about, anyway? How would they pass the time? How would she handle the danger of her own unpredictable emotions and her attraction to him?

The fire reminded her of Flame. She wondered what the fire elemental was up to while she was unable to control it. The finger Flame had ridden on felt bare and bereft. She missed its company, the sense of protection it offered her, the constant undemanding companionship. Not that it talked much, either, but at least it didn't hate her.

A wave of depression crashed over her. Stranded, at the top of the world, in a small cabin, in a raging snow storm, with no magic to call on, and stuck with a man who hated her purely for her ancestry and land of origin. A man she was attracted to, even though he was taking her to see his king where she likely faced torture and execution. Maybe a long walk into the storm wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

Chapter Nine

Sitting with her forehead pressed to her knees so he wouldn't see the collapse of her spirits, she heard rather than saw when he got up and began prowling restlessly around the confined space. For the moment there was nothing much to do. The animals were settled, they were still a couple of hours from the evening meal, and they hadn't yet messed anything that would need cleaning. Eventually, Stephan would have to go out and set traps or hunt, and she'd have to help with preparing the results, but not until the snow stopped.

Cabinet doors opened and banged shut, drawers squealed as they were pulled out and knocked when pushed back in. Metal clanged, glass clinked, sometimes paper rustled as Stephan riffled through things. She watched him without raising her head any further than necessary, wondering if he sought something specific or was just checking what was available.

She let her head sink again and considered how she'd get through the next few days. Work. Distraction. There were a few discarded shirts and a couple of pairs of trousers hanging on pegs in the other room. Perhaps there was a sewing kit as well somewhere. She might try to provide herself alternate clothing. Besides having one sleeve shredded, the sacking dress was uncomfortable and awkward on the horse. The drawers she wore beneath it were worn so thin, there was next to nothing between herself and the saddle. Trousers might not be appropriate to her sex, but they'd be more practical, and who was around to see? Only Stephan, and he wouldn't care. Besides, it would give her something to do.

She looked up again when Stephan said “Oh, hey!” but didn't ask what he'd found. If it concerned her at all, she'd learn about it.

“Let me know if you find a sewing kit,” she asked him. “I need to make some repairs."

“You can use a needle?"

Why did he sound so surprised?

“Of course.” Honesty compelled her to add, “Not very well, though. Good enough to make do."

He didn't answer. He put something on the table, something flat, then added a few more things on top of that. Game pieces?

“Witch,” he called a few seconds later. “Jinissa?"

She looked up at him.

“Do you play Stratagem?"

She shook her head. “I've heard of it, but I never learned to play."

“Want to learn?"

She just looked at him for a moment. His face gave away nothing. The hatred wasn't evident, but nothing except mild curiosity showed either. Was he up to something? Or was he offering a way to pass the time, something they might both enjoy, that might even diffuse some of the tension between them? What did she have to lose by accepting his offer?

She nodded slowly, stood, and moved to the table. A square game board lay there. It had several ranks of smaller squares marked along the sides with a larger, empty area in the middle. Two sets of pieces, one white and one red, sat on individual squares on the board. The red ones all sat on the side near Stephan. He picked up the largest of them and said, “This one is called ‘the empress'. She's the most powerful piece on the board and the one you have to capture to win."

He continued with the other pieces, giving their names and explaining how they worked in the game. Each side could make two moves per turn. Since each piece had different moves and functions, it made for a lot to absorb. Then there were certain places on the board where only certain kinds of moves were allowed. Jinny wondered how she was supposed to remember it all.

Their first game lasted only ten minutes before his pieces surrounded and captured her empress. The second game progressed to fifteen minutes. But Jinny found herself starting to remember what certain pieces could do, where they could go and how to use them. She even began to get glimpses of some of the strategies that could be employed as Stephan explained why some moves worked better than others and ways she could make certain pieces work together for maximum effect. The things he did also gave her insight into the ways experienced players approached the game. She didn't know enough to judge with any real accuracy, but she suspected he was very good at it, although he claimed he hadn't played for years.

He was patient, pointing out errors and suggesting when a move might not be a good idea. He even complimented her for a few particularly effective maneuvers. She blushed at his praise and felt an odd excitement, a little flutter of happiness in her heart.

Because she began to understand some of the basics of defensive strategy better, their third game lasted almost half an hour. By the time they'd finished, they had to stop and get their dinner ready. While he put together another stew, Jinny looked around and found the ingredients for making biscuits. Stephan helped her build the fire under the brick oven beside the fireplace. Her biscuits came out drier and chewier than she'd hoped for, but under the circumstances, anything resembling fresh bread was a treat. They each consumed a goodly number of them.

While they ate, she asked him, “How long do you think we'll be stuck here? Even if it stops snowing, how long before we can leave again?"

“Two, three days,” he said. “It depends how fast the snow stops and it warms up again."

“Could we be stuck here for a longer time? Weeks? Or even months?"

He shrugged. “Not very likely this early in the season.” He stared at her. “Are you hoping?"

She chewed a mouthful of potato from the stew and swallowed before saying, “I don't know. Maybe. It's peaceful here, and safe in a way. Lonely, too, but at least everything's ... simpler."

“You wouldn't like the loneliness. It gets to you after a while."

“I've been lonely most of my life.” That sounded like a plea for sympathy and she wasn't trying to do that, so she added, quickly, “It sounds like you speak from experience."

“I've gone this way a few times by myself. Once I got trapped in one of the cabins, not this one, for almost a week in a storm. I'm pretty used to being on my own, too, but up here by myself, after a few days it began to get to me. The isolation can work on you in ways you don't expect."

“How?"

He scooped the last of his stew with the remnants of one of the biscuits, put it in his mouth, chewed and swallowed before he answered. “It starts to feel like a dream, like it's not quite real somehow, or maybe it's the rest of your life that's not real and this is too real. You're not sure any more."

She nodded. “But haven't you wondered at times if everything or certain things were a dream? They didn't seem quite real?"

“Occasionally. Some things I'd hoped were just a dream, a nightmare, weren't."

She saw the tension begin to draw the lines in his face tighter. To avert that, she asked, “Did you inherit your title?"

The way his face changed suggested he knew what she was trying to do. The question also caused considerable amusement. “My parents were dirt-poor peasant farmers,” he said.

“Then how did you get to be a lord and the king's legate?"

“Mostly by luck and accident.” His face darkened oddly. “Not all of it good luck, but I suppose, given that it's turned out this way...” His expression went thoughtful and reminiscent. “A few years back, I was at a low point in my life.” Lips twisted into a frown. “Unemployed, bitter and angry. I think maybe I was trying to find a way to end the whole sorry business with some honor, so I signed up for military duty in the king's troops. After a while, I was assigned to the Royal Guards, and ended up on protection duty for the king's sons. I'm not sure I remember how or why it happened, but I became friends with the youngest prince. We're close in age and matched well in sparring because we're similar in height and build. He ... His brothers were much older and not really interested in him, and being the third son of a man still in the prime of life, he didn't have any expectation of ascending the throne, so the hangers-on and sycophants left him alone, too. I think he was lonely, and we ... I don't know. We saw things the same way, laughed at the same things, liked doing the same things. We got to be friends."

He looked into the bowl, but he wasn't seeing the remains of his stew. His expression went suddenly taut and sad. “One day, the king, his two older sons and a group of his nobles went hunting. Randell didn't go because tradition holds that all of the heirs to the throne can't be in the same place at the same time unless they're actually in the castle. Not that anyone ever thought about why it might be important anymore. I think his brothers just didn't want him along."

Stephan shook his head and shrugged. “There was a storm. A terrible storm, the worst thing I've ever seen or heard. It came up suddenly while they were out, and it was like nothing you can imagine. Rain so hard, it beat you to the ground. The wind ... It howled and uprooted trees, broke them in half like twigs.

“The entire party was caught in it. The king was killed outright when a tree fell on him. Prince Simon was thrown from his horse and killed also. Only Prince Colum and two other members of the party survived, but the prince was soaked and badly battered. He contracted a lung infection and died a week later, leaving Randell the only remaining heir to the throne."

Stephan picked up his spoon and looked at it as though he weren't quite sure what it was. He turned it over between his fingers a couple of times before he continued. “No one had ever expected Randell to inherit, so he was unprepared to be king. But he's a good man, intelligent and responsible, and he learned. One thing he quickly discovered. It was hard to know whom to trust with so many people suddenly eager to advise him. He turned to people who'd been close to him when he'd had no expectations, people whose friendship he'd felt he could trust. I was fortunate enough to be one of those people.

“Fortunate in a number of ways, actually. Randell is a remarkable man. He's a good king. He's learned how to rule effectively, how to keep factions balanced, how to compromise and when not to compromise, when to temper justice with mercy and when not to, and how to maintain order without resorting to oppression."

“He sounds like an admirable man."

Stephan blinked at her as he emerged from his memories. “More than that. He's a miracle. I can't help thinking he's a far better king than either of his brothers would have been."

“You're close to him,” Jinissa said. “That's why he granted you a title and an important position. He likes you. And trusts you."

Stephan looked up sharply and put the spoon back down on the table. “He's more like a brother to me than my own ever were."

She nodded, stood and began to gather their dirty dishes. She had a lot to think about. Could the good and just king Stephan described really have her executed or tortured for information? Of course he could, if he thought the safety and well-being of his people might be at stake. He'd be obliged to try to make her talk, if only to discover what compromising things she might have learned while living in his country. What other reason could there be for him to send for her?

So why did she continue to travel with Stephan rather than try to escape? Her head understood the threat from the king, but she didn't entirely believe it, whereas she'd experienced the wolves and the weather at close range. But once they came down from the mountains, she'd have to look for her chance again. And if she couldn't get away, she might be able to force Stephan to give her a cleaner, easier death.

Would he do it? She was beginning to get a sense of the man he was, and some of what she knew suggested he might, but he wouldn't find it easy. He'd be torn between what he saw as his duty to his king and taking the life of someone who, if not entirely innocent, offered no immediate threat to him.

By the light of the fireplace and a few candles, they played a couple more rounds of Stratagem once they'd cleaned up after dinner. Jinny was beginning to understand the game and gave him better battles. With his help, of course.

They didn't talk much, except when he stopped her from making a bad move or she asked about points of strategy. He answered her questions readily, explaining some of the more arcane moves at considerable length. She watched him covertly while he studied the board, contemplating his next move. His face fascinated her, from the sharply angled eyebrows above the very dark eyes to the lean cheeks and oddly sensual mouth bracketed by deep grooves that didn't disappear entirely even when his face was more relaxed.

He rarely let much emotion leak into his features other than the hatred he didn't seem to mind her seeing. But sometimes, she thought, he had to force himself to remember that hatred. Like this morning, when they'd shared that brief moment of joy and triumph.

A few times she caught him staring back at her. What she found in his face at those times wasn't animosity. She wasn't sure she could or wanted to try to name what she saw.

She looked down hastily at the board when he made a move and lifted his head to see her reaction. As she picked up a piece to move it, he reached over and put his hand on top of hers. “Not there,” he said and pointed to his cardinal, which was in position to ambush the guard she moved. She nodded and reconsidered.

He didn't let go right away, though. She stared at his hand. It was big, much larger than hers, with long, strong fingers, rough from work. His palm was warm, radiating a heat that seeped into her where his skin met hers. His clasp was gentle, careful, his strength controlled so as not to bruise or injure her. She glanced along his wrist, where a series of white lines looked like old scars.

“Sword practice,” he said, noticing the direction of her gaze. “Mostly we practice with wooden blanks, but sometimes you have to use the weapon unsheathed. You have to know the weight of the steel.” He slowed on the last words. His voice was deep, warm, and ran over her like a soft, comfortable blanket.

She nodded and ran her gaze along his arm, to his shoulder, along his throat, finally meeting his eyes. There was no hatred right then, no harshness. The heat was of another sort entirely. His gaze bored into her in a way that made her achingly aware of her own body—of her breath catching in her throat and her chest feeling tight, of her heartbeat picking up speed, hands starting to shake a little, and a queer twisting in her stomach. His eyes were nearly black, and the way he sat meant they caught and reflected glints from the flames in the fireplace.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, but continued to stare at each other. When she dropped the game piece, the clatter of it against the board startled them both. His eyes widened, but he didn't immediately release her hand. Still holding her gaze, her hand locked with his, he rose to his feet, drawing her up as well. He stepped away from the table and pulled her toward him, a gentle urging more than a tugging. She could easily have resisted, if she'd wanted to. She let him draw her close, closer, until he loosed her hand to put that arm around her waist.

When she was leaning against his body, he put his other hand on her face and tipped it back.

He bent his head and brushed his lips across hers. The effect was shocking, in the most pleasant way, with strange, pleasurable prickles radiating from the contact, sending flashes of tingling heat all through her. For a moment or two, she was paralyzed, frozen in place by the wonder of it. Nothing had ever affected her that way. Nothing had ever made her so aware of her lips and their capacity for sensation.

He leaned back to see her reaction. Whatever he saw encouraged him. His eyes widened and something close to a smile crooked one side of his mouth before he dipped his head again. This kiss was firmer, more demanding, locking them tightly together. Jinny wasn't sure what it demanded, but following his lead, she softened, parted her lips a little, and invited him in.

While he explored her mouth, she dared to reach up and put a hand on his neck, running her fingers up into his black hair. Straight and thick, it was softer than her own, which tended to curl. His arms circled her, drawing her even closer against him. She was light and flame, her body turning into molten rivers of sensation. His mouth worked her like an expert musician playing his instrument.

For a while, the cabin, the snow storm outside, the world around them, the people waiting for them, all disappeared. Nothing existed but the two of them; nothing mattered but the feel of skin under their hands. Jinny's mind could hold nothing but Stephan and the things he could make happen. Time stopped and nothing else mattered. There was only heat, licking along her flesh and through her nerves and blood.

Then a log on the fire popped loudly, startling them both, making them jump apart. Instinctively they turned to the source of the noise, but finding nothing special, they quickly faced each other again. The moment was lost, however.

The internal light which had warmed Stephan's face a minute ago faded, replaced by a puzzled wariness. All the things she'd momentarily forgotten crashed into Jinny's awareness. She dropped her gaze to the floor. Despite it all, though, she wanted to be back in his arms, having him kiss her again. How could she have enjoyed it so much when he was her enemy? A blush rose from her chest to spread across her face. What must he think of her? That she was a wanton, a loose woman? Or that she really was trying to seduce him to her own advantage?

She dared to look into his face again. She didn't see the condemnation or revulsion she feared. He looked as confused and unhappy about it as she felt. She didn't know what to say. The silence between them stretched until she thought she'd break.

“I ... I guess it's kind of late to finish the game now.” She hoped that didn't sound as silly to him as it did to her.

He nodded agreement. “Tomorrow. You take the bed tonight. I'll wrap up in front of the fire here."

“Stephan?"

He turned to her.

“I...” She wanted to tell him she hadn't planned for that to happen, that she wasn't trying to manipulate him. She couldn't figure out the right way to say it, however, and finally gave up the attempt. “Good night."

“Good night.” The way he said it sounded depressingly final.

Chapter Ten

Stephan wasn't in the other room when Jinny got up. His blankets were neatly folded and piled in a corner, and a pot of oat porridge simmered on the fire. She gave it a stir, decided it wasn't ready yet, and added another pot of water for tea.

He came in from outside a few minutes later, stamping snow off his boots as he crossed the floor. “I fed and watered the horses,” he said. “I also set a couple traps. It's stopped snowing, but it's deep and it's too cold to melt. Looks like you'll get your wish. We'll be here a while."

“I don't know if I really wished that or not.” She walked to the door and looked out. The white blanket was a foot deep or more.

He reached the fire and held out his hands to it, then turned to face her, letting the blaze warm his back. “Last night...” He paused. “It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."

She shut the door. “I hope you don't think I was trying to..."

“No,” he cut in sharply. “It was me. My fault. You can't help it that you're so pretty, and I'm...” He stopped and sighed. “I need to control myself better."

“We both have to.” She dished out the oatmeal and handed him a bowl.

They ate in uncomfortable silence, too aware of each other for casual conversation, and resisting it too hard to risk more than a glance. Once he was done, he wrapped himself in the cloak again, grabbed the bow he'd kept slung on one of the packs, and strung it. “I'm going to see what I can catch. We need to supplement what's in the packs."

Jinny nodded and turned to gather up the dishes while he dug out a quiver of arrows and left.

After cleaning up from breakfast and putting more water on to boil, she took out the sewing kit. A couple of hours later, she'd shortened the pants and taken in the waist enough for a reasonable fit. A man's shirt she'd found needed the sleeves shortened, but otherwise could be worn over the trousers. With a rope belt, it was even surprisingly comfortable. Far more so than the sack dress which she discarded without regret. There were enough spare clothes to provide her with an extra set once she had time to make adjustments to the others.

She didn't see Stephan again until hours later, long enough for her to start worrying. When he showed up, the color in his face was high, whether from cold or success she couldn't tell. Although he came in empty-handed, his expression didn't look like that of a man who'd spent all morning in futile activity. He looked almost triumphant, and he crossed the room to warm himself by the fire with a near-jaunty air.

“I bagged a couple of rabbits,” he told her, not trying to hide his pride in that feat. “I left them outside for now. I'll clean them in a bit and we'll roast them for dinner."

Since he was obviously waiting for her approval, she said, “Wonderful. It'll be nice to have fresh meat."

“I thought so, too."

She saw when he noticed her outfit. Instead of the disapproval she'd expected, he nodded and said, “Much more practical."

After he'd warmed up and they'd had a quick lunch of bread and dried fruit, he went out to clean the rabbits. He returned an hour or so later with the rabbits ready to spit. Blood and other stains splotched his clothes, his hands and even his hair. “I think I'm going to need a bath,” he told her as he set the spit over the fire.

“I could use one myself,” Jinny said. Then, as a very vivid but very unacceptable mental picture presented itself to her, she blushed and stammered, “We'll go ... we'll take turns. You get the first shot at it."

“All right."

They built a fire in the second room and dragged the iron hip bath in front of it. It took the two of them combined to get the unwieldy tub in place and to go back and forth filling pots with melting snow. Once it was full, though, Jinny left him and retreated to the other room, where she concentrated on turning the spit, fixing another set of biscuits, and generally trying not to listen to the sounds of him settling into the bath. There was no door between the rooms to offer privacy, so she struggled to keep her eyes averted. On one trip from the fireplace to the work table, she couldn't help noticing his shoulders and head rising above the tub. Fortunately, his back was to her so he didn't see her quick glance.

After that she was careful to look any way but toward the other room. The one brief glimpse was enough to set her imagination working far too creatively and sent a wave of longing surging through her. She had to work hard to get herself under control again. Her hands shook as she mixed biscuit dough.

She concentrated so fiercely on kneading, then flattening, the bread and wondering what was wrong with her, she didn't hear him get out and get dressed again. She jumped when he spoke from right alongside her.

“I think it surrendered a while back."

“What?” she asked.

“The dough. It's definitely beaten into submission."

“Oh.” She looked down at the thin layer of dough spread across the board. “It's supposed to be rolled out flat."

“If it gets much flatter, you could wrap it around you and wear it for a cloak,” he said. He'd shaved and his wet hair was slicked back from his face, lying flat against his well-shaped head. He looked clean, vital, and dangerously appealing.

“It might be warm, but it won't smell very good after a day or two."

He nodded. “Better to eat them now. You want your turn in the bath now?"

“I think the rabbits are nearly done. I'll do it after we eat."

Despite, or maybe because of, her enthusiastic pummeling of the dough, the biscuits came out better that time, and the fresh meat was very welcome. They ate their fill and somewhat beyond. Afterward, he helped empty the tub and refill it. He also pinned an old blanket across the doorway to give her privacy.

Sinking into the warm bath was sheer bliss. It soaked the grime off her body and soothed aching muscles. Tension drained as the water lapped around her limbs and trunk. Jinny ducked her head under the water to wash her hair, but couldn't bring herself to get out of the tub when that was done. She rested against the edge, while her legs half-floated languidly. She stared at the ceiling of the hut and let her mind drift.

“Hey!” The hail came from the other room. “Are you asleep in there?"

“What?” It was hard to shake off the half-dozing state she'd slipped into. “No, of course not,” she answered. “Just resting."

“Are you wrinkled like a prune?” he asked.

“I'm afraid I am,” she admitted.

And the water had cooled considerably. She finally forced herself to stand up and get out. Having clean clothes to put over her freshly washed body was another luxury she'd gotten used to doing without.

Stephan sat at the table, reading a book, when she rejoined him. He looked up. “I was beginning to think you were going to spend the night in the tub."

“Just making up for a week of missed baths."

He nodded. His face changed as he stared at her, going from the lightly sarcastic look to something more intense. She wondered if her hair was doing something strange or she'd left dirt smears on her face. “Is something the matter?"

He blinked and shook his head sharply. “No.” He drew a deep, not quite steady breath. “Go another round at Stratagem?"

It brought them too close together, locking minds with him in the game. But the only alternative meant sitting around with nothing else to think about. “Okay,” she agreed.

They played two longer games. Jinny had absorbed enough of the strategy and combinations of moves that she could give him a better challenge. He still won both games, but it wasn't nearly as easy. He generously complimented her on her increasing skill when she made a particularly adroit move that put several of his pieces in jeopardy.

They were careful not to touch each other, not to even look at each other any more than necessary. But Jinny couldn't avoid the awareness of him sitting opposite her. She watched his hands manipulate the game pieces and admired their grace and strength. She let her gaze drift across his chest and took in his strong, solid muscle with too much pleasure. Occasionally, when he was assessing the position of his pieces and considering his next move, she even snuck a glance at his face. It wasn't a pretty face, or a restful, easy face, but something in it attracted her so strongly she wanted to continue staring at him. She had to force herself to look down at the game board each time.

Twice she glanced up and found him watching her with much the same intensity she'd turned on him when he was involved in studying the positions of the pieces. The first time she turned away quickly and felt hot blood flood upward across her throat into her cheeks. When it happened again, she met and matched his stare more boldly.

Time itself seemed to stop while they locked eyes and resisted reaching out to touch. Almost as though nothing else existed, could exist, but the two of them in that out-of-the-real-world moment. Her breath quickened, her hands started to shake, and a longing so sharp, so fierce it was a knife-thrust of pain spread from the center of her being up through her throat and down into her loins. She'd never imagined wanting this level of closeness with another human being, certainly not with a man like Stephan. But she knew now that he was becoming a part of her, a piece she would miss with wrenching pain when they reached the end of their journey and he left her to the king's needs.

When the silence between them stretched too long, too thin, she opened her mouth to say his name. Sanity intervened. Before the word formed, she shook her head and dropped her gaze back to the game board. Time resumed. She drew a deep breath and fought back tears. The world felt emptier, her spirit desolate, when she wasn't looking at him.

The game continued only a few minutes after that, possibly because their hearts were no longer in it.

Jinny had a hard time getting to sleep. She vacillated between indulging in fantasies that had her and Stephan coming together, both physically and emotionally, and reminding herself of reality. He might be attracted to her, but he still hated her people and his strongest loyalty was to his king.

Nonetheless, her mind tried to drift into pleasant scenarios where Stephan not only admitted to wanting her, but actually decided not to take her to the king. Instead he carried her off to his own home and kept her with him there. When she finally did fall asleep, her longing wormed its way into her dreams.

She woke with the first light, feeling tired, irritable and jittery. Stephan was still asleep in the other room, so she moved quietly, trying not to disturb him. She couldn't resist a look at his sleeping face as she passed. Mistake. Relaxed at rest, without the underlay of tension and anger, black hair rumpled around his face, and long, black lashes lying quietly on his cheeks above the sharply cut bones, he was entirely too appealing. A pang cut into her heart, and she turned quickly away.

It was too cold not to try to build up the fire, and inevitably the noise she made chunking wood onto it roused him. He wasn't in the best of humors, even after they'd cleaned themselves and breakfasted on dried fruit and biscuits left over from the previous night. Two cups of tea didn't improve their dispositions either.

Stephan left again to hunt the day's food shortly thereafter. Once Jinny had straightened the cabin, she retrieved the sewing kit and began working on another set of clothes. Her efforts didn't go as well as the day before. She had a hard time holding onto the needle, which kept sliding out of her fingers. Halfway into the project, she realized she'd sewn a hem backwards, folding it outward rather than in. Yanking it all out and redoing the work didn't improve an attitude already half-smoldering. The second time she jabbed her thumb and managed to bleed onto the cloth, she swore viciously, tossed the sewing aside, and picked up a broom instead.

She had the floor sparkling and the table tops scrubbed to pristine cleanliness by the time Stephan returned. He didn't look nearly so jaunty today. He stomped across her newly clean floor to the fire, leaving a trail of mud behind.

Her irritation rose as she looked at it. “Hey, I just swept the floor. Look at the mess you made."

He stared at the muddy tracks of his boots and shrugged. “It'll clean."

“I know. I just did clean it, and it was a lot of work. Take off your boots."

His head jerked up to meet her gaze. “The floor's cold. I've been out all morning. My feet are cold."

“Your boots are covered with mud. You must've slogged through a bog. Take them off before you mess the floor anymore."

He stepped closer to the fire and turned, letting the blaze warm the backs of his legs. “When did you become concerned about the floors? You've never cared before. We'll be out of here in a few days and you'll never see it again. Why worry about it now?"

“Because we do have to live here for the next few days. And I just got the floor clean. I worked hard on it. Take them off."

He stared at her, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Do I have to remind you I'm in charge around here? That you're my prisoner?"

“Looks like you already have, doesn't it? Reminded me."

“You don't seem impressed."

“You want me to cower in a corner every time you glare at me?"

His hard laugh was just an exhalation of air, containing no amusement. “Not much chance of that."

“So maybe you ought to just keep me tied like when we set out."

“Maybe I should. Probably stupid of me to let you have so much freedom. Nothing but trouble."

That stung but she wouldn't let him see it. “No doubt. I'm just a witch after all. Hardly worthy of your notice since my people are lower than dirt in your eyes."

The sudden fierce light in his eyes was anger. “A bunch of cruel, cold-hearted bigots, your people. They've raised the art of looking down on others to new levels. In their view, anyone who has to use a match to light a fire is less than human—'lower than dirt,’ as you so quaintly put it. Little more than animals, so they don't hesitate to treat them that way."

“When have I acted like you were nothing but an animal?"

“Oh, you wouldn't be so obvious about it. You're my prisoner, after all. And you don't have the use of your magic. So you have to resort to other ways to manipulate me. Even without magic you have some pretty potent weapons, don't you? Your pretty face and lovely body. It didn't take you long to figure out that I haven't had a woman in a while and I was susceptible to your charms."

The shock of it knocked most of the breath out of her, even before the pain hit. “You think I've been doing that?” she asked. “Using my body to manipulate you?"

“You're standing there with no ropes or chains on you, aren't you?” he asked. “You seem to feel you can do whatever you want, say whatever you want to me, and not worry about repercussions."

“You believe that?” she asked him. “You really believe that?"

He didn't answer in words. He just watched her steadily with his hard, angry, accusing gaze. It gave her all the answer she needed.

Pain stabbed into her like the physical tearing of something young and delicate and fragile inside. She couldn't let him see the tears gathering in her eyes. She whirled, grabbed blindly for the cloak she'd hung on a peg near the door, hooked a corner of it, swung it around her body, wrenched open the door and ran out before the threatening tears overran her eyes and poured down her cheeks. The cold hit her in a numbing wave that suited her mood.

As she shut the door behind her, she heard him start to say something, to call to her, but she ignored it. She couldn't face him just then without breaking down completely. She barely noticed the effort it took to slog through the boot-high snow. Unconscious of choosing a path, she stepped into the tramped-down alley Stephan had worn in his comings and goings. It let her move faster, though the packed snow was slippery, and she slid, almost losing her balance, more than once.

She couldn't believe he really thought that of her. Just the day before, he'd said he didn't think she'd been trying to entice him. What had changed his mind? She'd barely looked at him all of yesterday, afraid he'd see her interest and interpret it just that way. And why did she care so much anyway? He was taking her to his king. He'd leave her there in the dungeon, and never worry about her again, never give her another thought. And that hurt even worse than him believing she'd been trying to manipulate him.

The tramped-down path began to dissipate as boot prints periodically veered away from it. When it turned into just another run of prints heading forward, she had to debate what to do next. She wasn't ready to turn around and go back. As long as she kept the trail's prints in sight, she wouldn't get lost, so she veered off to the left, into a thicker wooded area, following one line. The air wasn't as cold as she'd thought at first, warm enough to start melting the snow, in fact.

The cold, heartless beauty of the wood suited her bleak mood perfectly. The bare trees and featureless ground felt as empty as her heart. The silence was broken only by the occasional rustle of a leaf or distant call of a lonely bird. The cool breeze wiped the tears from her face. A fresh, bracing smell of pine and other vegetation helped clear her head, so that after a while she became more aware of the world around her.

On closer look, it wasn't as lifeless as she'd thought. She saw animal tracks in the snow and once she caught a distant view of a deer that bounded away before she could get close. The warmth of the sun began to penetrate through her cloak, and its light reflected in crystal radiance off the layers of snow padding trees and shrubs. A small bird with brown and red feathers perched on a bare tree branch and began singing its heart out. The snow piled in interesting curves in the crooks of trees and created a sparkling web where it clung to branches of shrubs. In the distance, the peaks of several mountains gleamed pristinely under their blankets of white.

Jinny got so lost in admiring the winter wonderland, she forgot about practical matters such as being careful where she walked. Until her left foot sank further than expected, tipping her off balance. She slued to the side and her ankle turned over, letting her foot sink even further into the hole, sliding until it was caught in a crevice at the bottom. A hand flung out in front saved her from landing flat on her face in the snow. But when she tried to push herself upright and draw her leg out of the gap, it would move only a fraction of an inch before stopping and refusing to budge any farther.

Stunned, she hesitated, gathering her wits and taking stock of the situation. Gingerly she settled until she was sitting in the snow, her cloak and trousers the only barrier between her body and the cold, fluffy white stuff blanketing the ground. She worked her trapped foot in a back-and-forth motion, trying to free it from whatever held it so fast. No go. Subsequent attempts from a variety of angles and different types of motion proved equally futile.

Maybe if she could slide her foot out of the boot? She twisted sideways and tipped forward in the effort. But whatever had trapped her foot compressed it so hard, she couldn't even tug it out of the boot. After thirty minutes of struggling, pulling, rolling, pushing, and even an attempt to use her other foot to stomp whatever held her so tightly, she was both chilled and sweating, frustrated and beginning to get a bit scared.

It was quiet in the woods, aside from the faint rustle of branches swaying before the breeze and the noise she made herself. When she sat still, her own panting breath sounded like a rushing wind. She needed to think about what to do next before panic stole her reason. She tried to move her leg back, foot to the side and peer down into the hole. If she could get a look at what held her so tightly, she might be able to reach in and do something about it. Unfortunately all she could make out was a dark space, rimed with white where snow had fallen into it. She brushed aside snow and mud, digging with her bare fingers into the ground. A good view of more snow and mud rewarded her efforts. She could work her fingers down far enough to feel something harder than the surrounding dirt on top of her foot. A buried branch or tree root. As hard as she pushed and pulled on it, though, she couldn't dislodge it or even nudge it slightly aside.

After a while she realized her fingers were going numb from the cold, so she pulled them out of the ground and tucked them under her cloak and shirt, next to her body. While her hands warmed, she considered what to do next. How long would Stephan wait before coming to look for her? Would he even bother? Yes, of course, he would. His king wanted to talk to her. But could she last until it finally dawned on him that she was in trouble and he started to search? How long did it take to freeze to death? Was it very painful? She thought it might not be. Not as painful as what the king might do to her to get information, so maybe it would be merciful to die now. But she didn't want to die. She wanted to survive and get a chance to escape later, or even take her chances on bargaining with the king. Not that she had much to offer him, but maybe...

If only she had the use of her magic. An earth elemental could free her in short order. Knowing the futility of the effort from the start, she reached up and tried to work at the metal collar's locking mechanism. The effort made her fingers sting with the cold when she scraped them. It also made her aware how frigid the metal was and how it was starting to burn the flesh of her throat beneath it. After a while she sighed and settled back down to rest and consider her options.

Instinct told her it wouldn't be wise to sit completely still too long, so she allowed herself only a brief interval before she stood and made another series of attempts to free her foot. The only result was to rub her trapped ankle so hard it blistered and stung ferociously. The cold seemed to magnify the pain somehow. The effort did get the blood flowing through her body, but soon after she gave up and sat to rest again. Shivers set in, huge, convulsive tremors that made whole body shake. Her face was freezing, nose stinging with the biting cold. Her hands and feet were so numb she could barely feel them. She was becoming one with the ice and snow around her, and it ached and burned and hurt like crazy.

Chapter Eleven

When she first heard the shout, she thought it was a distant animal call and ignored it. The third time she recognized Stephan's voice calling her name. She yelled back at him and heard him answer.

“Keep shouting,” he yelled, “I'll find you."

She kept up a steady call until she saw him approaching from the direction of the boot track she'd followed.

“You idiot,” he yelled as he got close. “What are you doing out here? Trying to freeze to death?"

She stared back at him. “Not trying. Getting there. Why should you care? You hate me."

“Not enough to want to see you freeze. Come back to the house with me. Were you lost?"

She sighed and nodded toward her trapped foot. “Not lost. Stuck."

“What?"

“I stepped in a hole and my foot got stuck. Trapped under something. It feels like a root or branch. I can't get it out.” A tremendous shiver convulsed her at that point. Stephan unhooked the clasp on his own cloak, took it off and swung it around her shoulders, over the one she already wore. The additional warmth was welcome.

“Let me see what I can do.” He knelt in the snow by the side of the hole and began to dig, much as she'd done earlier. He got down to where he could feel the root, but he had no more success in moving it than she'd had. He stood, sighed deeply, and thought for a moment.

“There's a hatchet at the house,” he finally said. “And a shovel. I need to go back and get them. It shouldn't take me long."

Still he hesitated and bit his lip, as though reluctant to leave her again.

“Go get the tools,” she insisted. “I'll be all right here for that long."

He nodded and sprinted toward the track again, heading for the house at a fast pace.

The woods felt empty and lonely when he left. The depression that had lifted when he appeared began to set in again. The sun was moving off to the west, sinking toward the horizon. She drew the hood of his cloak over her head, which helped keep her ears warm, but did nothing for a nose about to drip icicles. To top off her discomfort, her stomach rumbled and clenched, reminding her she hadn't eaten anything since early that morning. She was so cold she couldn't even force her body to move anymore. Instead she rolled herself into the smallest ball possible, given the constraints of her situation, to conserve what little warmth she still had.

She had no idea how long it took Stephan to get back with shovel and axe. Time seemed to lose meaning as her mind drifted. She was almost sure she dreamed him there beside her before he actually returned. But then she opened her eyes a bit later and the man was approaching with tools in hand. Wasting no time, he tackled the space around her trapped foot with the shovel. He located the branch that caused the problem and hacked away at it with the hatchet, using short, careful strokes to avoid catching her leg. Ten minutes’ worth of chopping and he split the branch, then was able to pull one broken end far enough aside to let her finally slide her foot out.

By then the convulsive shivering seemed to have settled. The cold had penetrated through the doubled cloaks into her skin and down to her bones. But her body was something disconnected from her. She knew it was there and in considerable discomfort, but she didn't have a direct awareness of pain. She felt odd, dreamy, no longer caring whether she could walk or get back to the house. She was sleepy and wanted nothing more than to lie back and take a nap. If she just closed her eyes for a minute, she could get a little rest...

“Jinny!” She snapped awake at his harsh call. He was angry again. Why was he always angry at her? “Wake up,” he insisted.

“Okay,” she said, surprised to hear her voice come out slurred and rasping. “Awake. What?"

“Just stay awake. Don't drift off again."

Hands slid under her shoulders and knees, and he lifted her into his arms.

“Don't need to carry me,” she insisted as he started the trek toward the house. “Can walk."

“Indulge me,” he said. “We'll make faster progress if I carry you. We've got to get you warmed up right now. I'll go back and get the tools later."

It felt amazingly good and secure to be wrapped in his arms and held to his chest as though she were precious to him, feeling his heart thumping under her cheek. The cold no longer bothered her. Or her hunger. Or even the remote pain in her leg.

He shook her when she started to doze again. “Stay with me,” he insisted. “Don't go to sleep. Talk to me."

“Don't know what to say. Why'd you come looking for me? You hate me. Why care?"

“I don't hate you.” His voice was a rumbling hum in his chest.

“Yes, you do. You hate who I am. My people. You'd hate me even more if you knew...” She vaguely remembered she wasn't supposed to say anything about her mother and what she was.

“Knew what?” he asked.

“No.” She sighed. “Can't tell you. Not supposed to."

“Have you done something to endanger Lendiil?” His voice was harsh and angry again.

“Danger?” She had a hard time sorting out the meaning of his question, and then an even harder time matching it against her experience to find an answer. Her brain moved sluggishly, as though the cold had made everything slow, even her thoughts. “Lendiil. Don't think so. It's the others ... think I'm ... a threat."

“The others? What others?"

“My people."

“They think you're dangerous?” He sounded startled now but not angry anymore. “You? Why would they think you're dangerous?"

“Who I am ... I'm ... inconvenient.” She drifted into a memory of standing before the council of state, listening to their comments on how her very existence was a danger to the country, wondering what they could do about her. Only her offer to serve in any way they thought suitable, including leaving her homeland permanently if that was their wish, had saved her from a lifetime of imprisonment or worse. She remembered how badly her knees had shook, sweat dripping down the sides of her face, while they'd debated her fate. And how gratefully she'd grasped at the straw they'd held out to her ... the possibility of serving as the council's eyes and ears in a potentially dangerous area of Lendiil. Spying for them, though no one had actually used that word to describe the mission.

“Jinny!” Stephan's voice jerked her back from her dreaming reverie. “Stay with me! Not much farther to the house. Just hold on."

“Try,” she said.

Moments later, she felt the awkward twisting as he wrestled with the door catch, then they were inside. He took her straight to the fireplace and set her gently on the floor beside it. She couldn't hold herself in a sitting position, so he eased her down until she was lying just in front of the fire. He tossed on more logs and poked at it until the flames blazed, licking greedily at the new fuel.

He reached for her and fumbled with the clasp of his cloak, loosened it and pulled it off. Then he removed the one beneath it as well, and finally started working on the lacings of her shirt. She began to struggle when her foggy brain finally realized Stephan was trying to undress her.

“Quit wiggling,” he ordered, knocking away the hand she raised to stop him. “This is hard enough.” When she didn't quit, he added, “Your clothes are soaked. We've got to get you out of them if you're ever going to get warm."

She sighed and let him work the laces, even helped him pull the shirt over her head and remove the trousers and underdrawers. She still felt sufficiently disconnected from her body that she wasn't even embarrassed by her ensuing nudity. He wrapped a blanket around her.

The removal of the wet clothes was a relief. She hadn't been aware of how damp and chill they'd been until they were gone. The return of the shivering took her by surprise. She started to shake, hard, convulsively, her teeth snapping like castanets under the assault.

It took a while before her body became aware of the increased warmth of her surroundings. Heat ran over her chilled flesh, making it prickle uncomfortably, but didn't penetrate the ice inside. She sat and continued to shake so hard she could almost hear her bones rattle. Stephan knelt beside her and studied her with worried eyes, then took her fingers in his. Jinny barely felt his touch through her numbed, shaking hands.

He looked around, then stood, retrieved a cup, and ladled in some liquid from a pot simmering over the fire. When he held it to her mouth, she smelled the savory aroma of a rich meat broth. It was hot enough to singe her tongue. Though Stephan held the cup while she tried to sip, more of it slopped onto the blanket than went in her. Still, it helped. On her second try, more of the liquid went down.

He disappeared again and returned moments later with a pillow and a pile of blankets. He spread one blanket on the floor and worked it under her, put another around her. She watched, stunned, when he stripped off his own tunic and the shirt under it, tossing them aside before he kicked off his boots and removed his leggings, hose, and breeks. He gave her no chance to admire the beautiful body he revealed. He yanked one of the blankets around himself and stretched out beside her.

“I've heard this is the quickest way to warm another person,” he said as he rolled her to face him and pulled her still-shaking body against his. He worked one arm under her neck and adjusted the blankets until no cloth separated flesh from flesh. He flinched at the first contact of her frigid skin. “Powers! You're one little block of ice."

Initially her numbed flesh could barely sense the touch of another body, but after a while his warmth began to soak through the layers of skin to penetrate into the core of her being. He held her close against him, her cheek against his shoulder, her breasts pressed to his chest, and her legs lying alongside his. The fog began to lift from her brain, letting her think more clearly.

She suddenly stiffened and groaned loudly.

“What is it?” he asked.

“By the Holy Cloud! It hurts!"

“What does?"

“My hands and feet. They're burning, sizzling! It's like something's poking me with hundreds of needles."

“That's a good sign."

“Good? Yeoowh! It's killing me."

“Your circulation's returning. There shouldn't be any permanent damage."

“Permanent damage?"

“People lose fingers and toes to frostbite. Sometimes hands or feet. But I don't think you were there long enough to be in danger of that. As long as we get you warmed up soon."

“I'm starting to feel warmer. But it hurts."

“You're still shivering."

The tremors continued to rock her, but life was returning to her limbs. A painful, cramping life. Jinny tried to bear it quietly while her nerves jangled and reactivated muscles spasmed, but she couldn't be entirely still, either. Stephan didn't speak, but held her close while she shook. Then she tried to stay very still as returning life to the nerves in her hands and feet made any movement utter agony. He felt her tension and let her lie against him, holding her securely.

Once the pain of revived circulation started to fade and her head cleared with blessed warmth, she became aware of a number of other things simultaneously.

She'd never in her life felt as safe and comfortable and secure as she did at that moment, lying in Stephan's arms. Whatever his head and ingrained hatred might try to convince him, his actions and his body said something else entirely. And that was the second thing she became aware of. Just as she woke to the fact that she lay with a naked man, she realized he was all too aware of her unclothed presence. His body reacted, though he did nothing about it. It must have taken iron will on his part to cuddle her while holding his obvious desire in check.

The third thing she noticed was that she was incredibly tired. As her shivers finally settled to an occasional minor tremor, her eyelids grew heavier. “Would it be okay if I took a nap now? I'm so tired."

He did the most extraordinary thing yet. He turned a little, making her aware yet again of his arousal, and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I think it's safe. Sleep for a bit."

“You?"

“Maybe I'll sleep, too."

The amazing thing was that they both did.

She woke before he did, but lay quietly in his arms, enjoying the peace and warmth of his closeness, listening to the gentle rasp of his breathing. Trying not to disturb him, she drew her head back far enough to see his face. His eyes popped open, however, and focused lazily on her. The beginnings of a smile played around his mouth.

For a while they did nothing but stare at each other. She tried to read the thoughts and emotions in his dark eyes, but saw only smoldering heat. She felt it, too, a curling tension in her stomach, her breath growing tighter, heightened awareness of his flesh everywhere their bodies touched.

His arm moved, his fingers reaching for her face and gently tracing the line of her lips. The touch sent shivers racing along her spine. She puckered and kissed the tip of his finger, drawing it partly into her mouth. He allowed her caress for a bit, then withdrew his hand, laid it flat against the side of her face and traced with his mouth the path of his fingers’ recent passage across her lips.

He kissed her, hard, deep. When his lips moved on hers, tingles ran down her body, making her shake again. Not with cold this time. Flashes of heat shot through her, scorching her from the inside out. She sighed deep in her throat.

His lips blazed a fiery trail of kisses across her cheek and down the side of her face to her throat. His tongue pressed gently into the sensitive skin just below her jaw, drawing a sharp breath from her. She put her hands on his shoulders and realized he was shaking also.

Stephan's fingers moved down from her face to reach toward her breast. He hesitated a moment, watching her, waiting for her to object. When she didn't, his lips curved into the gentlest, sweetest smile she'd ever seen on a man's face. She stored the look in her heart.

She murmured his name, then gasped as his hand moved over her breast and fingers traced neat circles around the tip. It felt like streaks of lightning thrust deep into her body, settling into her belly and between her legs. She reached down to touch his chest, finally working up the nerve to run a hand along the smooth skin over hard muscle. It gave her a heart-lurching thrill when he shivered and moaned in response to her exploration of his body.

He shifted so he could slide his lips down her throat, around her breasts and across them. The rasp of his tongue over her nipple sent shards of ecstasy crashing through her, setting her ablaze, melting her. He licked and probed the tips with his tongue, then drew each into his mouth and sucked gently. She writhed under the assault and sobbed his name. The pleasure of it was a goad that demanded more and more.

With the barriers between them finally discarded, they couldn't get enough of touching, feeling, and tasting, driving each other into a frenzy of passion and longing. He brushed one hand down her body, skimming across her abdomen, moving lower to nudge her legs apart. When he touched the sensitive place between her legs, she half-sighed, half-shrieked at the shocking intensity of the sensation that jolted her. It was almost torture, a hot, sweet pain of longing and building need.

She grabbed his face and pulled it toward her so she could kiss him again. Following an example he'd set earlier, she poked her tongue through his lips and into his mouth. He stiffened for a moment and then shuddered.

“Jinny, I need ... I can't wait much longer,” he said on a series of panting breaths when she released his mouth. His dark eyes glowed intensely bright.

“Don't, then,” she whispered, blowing the words softly into his ear.

He rolled over on top of her, pushing her legs farther apart with his knees. He settled himself above her, holding his weight on his arms, and positioned himself to enter her. Again he watched her face, waiting for an indication she was ready. She nodded. He brushed his fingers tenderly across her face, burying them in her hair, before he thrust into her.

He was big, and it hurt as he broke through the barrier of her virginity. When he realized it was her first time, he stopped and paused for a minute to allow her time to adjust. His need was too great to wait long, though she could feel the effort he took to restrain himself when he began to move inside her. He tried to be careful and gentle when he rocked in and out, not pushing too hard or penetrating more deeply than she could tolerate.

After a few minutes, the pain receded to a prickly burn, but the heat of need roused again, wakened by the rhythm of his stroking in and out. Tension drew her muscles taut. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingers into his back. The fullness of him inside her pressed against some magic spot each time he pushed forward, sending flashes of tormenting pleasure shooting through her, winding her tighter and tighter.

Seeing that she was with him, he began to move more quickly, thrusting harder. Their breath panted raggedly together. His body grew tenser just as hers did, the need swelling higher, wider, deeper. It built until she wondered that she could contain so much pressure. Then it built some more, until it suddenly burst in a series of shuddering spasms that ripped through her. Wave on wave of pleasure crested and crashed, the feeling more intense than anything she'd ever before experienced.

Above her, Stephan paused for a moment, face drawn into tight concentration, then he drove in one last time, moaned aloud as he spasmed within her, and shuddered as the pleasure claimed him.

For a while afterward they just lay together, unwilling to move or allow reality to penetrate the cacoon of love and peace they occupied. His weight was a welcome burden against her, and she cradled him tenderly to her breast. She felt gloriously calm, sated, fulfilled. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. Not even the best of times with her magic gave her such a sense of completion. She wanted to protest when he raised himself up and pulled out of her. But he rolled to his side and drew her against him again. They lay cuddled together for a while as the afternoon faded toward evening.

“Stephan?” she whispered when speech became possible again. “Is it always like that?"

He sighed deeply. “No. It'll get better for you. This was your first time and it's uncomfortable.” He hesitated. “I didn't know it would be your first time. I hope I wasn't too ... rough."

She laughed and dared to cup his cheek with her hand. “It wasn't too rough. It was good, damn good, and you know it."

He grinned and held her hand to his face. Then his expression changed, darkened. “Jinny.” His sigh was close to a sob. “This doesn't make my life any easier."

She sobered. “No. Stephan, please, it won't make any difference. It doesn't change anything. It shouldn't change anything."

“It can't,” he agreed. “I gave my word. And I owe too much to Randell."

“Your king. I understand."

“But it's not the same,” he said. “Whether I like it or not, it's not the same. And I don't know how I'm going to..."

“Stephan, please. Don't think about it for now. Just hold me."

Moments later, her stomach rumbled loudly. They both laughed.

“I suppose that's our signal to get up and get our lazy bodies moving again,” he said. “I started a stew while you were gone earlier. It should be plenty ready by now. The potatoes may be mush."

“I could eat fried rocks right now,” Jinny said.

“I'm not the world's greatest cook, but I don't think it's quite that bad."

It wasn't. In fact, the long cooking time didn't hurt the flavor at all, or maybe it was just that hunger made the best sauce. Jinny ate two good-sized bowls and a couple of leftover biscuits.

Later they played another game of Stratagem, but their minds weren't focused on it. They kept sneaking glances at each other and alternately laughing or just staring as their eyes met. When Jinny lost the game, after a short, half-hearted fight, they put the board and pieces away and retired for the night.

Stephan stripped off his tunic and shirt, but then he stood by the bed and looked at her. Reading the invitation in his eyes, Jinny went to him, walking into the arms he held out to embrace her.

He helped her out of her clothes and lifted her onto the bed. They made love more slowly this time, sharing long, leisurely explorations of each other's bodies. They found the places where gentle touches brought intense pleasure, the rhythms that built need to desperate intensity.

And she found he'd been right. It was better the second time.

They shared the bed that night, curled together. Before drifting off to sleep, Jinny dared to wonder what it might be like if the situation between them were different. If she wasn't his prisoner, on the way to see his king. If she wasn't a Calavrian and a witch. Would there be any possibility of a future for them together? Was he free to make his own decisions with regard to marriage? Or was even that part of his life the king's to command? Would he even consider her a possible wife if he were free to look where he pleased? But he was a lord, and as far as he knew, she was the bastard daughter of a nobleman who refused to recognize her. He'd given no indication of interest in a long-term arrangement anyway. For all she knew, he had one already.

Chapter Twelve

He was up by the time she woke the next morning. She smelled the aroma of steeping tea as she dressed. He wasn't in the room when she went to stir the simmering pot of oat porridge, but came in a few minutes later.

“Weather's changing,” he announced. “It's going to be warmer today."

“We'll be leaving today?"

He shook his head. “Not yet. But it might melt enough for us to get going tomorrow."

He sounded a little too pleased about it, a little too eager. More than the weather had changed overnight. He'd withdrawn from her again. The suspicion, the edge of doubt, was back in force. The sparkle his eyes had held yesterday after they'd made love was gone, and the old stiff reserve had taken its place.

She sighed and wondered what had caused the change. It couldn't have been anything she'd said or done, since they hadn't spoken since the previous night. His commitment to the king and his ingrained hatred of Calavrians reasserting themselves? His loyalty ran deep. If he was starting to have warm feelings for her, it would create a painful conflict. He'd suggested as much himself after the first time they'd made love yesterday. Denying his desire for her, falling back on a simpler explanation would be one way to cope with his conflicted emotions. Would that mean a return of his suspicions about her trying to seduce him to her own ends? Probably.

She needed to back away herself. She shouldn't give him any further reason to believe she was trying to manipulate him. If she didn't push, he might conclude that yesterday had been a fluke, an accident born of circumstances combined with a basic sexual attraction they'd have to resist in the future.

Of course, resisting was easier to think about than it was to follow through on, as they would discover later that day. In the morning, however, Stephan hunted for more meat, and they spent the afternoon cleaning, cooking and eating it. After the meal, they filled the big tub for baths again. While lugging in buckets of melting snow and then pouring them into the tub once the water heated, they kept sneaking glances at each other. Hot, smoldering glances, fueled by more than just the flames warming the water. Jinissa couldn't restrain her imagination from picturing Stephan's long, lean, beautiful body in the tub. And if that didn't excite her enough, she thought about the two of them in the tub together, helping to bathe each other. To make it worse, she saw echoes of her own longings in his eyes whenever their glances met.

Finally the tub was ready. He offered her the first bath and retreated to the other room while she disrobed and stepped in. She'd managed to forget to bring the soap in with her. He graciously offered to bring it to her and then, even more graciously, offered to wash her back for her.

Somehow, in the process of scrubbing her back, water dribbled over her shoulder and once or twice was dripped onto her nose. The first time it happened, she thought it an accident. The second time, it clearly wasn't. In retaliation, she splashed a few drops backward onto him, making him briefly duck away, then dart back and flick water onto her cheek. After a couple rounds of that, Stephan's clothes were very wet. He removed the leather tunic and damp shirt in between efforts to spill larger quantities of water over her head. While she tried to douse him again, he kicked his boots off. The third time he succeeded in slopping a handful of water into her hair, she turned sharply and lunged for his wrist. She was almost as startled as he when she actually got hold of it and yanked him backward. His bare foot slipped on the wet floor, and he ended up sitting on the side of the tub, leaning backwards across it, hands braced behind him on the opposite side to keep from falling in.

His awkward position offered her the perfect opportunity for retaliation, and she took full advantage, dripping water on his nose, splashing it into his ear and letting it run out of her cupped hand into his hair and onto his chest, until he finally pushed partly up, then plopped down into the tub, right on top of her.

The tub wasn't all that large, and Stephan took up a lot of space. He ended up sitting in her lap, facing her, his legs folded at the knees on either side of her. He picked up a handful of water and dripped it on her head, but then his lips followed the droplets’ path down her temple to her neck. When it dribbled down her chest, he continued to pursue it with his mouth. He licked the liquid off her breasts.

Jinny took a turn spilling water over him and chasing it with her lips and tongue. The feel of his skin sent shivers of pleasure through her. He shuddered when her mouth closed over one of his nipples, squeezing it carefully. The beads of water traveled lower and she continued to follow.

She reached the top of his pants and paused there. He straightened and raised himself to slide the breeks down. In the narrow confines of the tub, removing them involved a good bit of wriggling, twisting, splashing, laughter and contact between their flesh.

When the last barrier between them was gone, he sank back in the tub and drew her down onto his lap, impaling her in the process. She gasped as he filled her, but moved with him until the world and everything else fell away and nothing existed but the two of them.

* * * *

Much later they roused themselves to get out of the water, which by then had cooled to chilly. Stephan helped her climb out and wrapped her tenderly in one of the blankets.

He carried her to the bed, lay beside her and drew more blankets over the two of them. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her head onto his shoulder, holding her close until they warmed together. Jinny clung to him. She didn't think she'd ever get her fill of touching him, being near enough to hear his heart beat, feeling the tenderness of his lips on her temple and in her hair.

So much had happened in so short a time—so many new feelings and emotions—she didn't know how to handle them. Without willing it, without even really knowing why, she began to cry. She was careful to make no sound, no shudder that he could feel, but the tears finally overflowed and ran down her temple and cheek and dripped onto his chest. When he felt them, he tipped up her face until he could see her eyes.

“Jinny?” He brushed fingers across the tears to wipe them away. “Did I hurt you? I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean to. Sometimes I forget."

“No. You didn't hurt me. Not at all."

“Then, what is it?"

“I don't know, exactly."

“How about inexactly?"

“So many things,” she said. “I don't ... I don't know where to start. I don't want to...” She nestled into the comfortable hollow of his shoulder. “I've never felt like this before. It's overwhelming. And it'll end in just a few days.” She tried hard not to sigh but didn't succeed in suppressing it entirely. “I'll always be glad it happened. Even if I never see you again."

“Jinny—"

“No,” she stopped him. “Wait. I need to tell you this. Earlier, before we..."

“Made love,” he offered.

“Before we made love. We ... played. Like kids. I've never done that before. And it was wonderful. I'll never forget you did that for me."

“Played?” He sounded astonished. “You've never played ... with anyone?"

She shook her head.

“Never? Not at all?"

“Never."

“What were you doing as a kid, then? Surely your parents didn't make you work all the time. Didn't you have brothers and sisters?"

She wanted to tell him. She'd never confided in anyone, and the loneliness pressed heavily. How ironic that it took a relationship with someone who should be her enemy to bring home how alone and lonely she really was, to make her feel the need for companionship, for love, for someone she could talk to.

“Not exactly,” she answered.

“I always thought brothers and sisters were kind of an either-or proposition,” he said. “You have them or you don't."

“I have a half-brother. And three half-sisters."

“You never played with them?"

“I didn't see them."

“At all?

She shook her head.

He shifted, flexed the arm that was under her neck and used that hand to stroke her hair. “Is this related to what you told me yesterday?"

“What did I tell you yesterday?” she asked.

“That you were a danger to your people."

“When did I tell you that?"

“While I was carrying you back to the cabin. When you were half-frozen. I assumed it had to do with the power you can control. Is it related?"

“Sort of. But...” They were getting into tricky territory. “Stephan? You have to promise you won't tell this to anyone else, not even to your king."

“It's something I'd want to tell him?"

“Yes."

He was quiet for several moments before he sighed and said, “I'll probably regret this, but you have my promise."

“You won't tell anyone? You swear it?"

“I'll swear it."

“Thank you.” She turned and pressed her lips against his chest in gratitude. “Yes, it's related."

“Why are you a danger to your people?"

“Because of who I am. Or maybe, more importantly, who my mother is."

“Your mother?” He swallowed his surprised and waited. When she didn't continue, he prompted. “Who is she?"

“The queen."

“The queen? Of Calavria?” He sounded appropriately shocked.

She sighed. “The queen of Calavria."

She wasn't sure if she heard doubt or astonishment in his voice when he asked, “Then you're ... a princess? A royal?"

“I'm not a royal anything ... except maybe a royal pain in the hind end.” She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her words.

“Jinissa?” His hair brushed her face when he shook his head. “I don't understand."

“It's pretty simple really. The queen is my mother. But the king is not my father."

“Oh.” He was quiet for a moment as the implications sank in, then he asked, “How did that happen?"

“Long story. Sure you want to hear it?"

He nodded.

“Okay.” She snuggled a little closer to him. “The king was still a prince when he married my mother. It was a political marriage, but I think they found they got along together pretty well. Anyway, when they traveled through some of the rougher parts of Calavria, the royal family would often go in disguise as peasants to avoid the attention of the hoodlums and thieves that lived there.

“This is the story I've heard, but I don't know if it's entirely true. Sometimes I've wondered if there wasn't more to it. Anyway, at one point, when they'd been married about five years and already had a son and daughter, my mother was on a diplomatic mission to one of the farthest regions. She traveled in disguise, but it was a bad year and the thieves were desperate. They stopped her party, robbed them, and ... one of them forced himself on her."

“Just one?” Stephan asked.

“That's what I've heard. She didn't find out she was pregnant until she was back home. I don't have to tell you how awkward that was. After all, legally, I'd be fourth in line to the throne after my father, brother, and sister. My mother retired to a country estate for a while. The story they put out was that the ordeal had taken a toll on her health and she needed time to rest and recover. In a way, I suppose, it was true.

“The royal advisers suggested I be ... disposed of as soon as I was born, but she refused. She was quite stubborn on that point. Of course, she knew she couldn't bring me to court, nor could I be acknowledged. I was a liability, but she wouldn't let them kill me. She arranged for me to be raised by a remote enclave of the Followers of the Flame. They're an ascetic group who believe in study and discipline and worship of the High Power and not much else. But they were good to me, if only because I showed considerable talent for magic. I guess you know that in Calavria, the talent for magic shows most strongly in the upper classes, and I was the queen's daughter."

“I lived there for a while,” he reminded her. The bitterness of his words also reminded her that the experience hadn't left him with kindly feelings for her people.

“The fact I showed the talent so strongly became a problem in itself as I grew up. The Followers would have let me stay, but I would have become both their prisoner and their tool, and it wasn't the life I wanted."

She paused and chewed her lip. “I wanted a life of my own. But that's not as easy as it sounds when you've got talent like mine. If I didn't want to stay with the Followers, I had to go to the capitol to be certified by the council of state—they require it of anyone who can exercise talent at that level. And, of course, I presented them with a problem. A couple of the members of the council knew who I was, so there was considerable debate over what to do with me. My mother's husband had ascended to the throne by then, and they had more children—all nice, respectable heirs. If people saw the level of magic I could conjure, there would be talk, rumors, and eventually dangerous political speculation. You might not know this, but if the council believes you to be dangerous, they can order you confined or executed. In my case, I hadn't done anything to show I was a threat, but I represented a danger to the crown and the established order merely because of who I was. Eventually they let me live—as long as I settled in some place harmless ... like Lendiil. They offered me the ‘opportunity’ to be their eyes and ears. Oh, it wasn't said outright, but it was made clear that the only alternative was confinement—one way or another—for the rest of my life."

When she was quiet for a moment, he said, “That explains a few things I'd wondered about."

“Such as?"

“Why they'd send such an—Let's just say you didn't seem like the most obvious choice for being a spy."

“You mean I'm not very good at it."

She couldn't see his face, but it sounded as though he was smiling when he said, “Something like that."

“Okay, I admit I wasn't very good at it. But there wasn't another choice."

“No."

He sighed and turned toward her, levering her upwards so his lips could meet hers as his arms tightened around her. “Jinissa,” he said as his mouth roamed gently over her temple and down her cheek. Her name sounded like a sigh or a plea. “I wish I could...” He let it hang.

“That's not what this was all about,” she answered. “It's not why I told you."

“I know. That doesn't make it any easier."

“I didn't think it would. For either of us.” She said the last more forcefully, hoping he'd understand she wasn't asking for his sympathy or his support. If a sneaky, yearning part of her hoped for it anyway, that was entirely her problem. He had enough trouble of his own already.

He went still and quiet. She felt him getting tense, and she hated it for him, hated that whatever was between them could ultimately only cause him pain and guilt, however it turned out.

“Stephan.” She tried offering comfort of her own, moving her hands up to his shoulders, then stroking down his back. He relaxed under her ministrations, but not as much as she'd hoped. Her fingers fell into the trough of one of the scar-ridges and she shuddered. “Stephan, tell me what happened."

“What?” He emerged from his brooding reverie.

“The scars on your back. What happened?"

“Are you sure you want to know? It's not a pretty story."

“I want to know,” she assured him. “I've unloaded my problems on you. I ought to take some of yours."

“If you're sure."

He drew back from her, turning and moving her until she was settled comfortably against his shoulder again. From that angle, she couldn't see his face. She suspected he wanted it that way.

His chest rose and fell with a couple of deep breaths before he spoke. “I told you my parents were dirt-poor peasants. We lived near the border with Calavria, in the southern part of Lendiil. I was the fourth son and another mouth my parents couldn't afford to feed. When I was old enough, I was apprenticed to a group in Calavria that needed labor to work their fields. I was always big for my age and willing to work hard, so I made good money to help my family. When I was sixteen, I took a permanent job with one of the wealthier Calavrian families in the area, managing their animals. It was a good situation, good pay, a room of my own next to the stable—the best a lowly Lendiil could aspire to."

With her head against him, she heard his voice partly through her ears and partly as a rumbling vibration in his chest. It struck her as a sharing deeper than just mere talking.

“The family had a daughter,” he continued. “She was a little younger than me, kind of pretty, kind of silly, very spoiled. Daddy's darling. She decided she liked me, and I was young enough and foolish enough to be flattered and susceptible. We started meeting—secretly, of course, because her parents would never approve. I really thought I was in love with her, and she with me. But when I asked her to run away with me and get married, she refused. I kept trying to convince her. Until she got pregnant."

He paused and drew a deep breath. She could feel his body quiver with the emotion the events still evoked.

“I suppose she panicked when her parents found out. I don't really know what she was thinking. I don't know what they'd have done if she'd admitted she was meeting me in secret.” He paused to draw a deep breath. “She didn't. She told them I'd forced her and she'd been too scared of me to tell them about it."

“The little bitch."

“She was a child. A stupid, spoiled, fearful child. I don't really blame her. Well, I do, but not entirely. I blame everyone—her, her parents, the town, all the people who never questioned her word and refused to listen when I tried to tell them she'd been willing. The people who wouldn't have thought me worthy of her. The same people who convicted me of a crime without even trying to find out if one had been committed. She's the one who'd convinced me. Not that it took all that much convincing, but still...

“There wasn't anything resembling a trial or an attempt to learn the truth. They just hauled me in front of the town judge, let her tell her story, refused to listen to my denials, and the judge let her choose from three punishments: death, castration or flogging and exile.

“I suppose she thought flogging was the most merciful. Maybe it was. But fifty lashes didn't feel merciful to me.” He stopped and drew a long, hard, painful breath. “I don't like to remember ... But I can't forget, either, and sometimes in my dreams..."

He was shaking. Jinny rolled closer and tightened her hold on him. “Stephan, it was ten years ago."

He gulped. “I know. Afterward, they dumped me at a crossroads outside town. No help, no medical attention, no attempt to clean me up or stop the bleeding. I was barely alive. I don't remember much about that part of it, but a couple finally came by in a cart. They picked me up and took care of me. I survived, but it took weeks to recover. Physically. It took a lot longer before I got over the anger and the ... humiliation. For a while, I wished I'd died. Once I got well, I went back to Lendiil and joined the guard. You know the rest."

She held him as tightly as she could without hurting him while they lay together in silence. He broke it when he felt her tears dripping again.

“Tears?” he asked. “For me? Better keep them for yourself, witch. You'll need them."

She hated to hear the return of his hatred but understood it better. “I've got enough for both of us,” she answered. She swallowed a sob. “It shouldn't have happened. It should never have happened."

“It did, though. And it brought us to this."

“A lot of things brought us to this. Most of them not in our own control."

He sighed and said, “But what we do about them now is in our control."

“Only somewhat. There is still duty and honor, and what they demand."

That was easy to say, harder to accept. But she had to. For both of them. A frisson of desolation swept over her. Tomorrow, they would start again on the journey to his king. To the end of whatever was between them. Maybe to the end of her. And he would pay a price for their relationship as well, if only in the guilt he'd carry.

They fell asleep entwined, clinging to each other, in the warmth of each other's bodies.

Chapter Thirteen

By the next morning, the snow had melted enough to let them see the road, although white patches still nestled in areas not warmed by the sun. Jinny and Stephan were quiet, not speaking to each other, as they cooked and ate breakfast, cleaned the shelter to leave it as they'd found it, packed their belongings, mounted their horses and set out again. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, rather, the companionable quiet of two people who were at ease with each other, but had much on their minds.

The road was wet and muddy in places, so they took it at a slow pace initially, to be sure the horses didn't lose their footing. The morning began cool, but the sun shone brightly, almost blinding when it shot glaring reflections off patches of snow, and the temperature climbed to near comfortable levels as the day went on.

They traveled through rough country, winding up and down, around rocky hilltops, along narrow passages cut into the side of the mountain. Twice they waded through narrow streams churned into muddy rivulets by the press of melting snow. That was one of several minor annoyances to occur on the day's leg of the journey.

Removing a large tree branch that had fallen across the road cost them almost an hour of travel time. Jinissa also noticed the sigil beginning to make her throat itch again. Stephan had mentioned they'd pass another shrine before the trip ended, but she saw no sign of it. The itching didn't grow significantly worse, but remained irritating.

Melting snow, and sometimes small clumps of wet flakes, dropped onto them from overhanging tree limbs. Stephan swore when one hit him squarely on the back of the head and slid down under the collar of his cloak. Jinny finally pulled up her hood. The day was long but without notable incident. They arrived at the next shelter just as the afternoon twilight faded toward darkness. Jinny heard wolves howling in the distance shortly before they arrived, but the beasts never got close enough to cause serious worry.

They only spoke when necessary as they went about their evening rituals of settling the animals and preparing food. There was no bed in this shelter, just a large straw-stuffed mattress pad in the corner of the one large room.

They retired to it soon after dinner because Stephan wanted to make an early start in the morning. The next day's journey would feature some of the roughest and most difficult terrain of the trip, made even more challenging by the storm's aftermath.

Their lovemaking that evening was slow, sweet, and sad. When it was over, he kissed and held her tenderly, but as they settled for sleep, he turned away. Jinny lay awake for a long time, struggling with her fears and her conscience. The closer they came to the end of the trip, the more terrified she grew about what awaited her. She wanted to ask Stephan for help, for reassurance, for comfort. She wished she could share her fears with him, the only person she'd ever felt this close to in her entire life.

But she wouldn't. She told herself she couldn't. Any request she made, even for a scrap of comfort, would cause him a painful conflict. Anything he gave her would cost too much of his hard-won self-respect. Yet, refusing her would also cause him agonizing guilt and shame. The man's loyalties ran deep, and his king still had the primary claim. But, in venturing into intimacy with her, he'd allowed her to own a piece of him, also. Unfortunately those two loyalties were in such direct opposition, he could yield nothing to one without betraying the other. He was suffering enough already. She didn't want to add to his burden, but she was having a hard time carrying her own.

He rolled around and twitched frequently for a while as well. Finally they both dropped off to sleep.

When he roused her in the morning, no light crept through the cracks in the shutters, and she didn't feel well-rested. But she remembered his warnings about the potential difficulties of the day and got up and prepared to leave.

The sun was barely above the horizon when they set out, and not much higher when they hit their first obstacle—a stream swollen by the recent rains. Ordinarily, according to Stephan, the stream was only ankle deep and two horses’ length across. But it ran at the bottom of a shallow canyon and the additional water from the melting snow had swelled it to three times its normal depth. The water was moving very fast as well, creating dangerous currents that would give the horses trouble.

Stephan dismounted, tied an end of rope to a tree near the edge of the dip, then waded across the stream and fastened the other end to another tree on the other side, leaving plenty of slack.

“We'll have to walk the horses across,” he told her when he came back. Jinny dismounted and led her horse forward. The down-slope to the edge of the stream was steep and tricky, so the horses were already skittish by the time they reached the water. Their mounts plunged right in, nevertheless, but the pack horse balked.

Jinny waited with him on one side while Stephan led the other two horses across. That process was slow and not without a few slips and slides. The animals stumbled several times, once nearly pulling Stephan down despite his hold on the rope strung across the stream. Jinny bit her lip as she watched him struggle to stay upright. His clothes became soaked, hampering his movement and making him shiver with the cold. She fingered the sigil at her throat, wishing she could discard it so she could summon a water elemental to assist them. Stephan finally wrestled the horses across under his own power and returned to help her convince the pack horse to make the crossing. It took considerable persuasion, including several hard yanks from the two of them pulling together, to get the balky animal into the water and across.

Once in the stream, Jinny was surprised by the pull of the current of fast-moving water and how cold it was. She clutched the rope tightly to keep her balance and developed more sympathy for the horse when it floundered and almost went over. The sun had risen a good bit higher in the sky before they got the animals across and remounted to resume the journey. It took a long time to warm up.

The sigil began to itch again, and she presumed they were getting closer to the next shrine. She didn't yet feel the outflow of magic she'd sensed from the previous one, but rather a sense of something building, a promise of pressure and power.

The more serious distraction was Stephan himself. She rode behind him for most of the trip, letting him pick their way. It gave her a chance to study him without his realizing it, mostly from behind, but affording her glimpses of his face when he turned. She liked watching him, liked the way he moved, the way he sat his horse, the way he glanced back to make sure she was still with him. She especially treasured the rare, small smiles he sometimes gave her when their eyes met.

They stopped for a brief break when the sun was near its highest angle. At that point, a fork in the road offered two alternative routes. The broader one ran off to their left, while straight ahead a narrow path rose steeply as it forged up the side of a ridge blocking their way.

“This is probably the roughest part of the whole trip,” Stephan said to her as they sat and munched hard bread, looking up at the road, letting the sun dry out clothes soaked while crossing the stream. He pointed to the road going off to the left. “That way is the cart path. It's wider and easier, but it's a lot longer. I'd take it if we could afford the time. But the longer we take, the better the odds of another storm moving in, one that could delay us even longer than the last one. So we'll take the harder, shorter way. There's a big chimney of rock ahead and the only way around is narrow, steep, and rocky. We'll have to take it slow, because a lot of water runs down the rock after a storm and makes it slippery. Have to watch out for rock falls, too."

“Do we walk the horses again?"

“Depends how wet the rock is. If it looks slick, we'll have to. Otherwise we can probably make it as long as we're slow and careful. It's winding and chancy in places, though."

They wasted little time before setting out again. The rock was damp and the way quickly grew narrow and twisting, occasionally passing through crevices carved out of the side of the mountain itself. She figured they were at the crest of one of the ridges, but the top was a jagged collection of rocky peaks and rough stone that forced the road into a wild series of roundabouts and turns. Progress slowed to a crawl. In places, the path was little more than a series of broad stone steps leading up and down, then up again. They took it at a cautious pace, letting the horses pick their footing with care.

Twice they had to stop, get down, and move fallen rocks so they could proceed. Fortunately, they didn't encounter any slides the size of the first one they'd been diverted by, but one rock was big enough that they had to tie a line to one of the horses to help pull it out of the way. The smaller rocks they could move individually. For some, though, they had to work together to push them aside.

In only one place, where a runnel of mud had spread across the road for some twenty yards, did Stephan insist they dismount and lead the horses. The mud was ankle deep. It squelched unpleasantly each time she planted a foot and tried to hold on when she lifted it for the next step. It splashed all over her clothes and soaked into her pants.

Shortly past the mud spread, though, the road widened and leveled again, making for easier traveling and letting them resume a more rapid pace. She saw Stephan look around and frown.

“We've still got a ways to go to the shelter,” he said. “We need to make as much time now as we can."

She nodded and kicked her horse into a canter when he did. It still wasn't an entirely easy road, but at least the way was smoother, if not less winding. The itching at her throat grew more intense. By the middle of the afternoon, she began to feel, once again, the edges of magic from the shrine ahead.

She was prepared for it this time and tried to study the feel of the power flowing toward her. As before, it felt strange, like an alien force, akin to what she was familiar with, but not the same. This was raw energy, unshaped, unharnessed, undirected, awesome in the quantity and potential, frightening in its lack of channel. The prickling sensation on her skin and in her head grew as they approached.

Stephan was feeling it, too. She saw his growing unease in the tense way he held himself. He looked both more alert and more uncomfortable as the wash of power increased.

Once again Jinny tried using it, reaching for a tendril of the power and attempting to shape it, but again she was thwarted by the sigil. Her throat burned where the metal touched.

She drew her horse even with his. “We're getting near that other shrine you mentioned, aren't we?"

He nodded. “Not much farther. And this one is closer to the road."

“No one's ever tried to investigate? To see what's inside the shrines? Or find the source of the power?"

“If they have, I've never heard of it. My guess is people have tried, but no one's lived to tell about it."

“I'd think someone would have been curious."

“Some things are better left untouched."

She couldn't think of a response that wouldn't set off an argument, and she didn't want to trade words with him just then. She wanted to explore this strange source of power, so she fell back and opened herself to the magic. She let it run over and around her, keeping her senses alert. It felt like the purest form of power she'd ever encountered, but there were hints of other things also. As she immersed herself in the rush, letting it wash over, around and through her, she detected tendrils intertwined with the power, amorphous and indistinct. Small flashes of distant personalities that might once have been tied to or used the magic? She couldn't get any better or more definite fix on it.

Sparks began flaring around her body again as they neared the shrine. It prickled and burned, most strongly at her throat where the metal band touched her skin. The throbbing of magic surrounded her, pressing against her as it grew. There were ebbs and flows within it and differences between some of the waves, almost as though each strand had its own distinct identity, some more forceful, others reserved but enchanting, some curious, some entreating. But each in its own way reached for her, sought her response, wanted her. It was both frightening and exhilarating.

Minutes later, they were within sight of the shrine. Stephan pointed, saying, “There."

Another cave, a slit in the side of the mountain, had been formed when some vast upheaval cracked the rock itself. The entrance was nearly ten feet high, roughly triangular, but no more than five feet wide at the base. Like the other shrine, it had strange painted figures and symbols around the opening, none of which she recognized.

From it, the power flowed in a wave of energy so intense it felt like a wind rushing past her. Almost, it had the sound of a wind, wailing and moaning, but beneath that was—something else. Echoes of a voice or voices in the midst of it, low and whispery, not words, but more like feeling or thought expressed aloud in rhythmic verse. They worked their way into her mind, while the magic poured over and around her. She couldn't hear distinct voices, just snatches of sound, feeling, emotion, and desire that rippled with it and sought a way to touch her more directly. Fire flared in the sigil at her throat but it didn't hurt or burn now. She felt it glow.

She wasn't aware of stopping, of halting her horse. Swirls of magic engulfed her, drawing her attention away from everything else.

Storms of power crashed around her, circled her, flared against her, sought a crack in the armor of the sigil to reach her. It spoke in her ears or in her mind. Enticed her, begged her. Stay here, open herself, and she could have whatever she wanted.

She only half-saw when Stephan halted his horse and turned to stare at her. What did he see? His eyes were wide and horrified. He called to her and he sounded—frightened.

But he didn't matter anymore.

The power had found a crack, a tiny way past the sigil's barrier.

She need only yield herself to it now, make one small move to release the part of the wall that was within herself, and the magic would force its way past the sigil, into her and free her.

She would have access to her own power and all that contained within the shrine. Her captor would matter no more.

No mere mortals would matter. None could stand in her way. She could escape, be free of their restraints, their wishes, their orders. Stephan couldn't hold her. The king and all his troops couldn't hold her. Should anyone try to stand in her way, a mere flick of the power would dispose of the obstacle.

She could be the most powerful witch ever. The Calavrians wouldn't matter. She could sweep all aside, should she will. Nothing, no one could stand against them.

Them. She froze in place, unable to move, barely able to think.

The voices wailed, whined, and sung to her. Why do you hesitate?

Why indeed? She looked around. Stephan's face was drawn into an expression of terror beyond anything she'd imagined he would ever feel.

He holds the key to your confinement, but he needn't worry you.

He had reason for his fear. With a single word, a small gesture, he could be gone.

Jinny sobbed as she continued to hesitate. She wanted it so badly. She'd been so lonely, so bereft since the town had captured her and separated her from her power. She hungered for the magic that was so much a part of her. And she was promised so much more. But—What would she become if she let this power free her and use her? Would her will be strong enough to control the magic, or would it control her?

And what would happen to Stephan when he tried to stop her from escaping, as he certainly would?

She pictured him lying on the ground, body battered and broken. Or reduced to a smoldering pile of ash.

You'll be free of all constraints. Nothing, no one can stand against you.

Me or you? she wondered back at them.

We, together.

“Jinny! Jinny! Are you all right? What's happening?” Stephan's call penetrated through her turmoil and confusion. She looked at him. He was still terrified, but she saw concern in his expression as well. Concern for her. At least some of his terror was for her.

We will not harm him if that be your wish.

Could she be sure of that? If she yielded to this magic, could she be sure of anything? It might overwhelm her, take control of her, force her to do its will. She'd never tried to wield a power of such magnitude before. She doubted she could handle it.

No. I'm sorry, but I can't.

This is what you want, what you were born for. You can't refuse it.

I can. I have to.

Chapter Fourteen

“Stephan!” she called to him, trying to rouse him from his trance of fear. “We've got to go. Now."

His eyes widened as he continued to stare at her, but he nodded. He shook himself roughly, collected the reins of her horse along with his own, and nudged the animals into motion, pushing them to a rapid pace.

The power continued to swirl around her as they rode away from the shrine. The voices called, sang, begged in her mind, urging her to reconsider, to throw off the sigil and take back her power. Temptation tugged at her still, even as the force faded. Part of her wanted to turn around, go back, and free the lost part of herself. Instead she fixed her eyes on Stephan as he guided the horses along the rough path at a speed probably slightly beyond what was safe.

Finally the magical flow ebbed to a mere dribble and settled to affect her only in the prickly burn at her neck. A hot tear splashed on her hand, making her aware her face was wet and her eyes stung. Regret tore through her. For a few moments, she'd had freedom and power in her grasp.

Stephan didn't slow their pace until they reached another rough part of the path that had to be traversed more carefully. For a little while he concentrated on guiding the horses around the worst obstacles. Then he looked back to check on her condition. He frowned and slowed his horse even more, waiting for her to draw even with him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes narrowed in concern. “Are you hurt?"

Her body shook from the aftereffects of emotion, and tears still slid down her cheeks. “No."

“What happened back there? It looked like whatever is in that shrine tried to take possession of you."

“It was more complicated than that.” She shivered and looked ahead where the sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon. “It—I don't know. But maybe we should discuss it later. It's getting late."

He nodded and urged the horses into movement again. They rode in silence, making the fastest time they could over terrain that wasn't straight or level but gradually improved over what they'd been on for most of the day. Stephan kept pushing the pace as the shadows lengthened and the sun ducked into the trees ahead.

The first distant cries of the wolves as the light began to fade made her skin crawl and muscles tighten. Stephan nudged the horses to increase their pace, but deepening shadows made the way chancy. They continued as fast as they could with the fading light. The air grew chillier as the sun disappeared, and a brisk breeze began to blow.

The next time she heard the wolves, the sounds were closer, somewhere ahead and off to her left. It worried her that they were riding toward the noise, and she wondered how far it was to the next shelter. Little light remained now and only minutes separated them from darkness.

Stephan stopped abruptly and waited for her to pull alongside him.

“Stay close,” he ordered. “We're getting off the road."

“The wolves?” she asked.

He nodded grimly. “And it's too far to reach the shelter before full dark. I think I know a place we can use. Watch and stay close."

She did both when he kicked his horse into movement again. Minutes later, he turned off the road onto a steep, narrow trail that led upwards. They didn't go far. The path ended at the base of a rock wall that rose high above and blocked any forward progress.

Stephan dismounted swiftly, tied the horses to a nearby tree, and said, “We need wood. As much as we can gather."

Jinny got down as well, let him take care of her horse, and began to gather all the sticks, twigs and downed branches she could find, dumping them in a pile. Fortunately there was plenty of fuel in the area. Stephan started a fire in the center of the small clearing that fronted the rock wall. By its light, they continued to gather wood until the pile was thigh-high.

“Will it be enough?” she asked.

He sighed and crouched by the fire, feeding more twigs into the blaze. “I don't know. If there aren't too many of them, it should be."

She knelt beside him. “Stephan, take the sigil off, please. I can use magic to help keep us safe. It'll help, truly it will."

He turned and frowned at her. “Jinny, I can't. Especially not after—"

“I promise I won't use it against you. I won't use it to try to escape. If you release me and we survive the night, you have my word that I'll go with you to the king, whatever else happens."

“Jinny—"

Another plaintive, moaning cry of wolves interrupted him. The sound was far too close for peace of mind.

When the sound faded, he remained silent.

“Think about it?” she asked. “If things get ... If the wolves come..."

He heard the rising terror in her voice and reached to take her arms and pull her against his body. “If it gets bad, I will ... Jinny? What happened earlier? At the shrine? You scared six months off my life when I looked at you and saw..."

“Saw what?” she asked. “What did it look like to you?"

“I'm not sure I know how to describe it. At first it was just a few sparks flickering around you. But then there was something else. You know how if you look through the hot air around a flame, everything seems to sort of shimmer and waver? That's what it looked like when I watched you, only there was a blueish glow to it, as well. And then the sigil was glowing, too. Silver-bright, almost, like nothing I've ever seen before. I was afraid whatever was in that shrine was taking you."

“It was trying to, I think. Sort of, anyway. I'm not entirely sure. It wanted to free me from the sigil. It was upset that someone like me should be constrained and separated from my power, and it found a way to free me."

“It did?” He stared at the metal band around her throat.

“It did."

“Then why...?"

“Am I still here? Still wearing the sigil?” She touched the band with a finger. “I had to agree to let the power flow into me to free me from it. And I didn't."

Stephan looked stunned, eyes widened and mouth slightly agape. “Why not? It's what you want.” He turned to pick up another piece of wood to throw on the fire.

“I'm still not entirely sure. Mostly, I think, because I was afraid. It was far more power than I've ever touched in my life, and I wasn't sure I could handle it. Or what it would want from me in return.” She stared into the flames and tried to sort out what had happened. “It might have been too much for me, might have wanted to take me over, use me, and I might not be able to refuse or protect myself. I didn't know and I couldn't risk it."

He picked up another stick, broke it in half, and tossed both pieces onto the fire. “Even if it did take you over, it would be an escape. Maybe not the sort of escape you wanted, but better than what's likely to happen if you continue on with me."

She watched the flames engulf the wood he'd just added to the fire. “I don't know what it might have done to me. Or to you, to this entire kingdom, to the entire world, for that matter."

“Some things are too dangerous to play with?” he suggested, reaching out an arm to circle her shoulders and draw her toward him again.

She nodded and huddled close to him. They stayed that way for a while, arms around each other, seeking what comfort and reassurance they could from each others’ presence and concern.

Finally, he moved away and rose to his feet. “Stay here,” he said. He went to the horses, which were tethered at the base of the rock, and began to pull items from the packs. He brought blankets and food over, left them beside Jinny and went back. After making sure the horses had water and food, he returned to her side again, holding only the jeweled sword this time.

“Do you think they'll...?” She couldn't finish the question.

“Attack? I don't know. They might. We had a hard frost after a bad storm, which drove their usual prey to ground.” He saw her shiver and pulled her close again. “It's not hopeless. The fire will discourage them. If they do attack, I'll kill the pack leader and the rest should give up ... for a while.” He stared at the sword he'd laid on the ground in front of him.

She followed his line of sight. The jewel on the hilt glowed blood red in the light from the fire. Incised lines on the metal formed elaborate patterns hardly visible in normal daylight.

“It's beautiful,” she said, nodding toward the sword.

“A gift from Randell. He gave it to me when he made me lord of Dunnefeld."

“Your lands? Tell me about them."

He seemed to recognize her need for distraction, so while they ate, he described his home, a large manor house in the city of Souvain, the capitol of Dunnefeld, which was just south of the crown-seat. He told her about the fertile, hilly lands of the province, the grassy fields perfect for herd animals, the rich farms that produced abundant food, the orchards and wine-presses, the thriving towns. She heard his pride in the way he talked about the land supporting its own population as well as contributing to the crown, and the sense of concern and responsibility he felt for the place and the people. He didn't gloss over problems they'd faced and how he'd helped overcome them. Some troubles remained—uneven rainfall amounts, inequitable distribution of resources among the people, and a few selfish merchants. He described how he was working to help solve those.

His stories captivated her sufficiently that she'd nearly forgotten where they were and what they faced when Stephan stopped abruptly and held completely still, listening silently. After a moment, he reached for the sword. “Don't make any sudden moves,” he said, low and urgent, in her ear.

“They're close?"

“Fanned out in the trees. The rock keeps them from getting behind us at least."

She sat still, watching the woods. For a while, she could see nothing but blackness, then movement in the shadows, and the sudden, sharp gleam of eyes staring at her. Stephan settled the hilt of the sword in his palm, held ready to move quickly.

“On the other side of me,” he whispered. “I brought a few emergency torches. Light them the moment you see the shape of a wolf."

Careful not to move too abruptly, Jinny reached over and found the torches by feel. She laid them next to her, ready to be held to the fire at a moment's notice.

A faint shuffling of feet and crackle of leaves signaled the wolves moving in. Within seconds, a set of eyes approached, and a shadowy form materialized out of the darkness of the trees. When she could see its shape, she thrust both torches into the fire.

Stephan surged to his feet, bringing the sword up in front of him, and moved to place his body between her and the wolves. “Stand behind me,” he ordered. “Give me one of the torches. Hold the other beside me.” He took one of the torches from her with his left hand.

When she dared peek from behind Stephan, she could plainly see the forms of the wolves inching toward them. In the flickering light, they appeared as huge, dog-like beasts with snarling mouths and enormous, razor-sharp teeth. At first, she saw only three, but several others were closing in behind those.

“Jinny,” Stephan's words were a plea. “There are more than I expected. I'm sorry if ... I don't know if we can make it. I'll give you the key to the sigil."

“You're not responsible for the wolves.” She watched as the foremost one inched his way forward, wary of the fire but closing nonetheless. Stephan set down the torch and groped in a pocket of his cloak, but he had to keep most of his attention on the wolf.

“If I hadn't wasted two days making you walk at the start, we could have been beyond this before the storm.” He drew a deep breath and picked up the torch again as the lead wolf approached. “Back up. Easy. One step at a time. Toward the wall."

“'What ifs’ are a waste of time. Stephan. Find the key. Hurry!"

“I can't reach it and watch the wolves, too. It's in an inside pocket of my cloak. Left side."

She tried to keep the torch steady on the other side of him and not interfere with his freedom of movement while she inched her left hand forward, working it under his cloak and feeling for the inner pocket. She watched the wolves as well. By the time she had the key in her hand, the pack leader was only eight feet on the other side of the fire from them. Two others moved directly behind it and several more lurked a little farther back. The beasts’ snarls made her shiver.

She withdrew the key, tried to maneuver it over her shoulder to the lock holding the sigil, but found she couldn't easily insert it with only one hand. She debated lowering the torch, but one glance at the wolves stopped her. The pack leader had inched forward, moving around the fire, and was within leaping distance. The fur on the back of its neck stood straight. In the flickering firelight, its eyes glowed an evil red and its bared teeth shone wickedly white.

“Back up,” Stephan urged again. “Slowly. Keep the torch up."

She did as he said, taking careful, slow steps, keeping the torch up and out, ready to fend off an attack. On her third step back, the lead wolf sprang. Stephan swung his sword in a controlled arc and sliced the beast's shoulder. The wolf rolled to the side, emitting a nerve-raking squeal halfway between a snarl and a whine. The two animals behind it both leapt at Stephan. The others following surged forward. Maybe eight in all.

Stephan slashed one way and hacked the other, parrying the beasts’ sortie. Jinny saw a couple of the wolves glance her way. When a third crept toward Stephan on his blind side, she swung the torch into its face. The animal yelped loudly and retreated.

Jinny set the torch on the ground in front of her and reached back to release the sigil. Her hands shook with fear and the need for haste. The key didn't want to slide into the slot. Two more wolves lay bleeding, slashed by Stephan's sword, before she managed to insert the key. Three more surged while Stephan lunged at another while trying to shake off a fifth that had its jaws on his left arm. Fortunately, the cloak offered some protection. The noise of the fight was the most horrible thing she'd ever heard—growls, snarls, whines and squeals from the animals, occasional yells from Stephan, the whish of the sword slicing through flesh and the snick when it met bone.

She struggled to turn the key, but the mechanism didn't want to cooperate. Another wolf lunged at Stephan, forcing the man back. Her stomach curled in on itself when he staggered and groaned. But when another of the beasts started toward her, he straightened and moved to the side, again putting himself between her and the wolf.

The key finally moved, turning the mechanism. She pried apart the lock and tore off the sigil. Stephan was down on one knee, trying to fend off four of the animals. Blood ran down the side of his face and stained the torn edges of his right sleeve.

Using the flame of the torch as a starting point, she hastily whispered the spells to call fire elementals. One after another, she invoked them in the form of small fireballs and tossed them among the wolves. The first landed between two that were attacking Stephan, setting the fur of each alight. The second flare hit the ground in the midst of the group. By the time she launched the third, the wolves were backing away from Stephan, yelping and snarling at each other and the fire burning them. She set another elemental to run a line of flame between Stephan and the beasts, then tossed a final, much larger, blazing ball into the midst of the pack.

That did it for the wolves, who scattered, howling and whining, into the darkness of the wood, all but the one lying still some ten feet away.

Jinny ran to Stephan. He collapsed to his knees as she approached. She reached his side just in time to catch him when he pitched forward.

She let him down gently to the ground, cradling his head to keep it from banging. His eyes were closed. Dark streams of blood streaked his face from several cuts. His clothes were shredded and drenched with blood, though she couldn't be sure how much of it was his and how much had come from the wolves. She dragged him closer to the fire, where she began the messy process of untangling and removing the tattered remains of his cloak and tunic. What she saw then turned her stomach and set off an explosion of horrified despair.

Chapter Fifteen

“Flames and Powers,” she whispered as she surveyed his injuries. “Stephan!” He bled from dozens of cuts, and even before she started to wipe away blood, she realized several of them were deep and dangerous. She didn't know where to begin or what to do to help him. All her paralyzed brain could manage was to pray to whatever gods might deign to listen. Her hands shook so badly, she had to stop trying to clean his wounds for fear of doing worse damage.

“You've got to get hold of yourself,” she ordered herself grimly. “Stop and think. Not about Stephan. The situation. What to do first?"

It wasn't easy to shut off her feelings for the man and make herself think rationally through their circumstances. But she had to. For him.

“Figure out which injuries are the most dangerous and what you can do about them,” she suggested to herself. “Put more wood on the fire. Keep him warm."

She kept talking to herself as she followed her own directions. Oddly, the sound of her own voice calmed her, helped her function.

It apparently roused him as well. When she turned back to him after throwing more branches on the fire, his eyes were open, staring at her, pain-glazed but aware.

“Jinny? Not hurt?” His voice was strained, each word an effort.

“I'm fine. You kept me safe."

“Wolves?"

“Gone. Hush, now. You need to save your strength."

“No.” He reached up and she took his hand. “Go. Take the horses,” he said. “Make it down the mountain now. Not far. Way's ... easier."

“We're not going until you've had recovery time."

“No,” he repeated. “Not going. Can't ... Won't make it, Jinny.” He touched a finger to her cheek. “I'm ... it's bad."

“It's bad, but you're going to make it. I'm not going to leave you."

He moved his head restlessly and looked distressed. “Please,” he begged, his arm falling to his side again. “Go. Be content ... if you're safe."

She didn't like the odd glitter in his narrowed, dark eyes. “I'm not leaving you, Stephan, and that's final."

“Got to,” he said. “No other way."

“I'll find another way. Now save your strength. This isn't going to be easy. Don't make it worse by arguing."

“Jinny,” he said, still pleading. “My mistakes. I'm paying. Not you. Go, please!"

“Stephan, for the last time, I won't leave you, so quit arguing! We have too many other things to worry about."

He grunted something—she couldn't tell whether it was assent or an expression of pain—before he asked, “Water?"

She got a cup and the water flask from the pack, brought them back and lifted his head so he could drink. He groaned at the movement, but drank thirstily. When he sank back, she took his hand and held it against her cheek. “Stephan,” she pleaded. “You're not going to die, and I'm not going to leave you. But I'm going to have to try to patch you up. It won't be pleasant. Please, hang on. Just hang on. Please."

His lips twisted into a painful attempt at a smile. “Try.” It sounded like a promise. “Jinny? I..."

He didn't get to finish his statement. His eyes slid shut and his body relaxed. She was ready to panic when she noticed that his chest still rose and fell with his breathing. She let out a long sigh, set his hand down, and leaned over to kiss his cheek in the one small spot that wasn't smeared with blood.

Then she resumed the job of trying to assess his injuries and how to treat them.

Her control slipped again when she surveyed his wounds. She fought for calm. Two long, ugly tears ripped across his torso, jagged and dangerously deep. Wrapping them tightly to minimize the bleeding, she wondered about trying to stitch them until she remembered she didn't have any thread with which to do it. The sewing kit had been left behind at the shelter, unless he had one stowed with the supplies.

She rooted in the packs she pulled off the horse, yanking out packets of food, extra clothes, tools, and assorted other items. She dropped them in a pile nearby, until she found what she wanted: a fabric envelope holding an emergency medical kit, including a small sharp knife, a needle and a skein of thread. There probably wasn't enough thread to sew all of his wounds, but it should be enough to manage the worst.

The next few hours were some of the most unpleasant of her life. She cleaned Stephan's wounds as best she could before pulling together ragged edges, threading the needle and then pushing it into and through his skin. After the first couple of pricks, he barely reacted. Even so, it was an effort to block out of her mind that this was flesh she was sewing, not fabric, and that it belonged to Stephan, a man she cared for deeply. She feared for his condition. But she kept stitching until she'd used every bit of the thread, pausing only occasionally to throw more wood on the fire. By the time she was done, dawn was beginning to lighten the darkness. Fortunately, the wolves hadn't returned. She was stiff, sore, and tired right down to her bones, but she didn't dare sleep yet.

Stephan remained unconscious while she worked. Jinny didn't know if that was good or bad. She felt for his heartbeat by placing her hand against his chest. The rhythm didn't feel right, but she wasn't sure what was wrong with it. He didn't have a fever. That would come in a day or two, unless he was very lucky, and would probably be the most dangerous time.

She wanted him to drink, but he didn't wake. When she tried to pour water into his mouth, it dribbled out again.

The horses shifted restlessly. She took care of watering and feeding them as she'd seen Stephan do, then considered what to do next. They couldn't be far from the next shelter, probably less than an hour's ride away. But how was she to get Stephan there?

She didn't think she could lift him over the horse, and even if she could, the ride would be too rough. After consideration, she gathered long branches, chopping some with a hand-axe she found in the pack, until she could make a rough pallet. She lashed them together with pieces of rope, then slid it under him and used more rope to tie his limp body to it. Through all of the maneuvering, he didn't rouse, didn't even move. That worried her.

His heartbeat felt too slow and his skin cold. She wrapped him in the extra blankets they'd packed, and finally added her own cloak on top of them. By the time she had him ready to go, the sun was nearing its zenith. It wasn't terribly warm but exertion had made her sweat and kept her from feeling the chill.

Looking at him strapped to the pallet, which she'd rigged to be dragged behind her horse, brought another surge of panicked terror. His skin was waxy where flesh showed through streaks of blood. His black hair was tangled and matted, his lips twisted as though he could still feel pain, even in unconsciousness. His closed eyes seemed to sink into his head as though they would never open again.

Jinissa had to stuff a fist into her mouth to keep from screaming in fear and dismay. Hot tears scalded her cheeks. From an old instinct she no longer even thought about, she summoned the one companion that had been with her since late childhood. Flame was a sudden burst of heat and light on her palm.

“Back now,” it exclaimed joyfully. “Back!"

“Flame!"

“I am,” it confirmed.

“I've missed you."

“Chased away. Into the big fire. Alone. Happy to be back."

“And I'm glad to see you. But—"

“Not happy, you. Why?"

“The man here. He's ... I'm afraid he's dying, and I don't want him to,” Jinny explained.

The elemental left her hand and swished through the air to the man's limp body. It sat a moment on his forehead, then floated up, leaving no trace of a burn, and moved along his length to his feet. It returned to her.

“Man not good."

“Is there anything you can do?"

Flame didn't answer. Jinny caught its puzzlement and confusion, realized it didn't know how to respond.

“Your sort of magic won't help me,” she admitted. “I wish it could, but..."

Another idea occurred to her. It terrified her, but it might offer the only chance of saving Stephan. She had no idea if she could use the power of the shrine in any way that would be helpful. She didn't know if she could use it at all or control it or even survive the attempt. The immense force could overwhelm her, kill her with its power, suck her in and make a prisoner of her forever. She'd told Stephan it was too dangerous to touch. But she didn't have to depend on it to free her own magic, and that might make a difference. And it offered a possibility she could try to help Stephan. The cave should provide minimal shelter at least, and it wasn't far back along the trail. She had no idea how far ahead the next shelter was, and it would offer little, if anything, besides protection from wolves and weather.

The shrine was a risk, a huge one. But Stephan had put his own body between her and the wolves. He'd been her captor, her lover, her protector. She'd known him for only ten days, and she cared about him more than she'd ever cared for anyone in her life. If they reached the king's castle, she'd likely never see him again. But she wouldn't let him die. Not if there was anything she could do to stop it.

It wasn't easy to organize the horses and the pallet so that she could keep control and make sure Stephan was pulled carefully along behind her. But eventually she got her little caravan moving, heading back along the road toward the shrine.

Flame was a subdued yet warm and welcome presence. It had taken up its usual residence as a ring around her finger, and she appreciated its company, especially as the journey stretched, and the sun began to slide down the sky into afternoon. She didn't relish the idea of being outside when dark came again, though she believed she could thwart another wolf attack as long as there weren't too many of them.

As they approached the shrine and Jinny began to feel the initial wash of the power emanating from it, Flame shifted on her finger and began to wriggle.

“What is?” it demanded as they drew close enough to feel the real force of it.

“I don't know, exactly,” she told it. “An old place of power."

“Is strong,” Flame said. Jinny looked at her hand and watched the elemental take on an unusual shimmer.

“I know. Will it hurt you?"

Flame rotated a few times and its lightning streaks glittered. “Not hurt. Give power."

Jinny needed to think about what that could mean, but a rougher stretch of road forced her to pay attention to ensure Stephan wouldn't be jostled too much. The power beginning to gather around her was another distraction, and the trip was taking longer than she'd expected. She knew they couldn't be far from the shrine, but she'd remembered the trip being shorter. Of course, they'd been racing for the next shelter, moving quickly, not trying to maneuver a limp and fragile burden along the way. There was still daylight remaining, but she needed time to make preparations for the night.

The closer they got, the more restless Flame became. It finally floated off her finger and began to circle her head, moving in broadening and more erratic orbits until it started to disappear from her view for stretches. The shrine's magic poured over her in stronger waves, and she noted again, as she had earlier, both the incredible force of it and the unusual texture. The sense of voices or disembodied thoughts woven into the flow of power both disconcerted and intrigued her again. She tried to ignore it. She needed her attention on keeping the horses moving in the right direction and avoiding any obstacles that might bounce Stephan.

The sun hovered just above the tops of the trees when she finally reached her destination. She dismounted near the cave's opening and checked Stephan's condition. He was still unconscious and still breathing, but the pulse at his throat didn't feel as strong as earlier. She turned away the stab of fear that shot through her when she considered she might lose him before she had a chance to do anything.

The power of the shrine greeted her with something that felt joyful and excited, pressing on and surrounding her, but it didn't try to overwhelm her or take control. Not yet, at least. For the moment it seemed content simply with her presence and her intent to stay for a while.

Flame returned as she approached the opening. The fire elemental glowed significantly brighter, occasionally puffing up into a foot-high blaze. It came to join her, though, sharing its concern for her and the man in the elementary way it had of communicating with people.

“Good?” it asked.

“I don't know yet,” Jinny answered. “I don't know if this will help or not."

Dragging the pallet holding Stephan off the road and up to the cave was a strain. He wasn't a small man, the path wound uphill, and she had to force her way though stands of leafless shrubbery while trailing an awkward burden. She considered calling an air elemental to help, but seeing the effect the shrine had on Flame made her decide against it. She doubted her ability to gauge how the shrine's magic might influence what she would create and the unintended side-effects it might produce.

It was a relief to set down the pallet when they reached the cave's entrance. Before going in, she stopped to gather enough wood to keep a fire going for several hours. Then she stared at the cave's dark, secret mouth while she worked up her nerve to enter. It faced northeast, so the sun didn't shine into it. As a result, she could see no more than a foot or so into its depths. Jinny took a deep breath, straightened her back, called Flame to light the way for her, and began to drag Stephan inside.

She noticed the chill first, almost as soon as she'd crossed the threshold. She paused and, in the glow Flame provided, surveyed the interior. Stone walls, unworked and unadorned, told her nothing about the shrine's mysteries. Floor and ceiling were similarly devoid of clues. The magic was here, though, all around her, and it was aware of her presence.

Caves were usually cool, of course, but this was a more intense cold. As she pressed forward, it grew into an icy blast that drilled into her bones. Her breath billowed in white clouds. It made her hesitate. It shouldn't be this frigid so close to the entrance. If it grew worse as they went deeper, they were in trouble. Stephan couldn't tolerate this level of cold for very long. She debated turning back, but what else could she do? Hoping the cold would abate as she went further, she started forward again.

The tunnel narrowed to a dark passage just wide enough for the pallet to fit through without scraping against the wall. It twisted a couple of times, once tightly enough that it took some maneuvering to get the pallet past the corner.

The passage sloped down for a bit. Suddenly, as though she'd crossed some unseen threshold, the cold was gone, replaced by a wall of blessed warmth that felt ... welcoming.

Could that be? But what wasn't possible in the presence of this much power? The magic was so strong, it felt heavy against her skin. She drew a breath and continued down the tunnel until it ended abruptly at an arch. Beyond it, the passage opened into a roughly round, domed chamber. Jinny stopped and stared. She'd never seen anything like this.

The area was some hundred feet across with a ceiling almost as high at the center. Stalactites and stalagmites made a stone colonnade that completely covered the curving walls and enclosed the entire area other than the arch where she stood. At the far side of the space, a small stream of water emerged from a crack between two enormous stalagmites and dripped down their length, finally dropping into a small, flawlessly clear pool below. A narrow opening in the ceiling high above admitted a slender, sharply focused column of daylight into the area. Right now, its light fell high up on one of the corrugated walls of stone columns. She made a small exclamation of astonishment and was even more amazed to hear the sound reverberate around the room numerous times and set the stone itself ringing.

When she stepped into the space, she felt power swirling around and throughout the chamber. Its strength made the small hairs on her arms bristle, but she sensed no threat from it. The contained magic made for a thickness to the air and created an undertone of faint sounds, always murmuring just beyond comprehension. The power pressed against her skin, weighty but not dangerous. There was no particular object or place in the room that might be holding in the force. Apparently the chamber itself served as the container for the magic stored here.

Though it held no ashes, a pit in the center of the chamber made an obvious place to build a fire. Smoke should drift up and out the opening above. There were no other exits from the room, and nowhere else to go, so she set Stephan near the fire pit and went back to get the wood. With Flame's help she soon had a fire blazing. She checked Stephan's condition, found it unchanged, except that his heartbeat felt even weaker to her than before, and went to get the horses.

The animals didn't take well to the idea of entering the dark cave, and using Flame to light the way didn't settle their nerves. It took a lot of coaxing and pulling to get them to follow her into the opening and down the tunnel, especially when they reached the narrowed part of the passage. But once they arrived at the round chamber, the horses ambled right to the pool of water and drank peacefully.

She unloaded the packs, set out grain for the horses, ate some dried bread and meat sticks herself, then sat for a bit, staring into the fire, absorbing the atmosphere of latent power and debating what to do next. The lack of sleep the previous night as well as the emotional and physical stresses of the day combined to drain her of all energy. She desperately wanted to lie back and take a long nap. But she didn't dare. Not yet.

Whatever she could attempt to help Stephan had to be done now. He might not survive another night. She scooted to his side, released him from the pallet, and maneuvered his body until his head rested in her lap, the remainder of his long length stretched beside the fire. As she cradled him close, Jinny thought about all that had happened in the short time she'd known him. They'd packed more adventure into these past few days than she'd experienced in her entire life. He'd become so important to her. She'd never had such strong feelings for anyone else. She recalled the times she'd relied on his strength, the help he'd given her. Their very first night, he'd picked her up and carried her into the bushes when she'd expected him to rail at her for trying to escape, or worse. She suspected she'd started to fall in love with him right then.

“Stephan,” she whispered, struggling to hold back tears as she ran her hands through his hair, watching his unresponsive face. What could she do for him?

She trained her sight on the fire, studying its flickering depths, while her hands maintained contact with Stephan. The warmth swirled around her. Small eddies of air caressed her cheek and lifted her wild hair. An odd, faint buzz rang in her ears. With an effort of will, she quieted her mind and body while she considered the ways she might try to draw on the awesome power trapped here to help her.

She didn't know much about healing, about how a human body worked. It hadn't been her inclination when she'd trained with the Followers of the Flame. She wished now she'd learned more. There were ways to use magic to heal damaged bodies, although the process was difficult, exacting and demanding. She didn't know how.

Experimenting with the power in a small way, she called up a water elemental to bring liquid and slide it down Stephan's throat. The effort was tricky because the surrounding power magnified everything she did and made it harder to control. It took a couple of attempts. The first left splotches of water all over their clothes. Her hair got soaked in the failure of the second attempt. The third time she got it right and was pleased when the liquid went into him.

The huge reserve of power might help in what she had to do next, something she knew the best healers did, though she'd never attempted anything like it, personally. She settled herself again, quieting herself, before she drew on some of the surrounding magical force and concentrated her energy into her hands, where they rested on Stephan's head. She reached out to him with a tendril of pure force, channeling it through her fingers, urging it to move into his body. The process was awkward, clumsy, and she prayed she wasn't doing more harm than good.

Staying connected to her invasive needle of energy took an effort. But she had to. Even when the force made its way into him and she could see his body from a strange view inside, she recognized only some of the organs or bones she slid past. His wounds were ugly affairs, affronts to the system. Though she'd stitched the worst of the cuts closed, muscle, tissue, vessels for blood and other fluids remained torn or severed. Things that shouldn't have been there used the minute openings that remained as an entry into his body.

The chaos of it, so many things to do, so many things she didn't even know how to do, paralyzed her for a few agonizing minutes. She couldn't move her tendril of force or try to use it in any way. The potential damage was so great. She didn't know enough, so she just sat, feeling frantic and helpless.

The voices carried on the eddies of force buzzed in her ear, growing louder as she continued to listen. At first, it was just a chaotic mélange of noises, then she started picking out individual strains in them, different tones and separate voices. Words came next. They were hard to understand. Some bore inflections so strange she could barely understand the words. Others were soft, too faint to decipher, a few too overwhelming to try to follow.

It took a while, time spent just sitting, too scared to move, too fearful of doing harm to do anything else, before the words surrounding her began to penetrate.

“Put your power forward,” a voice whispered softly.

“Gather the torn ends and weave them together."

Jinny started to sort out the various sounds, hearing the meanings contained in them. Directions for using the power to rejoin severed blood vessels. Instructions for weaving strands of tissue and muscles together, then fusing them in place. Advice on which invaders could harm and how to get rid of them. Guidance in locating the most grievous and serious injuries.

The help came to her from different sources, in different voices, but it wasn't as confusing now. In fact, it offered her a series of steps to take and things to do with the force she held within Stephan. At their urging she began, carefully and tentatively, to explore in the ways they suggested, finding the things they said would be there, moving carefully to call the power needed for repairs. She rejoined small blood vessels and wove together strands of muscle. A tendril of nerve reattached to its other half. After a while of cautious manipulation, she began to gain confidence and started working faster.

She had no idea how long she moved from place to place within his body, mostly at the direction of the voices she heard, calling power to repair the torn tissues, fusing severed vessels, draining fluids from where they didn't belong, nudging the process of replacing lost blood, destroying invaders. There was so much to do, much more damage than she'd even guessed. She could never have done it all on her own.

Finally, though, after ages of effort, she'd accomplished everything there was to do.

“He is still weak,” a soft female voice warned.

“He may yet die.” That one was male, booming.

“The power can repair,” a gentle male voice intoned. “Only he can heal."

“Illness might take him."

“Invaders damage."

“Fever may kill."

“No more you can do,” a grandmotherly tone told her.

True healing would take time and his own body's efforts. Possible side-effects could yet take his life. But she'd done everything she could to improve his chances.

Slowly she withdrew the energy probe she'd inserted into him. Only as she let her mind slip away from the intense concentration did she become aware of herself and the room around her. No light entered through the hole above now. Dark sky and a single star showed beyond the opening. The chamber was still warm, and she felt the pressure of the magic around her, not unpleasant, but as comfort and support. The low ambient noise, calm and soothing, continued to ring from the stone pipes and echo around the room.

Even as she looked around, her eyelids slid down. She fought it long enough to check Stephan's condition. He hadn't awakened, but his color already looked better. His heartbeat felt stronger. She settled him as comfortably as possible on the stone floor, using blankets and cloak for bedding, then she stretched out beside him and gave in to the overwhelming need for sleep.

Chapter Sixteen

When she woke again, sunlight streamed through the hole in the roof. Jinny had no idea how long she'd been asleep, but the incredible dryness of her throat and the hollow feeling in her gut suggested it might have been longer than just a single night.

Stephan! Sudden fear clutched her throat. She rolled over. He lay beside her, on his back, very still. But, as she watched, his chest rose and fell. When he emitted a soft snore, she almost laughed, but her amusement died when she looked around and realized the horses were no longer in the cave.

She rose shakily to her feet and staggered out through the tunnel. She stopped short at the exit. The horses looked up from where they nibbled placidly at sparse winter grass, with expressions that wondered what all the excitement was about. She took care of her personal needs and checked the sun's position. Not quite mid-morning. She returned to the cave. It finally dawned on her that the fire still burned, low but crisp, though it should have gone out hours ago. Had Stephan been awake?

Even if he had, he wouldn't have had the strength or energy to take care of the horses and haul in more wood for a fire. So, who had?

There wasn't anyone else in the area. She was sure of that. But the fire had been tended and the horses cared for. The only solution she could think of was too staggering for serious consideration.

“Thank you,” she whispered to whatever powers might have consciousness enough to hear. The word rang in the room, echoing off the stone pipes along the walls.

She made tea and drank several cups in quick succession, started a pot of oat porridge and ate most of it. Stephan opened his eyes while she was on her third cup of tea. She was staring at him while she drank, so she saw his lids rise and the look of confusion on his face. She moved to his side and took his hand.

He met her eyes. “Jinny?” he asked, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Yes, Stephan. How are you?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, pulled his brows into a frown. “I remember ... wolves. They attacked us. I don't ... I don't know what happened after that."

She nodded. “You were badly hurt. I wasn't sure you'd survive. How do you feel?"

He frowned again. “Not ... Not bad. But...” He tried to lever into a sitting position but didn't get very far.

“Whoa,” she said, pushing him back down. “You've been out for a long time. Let's take this a bit slower."

“My head is ... swimming,” he said. “But otherwise ... I should be a lot worse.” He pulled off the blankets to peer down the length of his body. “How long has it been?"

“I'm not sure, exactly,” Jinny admitted. “I slept for a long time myself. Two or three days, I think."

“Three days?” His breath caught sharply when he looked at the semi-healed cuts across his chest and stomach.

“More or less."

He looked at her, stared pointedly at her throat where the sigil no longer resided, then let his gaze wander away to take in their surroundings. “Where are we?"

She drew a breath, steeling herself for his response. “In the shrine. The one we passed earlier on the day of the attack."

“The shrine?” He turned an incredulous expression on her and pushed himself up, more successfully this time. He rested his head on a braced hand, elbow on the floor. “In it?” The two words held a lifetime of distrust and fear.

“In it. Stephan,” she cut across the expected protest, “you were dying. I had to do something."

“So you brought me here.” The rest of the answer hit him like a blow to the stomach. “You used magic. To heal me.” He let himself back down.

“What's so terrible about that?” she demanded. “Should I have let you die instead?” She bit her lip. “I couldn't, Stephan. If you'd died, I would have, too."

“The wolves?” he asked. “You used magic to get rid of them, too?"

She nodded. “A few fire elementals sent them running."

He took a deep breath and shook his head. From his expression, she deduced he was having trouble coming to terms with what she'd done.

“How about some tea?” she asked. “And a bit of oat porridge, if you think you can keep it down?"

He accepted the tea, managing to drink an entire cup, and had a few spoonfuls of porridge. He tried to take the spoon from her and feed himself, but his hand shook so badly, he had to give in and let her do it. He wasn't happy about it.

By the time he'd eaten the meager amount he could handle, exhaustion was reclaiming him. He fell asleep again moments later.

While he slept, Jinissa took stock of supplies, reorganized their packs, collected more firewood and spent a lot of time watching him sleep. She also spent time staring into the fire and thinking.

Several questions rattled around in her head. Would Stephan be able to accept what she'd done? The prejudice against magic and the use of magic was strong in the Lendiili. They seemed to think of it as some kind of demonic power that was inherently evil. Could he come to terms with it? And would it change his feelings about her? Reawaken the hatred he'd initially felt for her? She sighed and shrugged. Only time could answer those questions.

She also spent time wondering about the magic trapped here. How could so much power be contained? And why in these odd cave shrines?

Despite her fears, it hadn't tried to make any claims on her or force her to do anything for it. So far it had done nothing but assist her. She relaxed her body and mind and let herself sink into the magic again, similarly to the way she'd unintentionally done while trying to figure out how to heal Stephan. As before, the voices grew clearer and more distinct the longer she let herself listen for them.

For a while, she simply sat and absorbed, though the words and murmurings made little sense. As if they sensed her curiosity, however, the voices, or whatever powers backed them, began to relate snippets and anecdotes, stories that might be ancient history or things that might have happened in another place entirely. After a while, an overarching story took shape into a compelling narrative. She received a very vivid description of a battle of some kind, one that involved weapons unlike anything she was familiar with, but that had to be magically based. Pictures formed in her mind, transmitted by means she couldn't even guess at. Huge armies swarming down on each other. Marching lines of soldiers hauling gigantic, mirror-like things that threw around light. Where the light fell, people burst into flame. Sorcerers ranged behind the soldiers tossed fire elementals at their enemies much as she'd done to the wolves. Swords trailed lightning bolts of energy and little ring-like things emitted a greenish vapor. People died when the vapor enveloped them. Explosions blew apart bodies. Force winds swept across the field, driving men and weapons into the ground, into the sides of hills and into trees or other obstacles.

And at last, after ages of inferno, a few ragtag remnants of the immense armies gathered from fields and towns so thick with bodies they could barely climb over them, and met to discuss an end to the war.

One old woman loomed over the survivors. She rounded up others who could use the power and who, like herself, were horrified by the destruction it had caused. When the armies had made their peace, she and her followers resolved to prevent future wars of that kind in the land. It took fifteen sorcerers and almost a year to create and set all the spells necessary to their effort. But when it was done and they called it all together, the magic was gathered from all the places where it had resided, and from all the persons who'd used it. It was bundled together and bound into caves in the most remote and isolated locations to prevent its abuse in the future.

Nearly everyone in the land agreed it was necessary. Few thought it would be easy. It wasn't. Personal magics and magics tied to specific places resisted being removed and confined. In the end, the effort cost the lives of over half of the fifteen who contributed to it. But they succeeded.

Some of the magical forces thus bound retained the imprint of the personalities to whom they'd been linked. Some carried ancient knowledge, the wisdom she'd drawn on for advice in healing Stephan. Those didn't like the confinement, chafed at being imprisoned here and left to idle, without purpose or use. They begged her for release.

Aside from any doubts she might have concerning the wisdom of freeing such awesome powers, Jinny had no idea how it might be done. Nor could the voices tell her. Had they known more about how their imprisonment had been accomplished, they might have been able to resist it or find a way to break free. But they didn't know and could give her no help on that subject. They understood her lack of knowledge. They asked only that she seek a way in return for the assistance they had given her. To that request, she had no trouble agreeing.

Sometime thereafter she lay down and fell asleep. She had no memory of it happening. She woke to the sound of someone fumbling around the room. Without moving, she opened her eyes. Stephan had roused again and managed to get to his feet. He was none too steady about it, however. He stumbled into one of the stone walls and leaned against it, pale-faced and breathing hard.

She rolled to a sitting position and stared at him. He met her eyes. She got up to help him when he staggered, but something in his expression warned her off. Instead she followed at a distance as he made his way to the cave's mouth, unsteadily, but able to keep himself upright. He reached the opening, stopped a moment to survey their surroundings, then made his way to the concealment of a bush.

Jinny didn't offer to help when he returned. Instead of going back inside, he sat on a rock near the cave's entrance and stared into the opening. There weren't any other convenient stones for seats, so she leaned against a handy tree trunk.

When the silence stretched too long, she broke down and asked, “Stephan?"

He looked up at her. Pain flashed across his face before he dropped his gaze to his hands. “I don't know, Jinny,” he said, on a sighing breath. “I don't know what to tell you right now."

“Would you rather I hadn't?"

He didn't mistake her meaning. “I don't know. It doesn't make things easier."

“It doesn't make them any more complicated, either."

His head rose and he stared at her again. “Of course it does."

“No, it doesn't."

“I don't have any idea what to do next."

“I do. We're going to stay here for a couple of days while you get your strength back, then we're going to ride down the mountain and see your king."

“You've got your magic back. When we get to the base of the mountains, you can ride south and make your way back to Calavria."

“No,” she answered. “When I asked you to take the sigil off, to give me back my magic, I promised I'd go with you to the king. That hasn't changed. It won't change. I keep my promises."

His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted in what looked like pain. “When we get to the castle, I don't know if I can ... if I can do anything."

“Did I ask you to?"

“Should you have to? You saved my life."

“Only because you tried to sacrifice it to save mine. I believe we're about even."

“None of this would've happened if I hadn't been so stupidly vengeful at the beginning."

“I'm not sure I believe that. But even if it's true, what law says everyone has to be perfect all the time? That we're not supposed to make mistakes, ever?” She shook her head. “Besides, if we're keeping score, there was the time you dug my foot out of the hole. I was on the verge of freezing to death when you came along. I think I'm ahead in the indebtedness department."

He shook his head, but didn't argue out loud. Finally he bit his lip and stood up. He stared down at her, and she saw a painful mixture of emotions in his face—concern, doubt, care, fear, and guilt, among them.

He turned and started toward the cave, then stopped and looked back at her. “Jinny? You know I would have died for you."

She nodded and steeled herself for what would come.

He added, “But I don't know if I can live for you."

Chapter Seventeen

They stayed at the cave for the next three days. Stephan gained strength surprisingly quickly once he was able to move around and eat more normally. Although they slept inside, he didn't want to remain in the cave more than he had to, and he spent most of the daylight hours sitting on the rock near the entrance, soaking up sunlight, studying the wildlife and occasionally testing his returning stamina with short, then longer, walks. He didn't invite her to accompany him on his treks. She fretted and worried about him while he was out of sight, but she refused to intrude on his privacy. Fortunately, the weather remained mild and clear for that stretch of time.

She changed the dressings on the worst of his cuts each day and was relieved each time to find no sign of festering. In fact, his wounds had mostly already resealed themselves.

On the third day he told her, “I think we should try to move on to the next shelter tomorrow."

Although reluctant to leave the peace and comfort she'd found in the heart of the cave, Jinny agreed. The distance shouldn't be so far as to tax his strength unduly. He seemed to be recovering quickly, and she feared that each day of warm weather increased the odds of another snow storm delaying their journey.

They set out first thing the next morning and took that part of the journey at a leisurely pace. Fortunately, they met no major obstacles. Jinny couldn't repress a shudder as they passed the place where they'd fought the wolves and was appalled to realize they were only twenty minutes’ ride from the next shelter at that point. Nonetheless, Stephan had been right that they wouldn't have made it, and if they hadn't sought refuge where they did, their odds on winning what was a very close fight would have been far less.

It was just past midday when they reached the shelter. By then, Stephan was pale as snow and swayed when he dismounted from his horse. When Jinny tried to convince him to go inside and let her tend the animals, he refused. Following their normal arrival routine, she started a fire and brewed them each some tea. Since they hadn't stopped for a midday meal, she dug in the packs for bread and dried meat as soon as he brought them in.

They ate in silence, not the same uncomfortable silence that had marked their first meals together, but with an edge of something unresolved he wasn't ready to confront.

Partly just to break the silence and partly because she truly wanted to know, she asked, “When we get to the castle, are you going to stay a while or go straight on to your home?"

He exhaled a long, slow breath, and pushed hair out of his eyes, before he looked up at her. Pain drew his features into a frown, though she thought it was more emotional than physical. “I don't know. Jinny, there are a lot of things I don't know. I have a lot of thinking to do."

She waited but he didn't continue. After another interval of silence, she asked, “Should I have let you die?"

Again he paused and bit his lip before saying anything. “All my background, everything I've ever learned says yes. But the part of me that's glad to be living and breathing says no. I just wish..."

“That I hadn't resorted to magic?"

He nodded.

She sighed. “I honestly think it was the only way to save you. And I didn't see anything wrong with using it. It isn't something evil, you know. I know that's not what you were taught. Not what everyone here thinks, and I believe I understand why now. But it's true. It's just a force. Like the power of the wind blowing and water rushing. And the ability to call it, to shape it to my will is just a talent I was born with. Like you were born to be a big man with a lot of physical strength. My strength is in being able to use the power of magic. But just like your strength, magic and the ability to use it aren't evil in themselves. It's what people do with them that make them evil. That's what I was taught, and I believe it. I try not to do bad things with my power. Of course, the problem with power is that you can do bad things so easily, and it's tempting sometimes. I've always tried to use my power only to help people, not to do things or to get things for myself."

He reached out a hand and found hers, clasped it gently. His long fingers closed around her palm without squeezing. “I know you're not evil, Jinny. You couldn't be. You're honest and unselfish and gentle. You're a good person, a better person than me. But you use magic. And I don't know about magic.You say it's not evil in itself, and I know you believe that, but I'm not sure I can believe that, too. I'm not sure of a lot of things anymore."

Without getting up, she scooted closer and took his other hand with her free one. “What are you sure of?"

He laughed harshly. “Not much.

“What, though? There must be something."

He shrugged and met her eyes again. His were dark and shadowed. “That I'm alive, when I didn't expect to be. That I still have an obligation to my king and the responsibility he entrusted to me.” He raised her right hand and held it against his cheek. “That I have an obligation to you, too, to do what I can to protect you. I owe you a debt I can never repay. And I don't know how to reconcile those two things. I wish..."

He was trembling. His strength was still fragile and the journey that morning had depleted most of it.

“What?” she asked.

“I wish we could just ride off when we get down the mountain. Head for my home instead of going to the king."

“You'd want me to come with you?"

He looked up and a small half-smile crooked his mouth. “If you wanted to."

“I think I'd like that.” Her own incipient smile faded quickly as the next thought followed. “We can't though. You've got a duty to your king."

“What about your duty? What does it tell you to do?"

She hadn't thought about that in terms of the new situation. “I don't know. I guess it tells me to try to get away from you. But that wouldn't do anyone any good. Maybe it's better I go along with you and find out what the king does want to know. Maybe, I can ... Maybe if I survive...” She couldn't finish the sentence. “Anyway, I gave you my word and I won't break that."

“Jinny, Randell is a good man and a good king. He tries to be just, even merciful where he can, but he doesn't take his responsibilities lightly. He doesn't like harsh or brutal treatment of people, but sometimes he has no choice. Where the safety of his kingdom is concerned, he'll do whatever it takes to preserve it and its people. He wouldn't like it, but he'd do it if he thought it necessary."

“I think—"

He shook his head and continued. “Wait. I'm his friend, maybe the best friend he's got, and he'd do almost anything I asked of him, but probably not this. Not if he judges that you could endanger his kingdom. He'll be surprised I even ask."

It took a second for his meaning to sink in, then she pulled his hands to her and kissed each of them. She felt them tremble again. “It's enough that you would. More than I deserve."

“Much less,” he corrected. “But all I can do."

“Then let it go for now. Rest. You're tired.” He'd lost weight in the past few days, enough to make the flesh cling tightly to the bones. She tugged him to his feet by their clasped hands. He suddenly noticed the ring on her finger.

“What's that?” His face pulled into a frown as he stared at it.

“That's Flame. A fire elemental."

He dropped her hand abruptly. “You wear a fire elemental as jewelry?"

“Of course not! It's just a convenient place for it to ride. It's my companion."

“You have a magical creature as a companion?"

She didn't like the revulsion in his voice. “Flame's the closest thing I've had to a friend for ages. It's been with me since I was a child. It helped protect me against danger more times than I can tell you."

Stephan shook his head. Jinny read the conflict on his face. “If it really bothers you, I can ask it to go away for a while."

“It would?"

“Of course. It's an elemental."

He sighed. “No. If it's important to you, keep it. Maybe it can help you, later."

“Maybe."

He swayed. His face was almost gray with fatigue.

“Come rest, please."

She tugged at him and drew him to the bed in the corner of the shelter. He all but collapsed onto it when they got there. She would have left him alone, but he held onto her hand.

“Stay with me,” he demanded.

She nodded and joined him on the bed, positioning herself so she lay against his back, where she could slide an arm under his neck and rest the other on his side, effectively enfolding him in her arms. They were both asleep within minutes.

They woke in the late afternoon, took stock of supplies and made dinner. Stephan estimated they had enough food to last two more days, which should be enough as long as they encountered no further obstacles or bad weather. They were on the downhill slope, and he didn't anticipate any more troublesome spots. In fact, he said, these last two days’ trip should probably be the easiest part of the journey. And the shelters weren't so far apart that the trip between was likely to be too much for him.

They retired early to bed but made long, sweet gentle love to each other before falling asleep. She banished Flame for the evening, so it wouldn't bother Stephan. The fire elemental grumbled a bit but did her bidding, only returning much later when she lay awake beside a gently snoring Stephan, wondering if she would survive the next few weeks, and if she even wanted to.

The next day passed quickly. The trail wound downhill, bending sharply in places, but never steep enough to slow their pace significantly. The weather held as well, becoming warmer as they descended, with only a few high clouds in the sky most of the time. Although Stephan still looked pale and noticeably thinner, he managed without apparent problems, and they made it to the next shelter with few distractions and no threats from either the wolves or the weather.

The day following, the road continued downhill, starting to level off in places as they came off the steepest incline into the foothills. They hit no further obstacles until just before midday, when they came around a curve and found themselves facing a thicket of branches and twigs belonging to an enormous oak tree that had fallen across their path. Stephan stopped and stared at it for a few moments.

He sighed deeply and turned to scan the area for a way to go around it. The ground rose steeply on one side of the road and was covered on the other with a brushy wood so dense it would be nearly impossible to track through. He dismounted, went to the tree, moved a few branches aside, and stepped into the mass of broken, twined limbs. Branches snapped as he stepped on them or broke off some impeding his progress. The root end of the tree's trunk rested on a waist-high berm. The trunk itself was at least two feet in diameter.

Stephan didn't get very far before he gave up the attempt to find a way through it. Instead of returning to her where she waited with the horses, he went to the side of the road and tried to push his way into the dense tangle of leafless underbrush clogging the small gaps between trees. Again he didn't get far. Clearly there was no easy way around it, either.

Worry drew his pale, thin features into a frown as he returned and looked up at her. “We'll have to use the horses to try to pull it out of the way,” he said. “I'll have to clear some of the brush away so we can get in to tie a rope around the trunk.” He fumbled in one of the packs until he found the axe and pulled it out. Jinny watched him and knew he didn't have the strength to do the amount of chopping that would be needed. She didn't say so aloud, but she wasn't convinced even the three horses pulling together would be able to move the immense oak, either.

“Stephan?"

He'd been heading back toward the tree, axe on his shoulder, but stopped and turned toward her.

“Would you let me deal with this?"

For a moment he just blinked at her. She saw by his change of expression when he understood what she suggested. “Deal with it? Can you?"

“I think so. I've never tried to handle anything this big before, but I should be able to do it."

“And if you can't?"

“I guess we'll have to hope the horses are strong enough."

He came back to her side, standing next to her horse so he had to look up at her. “That wasn't what I meant. Will it hurt you if you can't do it?"

“I'll stop before I do any damage. And Flame will stop me if I don't do it myself."

He stared at the ring on her finger and shook his head, then looked around one more time. He didn't see any options he hadn't already considered. “I don't know..."

“It's just another power,” she said. “Like the horses’ strength. It's not a bargain with the underworld or a compromise with demons."

“All right,” he said on a long sigh.

Jinny considered how to handle it. Wind could move the tree, but she wasn't sure where she would be able to deposit it. Fire would be more efficient.

Flame roused and crackled gleefully as she summoned fire elementals. She stretched out a hand, called fireballs and pushed them toward the tree. The wood was green and didn't immediately yield to the flares she sent. She poured more of her strength into it, gathering flame, strengthening the sparks, willing them to grow, to glow brighter and hotter, until finally a branch blazed up in the hold of the fire.

Within seconds the entire tree was engulfed in orange-yellow flame, crackling loudly, emitting a foul black smoke. It made a spectacular conflagration, burning so hot and bright they had to back away from it and shield their eyes when they looked toward it. The elementals consumed the wood swiftly, greedily.

“Jinny!” She didn't know how long Stephan had been calling her. “You'll set the woods on fire!"

She looked around. Sparks flew from the burning tree. Some had already ignited smaller flares in the dry winter wood around them. “I can contain it,” she said. It took more concentration to call enough air to surround the burning tree with a wall of wind to catch sparks thrown off by the blaze and redirect them back into the fire, while she also called water to subdue those small flares kicked off by the main one. Locating all the sparks that could potentially flare up and dousing them consumed more time and energy.

“It's contained,” she said at last. “Nothing else will burn."

“You're sure?"

“Entirely.” But it had been a close thing. Without his warning she might well have sparked a more major fire.

They both watched the tree burn in a brilliant, spectacular fireball. As she'd promised, the flames that tried to jump off the branches toward the nearby undergrowth were diverted or held by the wind surrounding the fire. Though it was already dead, had died shortly after its roots had been pulled from the ground, or maybe even before, Jinny still felt sadness for the tree as the fire ate greedily at its substance. Minutes later what had once been a majestic oak was reduced to a pile of greasy ash and bits of blackened rubble.

When it had smoldered out completely, Jinny released the containing wind, letting it sweep along the path as it went, scattering the remains across the forest. She sighed as she sagged in the saddle and watched the ash blow around. “I wonder if trees have spirits?” she asked Stephan. “I almost thought I felt its passing from substance into the ether."

Stephan stared at her. “You grieve for the tree?"

“It was a beautiful green growing thing not long ago. Now it's no more."

He turned to watch a few remaining flakes of ash sift down lightly over the road again. “At least it's not blocking our way any longer. We'd better be going. There's one more shelter to make before dark."

But when he'd mounted his horse again, he didn't immediately nudge it into motion. Instead he watched Jinny. The slight frown on his face told her nothing of his thoughts. “You...” He couldn't seem to find the words he wanted.

“I'm no different from the way I was an hour ago, or yesterday, or the day before that."

“I know,” he agreed. “I'm different. Or rather I know more now. I didn't understand."

“Didn't understand what?"

“The full extent of what you can do. What you are."

“Does it scare you?"

“Yes. And no. And yes, again."

“Which is it?"

“All of those,” he said. “I'm frightened by the amount of power you have, by the amount of damage you could do, intentionally and unintentionally. I can't think it safe for any one individual to be so strong.

“But I'm not frightened of you, yourself. If anyone is a safe container for such ability, it's you. You're one of the gentlest, kindest, and most honorable persons I know. But I'm also frightened by how people are likely to react to your power. If you survive and don't return to your own country, you'll always be feared for your ability. And what people fear, they try to either control or eliminate. You'll always be a target of envy and malice and destructive dread."

“Oh. I see.” Considering his words, she began, for the first time, to truly understand why so many people feared her and considered her dangerous. Not just because she was a foreigner, a stranger, and different, as she'd previously assumed. Much more because she carried a power that could destroy and kill with so little effort on her part. She'd never consciously do those things, except perhaps in the most extreme circumstances, but there was no reason anyone else should believe her when she said so. But even if she wouldn't deliberately do those things, she'd just discovered she could accidentally cause more destruction than she'd planned when she used her power. None of The Followers of The Flame who'd trained her had been able to work magic at her level, so none of them had understood all the pitfalls and perils of wielding so much power. The thought discomfited her.

They set out again, traveling in companionable silence, each engrossed in their own thoughts, and made it to the shelter that evening with time enough to spare before darkness fell. By then Stephan was reeling with exhaustion and Jinny insisted he rest while she cared for the animals and prepared food. He was too tired to do more than hold her and kiss her that evening. She struggled to hold back her tears when she remembered that this was likely the last night they would spend together.

* * * *

The next morning, as they were setting out, he stopped and pointed to another road that branched off from the one they were on not far ahead. “If you go that way, you come out of the mountains well to the south of here. It's mostly farmland and small towns. You could probably find some place to settle as long as you kept your talent a secret and never used it."

“Stephan? I can't."

“I understand. You promised,” he said. “I release you from that pledge, now. I want you to go."

“Will you come with me?"

He winced and looked away from her. “No. I have responsibilities."

“You'll go to the king anyway. Without me."

“I have to. I owe him that much at least."

“And I owe it to you to go with you."

“No, Jinny. Please. I can't bear the thought of you ... of what might happen to you if you go there."

“And I can't bear the thought of a life that doesn't include either you or using magic. That wouldn't be living."

“Jinny—” Pain wrung his tone into a narrow sound.

“Stephan.” She moved closer until she could lean over and kiss him. “I love you. Let's go. If you decide to come with me, I'll consider running, but if you won't, I won't, either."

He hesitated, and she knew he wasn't fully accepting her decision, but he sighed deeply and nudged his horse into motion. She followed. As they rode the final stretch, a piece of road too smooth and level to offer any challenge, Jinny had to struggle not to give in to the fear of having to face the king and depression about the looming separation from Stephan.

She'd made her words as brave as she could for Stephan's sake, but she couldn't be as confident with herself. She dreaded what awaited her. No other word for it. She hoped and prayed for a freak storm or rock slide, some obstacle to delay them again. Her panic grew so strong, she even began to reconsider the idea of running away, escaping before they reached the king's castle, despite her promise not to go.

She had to call on all the discipline and detachment she'd learned from The Followers of The Flame to maintain control. It wasn't the first time she'd faced the very real possibility that her life would end. She'd managed to face the Council of Calavria with some measure of calm, even when they were debating whether her existence represented too much of a threat to the state to be allowed to continue. It certainly wasn't much comfort to know that, had they decided against her, her life would have been ended as quickly and with as little pain as possible. She had to find the same level of calm, of acceptance.

It came very close to deserting her entirely when they reached the top of one of the lower foothills and saw battlements looming in the distance.

Stephan drew his horse to a halt there. Jinny pulled up alongside him. “Is that the castle?” she asked.

“The top of it.” For several long moments, he stared silently at the bit of roof and tops of towers that were visible, before he turned to her and said, “This is your last chance. Please, just ride. Go. Right now. I'll follow you for a while, but I won't catch you."

“Stephan, we've been over this again and again. I made a promise. I won't break it now."

“And I released you from it.” His face drew into a frown of pain, then he dismounted and came to her side. She slid off her own horse, into the circle of his arms. He tightened them around her and pulled her against his body. She felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt where it wasn't covered by the tunic, and heard the thumping of his heart. She felt him trembling.

“Jinny, please,” he begged. “I can't stand it.” He tipped her face so she looked up at him, and he leaned over to kiss her, long, hard and deep. His fingers wove into her hair. “Please, go. I don't want you to go there."

“What would happen to you if I did get away? Would the king punish you?"

He turned to look at the castle for a second, then looked back at her. “I don't know. Maybe."

“Would he strip you of your title? Your lands?"

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I doubt it. It was just one mistake."

“A very important one to him, as you've already said."

“I'd survive."

“But you'd lose the king's friendship and trust."

“Maybe. That wouldn't bother me as much as what might happen to you."

“It would bother me,” Jinny told him. “I care too much for you to let that happen. And I realized..."

“What?"

“It wouldn't matter. If I ran away, I wouldn't know where to go or what to do. I can't go back to my own country. They don't want me. I can't go back over the mountain. I have no home and no prospect of one. What would I do? Where would I go? I could settle in some nowhere town and live quietly, but I'd be cutting myself off from the only things that are important to me. The only place I'll ever want to be would be forever barred to me."

“Your own country?"

“No."

“Where then?” he asked.

“By your side.” She felt him flinch and continued quickly. “If I can't be with you, I don't care where I go or what happens, except that I don't want it to hurt or damage the people I love."

He stared, his black eyes shadowed and showing his pain. “That includes me?"

“Most especially you."

His arms tightened again and he hugged her even closer to his body. The fingers he ran into her hair pulled her cheek against his chest. He was so much taller, he could rest his chin on the top of her head.

“Jinny, tell the king whatever he wants to know,” he begged. “Don't make him hurt you. What do you owe to that family, to that country, anyway? What have they given you? They haven't nurtured you or loved you the way you deserved to be loved. Your mother refused to acknowledge you and farmed you off to a bunch of religious zealots, your government sent you into exile. Why do you owe them anything?” His fingers combed through her hair as though he tried frantically to hold onto her.

There was truth in what he said."I gave them a promise, too,” she answered. “A promise to serve them as best I could. I have to keep my word."

His fingers froze for a moment while he sucked in a long, hard breath. “You're asking an awful lot of me, of yourself.” He had to draw a deep breath before he could continue. “If you're hurt, or worse, I don't think I could go on."

“You have obligations, and people depending on you, so you will.” This time, she had to pause to regain her control. “I know this isn't easy for you. I'm sorry for putting you in that position. But neither of us can take the easy way. Not without betraying people we care about."

“Speak for yourself. I've been trying to talk you into running away for days now."

“Out of a sense of obligation."

He stiffened. “Out of a sense of wanting you to stay alive!"

“At risk of your self-respect, sense of honor and loyalty to your king."

“I don't care about the price as long as it buys your life."

“I care. My life isn't worth that much to me."

“It is to me."

“Stephan, think about it. What will I do if I run away? I can't go back to Calavria. They'll execute me. If I try to stay in Lendiil, sooner or later, the king's people will catch me anyway. I suppose I could go to the western lands, but I'd have to cross most of Lendiil to get there, which I doubt I could do on my own, and once I got there, I wouldn't know how to survive. They don't even speak the same language we do.” She shook her head. “Besides, I might have something to offer the king by way of bargain. Something that won't hurt my own people, but he might want to know about."

“What?"

“If I told you, it would lose all value as a bargaining chip."

She felt rather than saw him nod. Her hair was damp, she realized suddenly, and looked up. When he moved his head to accommodate her, she surprised tears running down his lean cheeks.

She stretched, standing on tiptoe, placed her hands on his shoulders for bracing, and pressed her mouth against his. They kissed hungrily, desperately, before she broke free to ask him: “Can we have one last time together before we go? I want the memory to keep with me when you're not there."

He picked her up in his arms, despite her protests, and carried her to a soft, grassy clearing off to their left. He set her down gently and spread his cloak on the ground for them to lay on.

She kissed the tears from his cheeks, pulled out the thong holding his hair off his face, and buried her fingertips in the soft mass. With small, circular movements, she massaged his scalp until he let some of the tension go and started to relax. When their mouths met, they clung to each other, kissing their way through stages of grief, anger, hopelessness, and fear. Finally, need and love took over and erased other concerns from their minds.

He helped her out of the tunic and trousers and began to explore her body, running his fingers slowly down from her cheeks, along her throat to her breasts. He stopped there for a while to tease the tips into hard nubs, making her moan and tense. His hands moved over every inch of her then, as though memorizing her and storing it for later when the memory was all he'd have. He skimmed down her sides and along her legs to her feet. He rubbed the soles, her toes, and even bent over to kiss each instep. The petal-soft brush of his lips on her rough feet lifted her into ecstasy.

When he moved back up her legs, tracing along the inside this time, the sensations tore through her like bursts of energy. His fingers trailed fire on her skin. Flashes of white heat and pressure broke over her when he reached the slit at the center of her body and stroked gently. He didn't remain there long, though.

His mouth began a second expedition. His lips skimmed across her temples, along her nose, down her cheeks and around her chin. He reached her mouth and drew her into a long, deep, soul-melding kiss. Eventually, he released her lips and trailed hot kisses along her throat and neck, then moved down, following the path his fingers had taken earlier. He paused frequently to savor a mouthful, as though, having memorized the look and feel of her, he needed to add the taste to his mental store. She stopped him long enough to pull off his tunic and shirt. Her hands strayed across his strong shoulders and chest and he put his lips back on her nipple.

Jinny squealed as he licked, sucked, nipped, and drew his teeth carefully across the tip. Balls of fire boiled through her blood, bringing a tension she could barely tolerate and a pleasure almost too intense to contain. The brush of his hair over her breast as he mouthed it was another delight. She grabbed a handful of the soft strands and held on until he moved again. His mouth trailed a line of damp kisses down her belly, poking into her navel, pushing through the curling hair below, finding its goal at the slit between her legs.

She screamed when his tongue brushed over the outer lips and probed to the core of her being. He pushed her legs apart. His lips closed over the tender peaks in the valley between. She murmured his name over and over as his mouth drew sensations from her body she'd never guessed could be possible. It made her hot and tight and feeling ready to burst into flame.

Breath nearly deserted her as his tongue scraped along that valley. Her senses melted into bursting lights and flame. Tension drew her muscles tight. Hands closed into fists that began to beat the ground. She couldn't hold such pleasure. It fought to escape as the tightness drew her so taut she couldn't move.

Then he licked harder and faster and it burst. A rushing wind of ecstasy picked her up and swirled her in its arms while her body jerked and bucked with fulfillment. After a long time in the whirlwind, it set her down again gently.

Jinny opened her eyes to meet Stephan's dark gaze. Satisfaction drew his lips into a smile and lit his dark eyes as he watched her.

“Stephan,” she said on a sighing breath. “That was amazing. You're amazing."

“You inspire me.” He straightened, then moved to lay down next to her and pull her into his arms.

She lay that way for a few minutes, but then a need for more contact made her move and push him down so he lay flat on the cloak. “My turn,” she said.

“What?"

She put a finger on his lips to hush him, then began to skim her hands over his body as he'd done to her. The stubble of beard on his cheeks rasped against her fingers, a harsh contrast to smooth slide of his hair. His throat felt smooth and vulnerable. At the base of it she could feel the pulse of his heartbeat.

She moved carefully over the new scars on his chest, mourning the destruction of the beautiful, smooth skin and fearful of causing him pain with a touch on them. One of his nipples was unaffected by the injuries. He drew in a sharp breath when she pressed her fingers on it and pinched gently.

Eager to learn the taste of him, she leaned over and put her mouth against the hard peak. It felt rough against her lips and tongue, the taste a bit salty, yet sweet because it was Stephan. His fingers tangled in the curly mass of her hair, running through it and separating strands, while she sucked gently. She felt his body tense and glanced at his face to be sure she wasn't hurting him. His strained smile reassured her.

She ran her hands farther down his body, stopping at the top of his breeks. He had to help her by shifting his hips so she could roll them down his legs. His manhood sprung free as she pulled the breeks off. It stood erect, proud and tall. The contrast in feel and texture stunned her when she put a hand around the shaft. The skin was thin and soft but it sheathed a hard core. It throbbed in her hold.

He panted and groaned as she explored its length, brushing up and down, trying the exquisite silkiness of the tip with her fingers. She reached lower, rubbing her hand up and down his muscular, hair-roughened thighs. The heavy balls of flesh hidden between his legs fascinated her, and he didn't seem to mind when she ran careful fingers over them. She couldn't get enough of the feel of him. She wanted to know every last inch, every crevice. These memories could stay with her and give her comfort later.

After a few minutes, though, he stopped her by tightening his hold on her hair. “No more. I'm about to explode."

She nodded, but when he would have rolled her onto her back, she stopped him by kneeling over him, straddling his belly, careful to put no weight on any of the scars. A quick shift backwards and the tip of his shaft poked into her behind. She worked back farther, lifted herself, and pushed until he was buried deep within her.

The pressure began to build inside her again. Pleasurable shocks rolled through her as she moved up and down, watching the fierce joy on his face. She tried to take it slowly, to make it last as long as possible, but after a while neither of them could resist the tide of need that swept over them.

Their breath panted at each other as he pumped up and down, building, speeding, pushing her to the limit of endurance. Need drove them into a frenzied ride to the finish. Then the wave broke and spasms of pleasure engulfed them together. It raised her out of herself and into a realm of sensation, where colors swirled and her body floated on pillowing clouds.

She fell forward against him, resting her head just under his chin as the spasms crested and receded. His chest heaved up and down in the aftermath. His heart pounded in her ear. She grabbed his shoulders and squeezed hard.

“Jinny,” he murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest. “My heart, my soul, my life.” He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against him as though he'd absorb her right into his body if he could. “How do I let you go?"

Fierce possessiveness stabbed through her. He was hers, this strong man whose life she'd saved and who'd saved hers. She could give him pleasure or cause him pain. She wished she could make it her life's work to bring him joy and protect him from harm. He'd suffered so much already. But whether they were together or not, he'd be in her heart for the rest of her life and she'd do whatever she could to guard him.

“You don't let me go,” she said. “You keep me in your heart. Even if I'm not there myself, keep the memory of me close. Be strong, be honorable, be the man I've come to love. And know that I'll never stop loving you. No matter what happens. Promise you'll never forget me or that I love you."

“I'll never forget,” he promised.

Chapter Eighteen

Their arrival at the castle caused a flurry of activity. Heavy wooden gates guarding the main entrance were opened as soon as the guards recognized Stephan, clearing the way for them to enter the forecourt. A small crowd of people gathered, mostly to gape and stare as they passed. Stephan halted just inside the courtyard, and Jinissa followed his lead. A guard wearing enough decoration to indicate a high rank stood before them.

“My Lord Stephan.” He saluted.

“Captain Breer.” Stephan responded with the same salute. “What news while I've been gone?"

“Not much. A flood in the Parchant wiped out most of a town just south of Kestrin. The king sent two companies of guards to help. And the West Hollock lords are fussing about the land tax issue again."

“That's news?"

A wry smile quirked the captain's mouth. “A delegation of the lords is with the king now, pleading their case."

“Does his majesty need rescuing?"

“He might be grateful for it, my lord.” The captain turned to Jinissa and gave her a long look. “I see you've brought the witch his majesty wished to question."

“Very observant,” Stephan said wryly.

Apparently there was some long-standing friendship between these two. Instead of taking offense, the man appeared to recognize it as teasing. “I try, my lord,” he answered. “Do you want to take her directly to the royal audience hall?"

Without taking his eyes off the captain, Stephan dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a boy who'd come up to take charge of the animals. “I'd like to speak with the king alone first. There are things he needs to know right away. I'll leave the witch in your charge for now. Her name is Jinissa.” Stephan turned and helped her dismount, but immediately stepped away when she was standing. “She's a lady as well as a witch. I trust you to see she's treated accordingly until his majesty is ready for her."

The captain's expression changed from the wry humor of earlier to surprise and puzzlement. “A witch, my lord?"

“A high-born witch."

The captain nodded, but didn't look any less confused. “As you say.” He approached Jinissa with some obvious reluctance, then stopped abruptly. “She wears no sigil, my lord!"

“None is needed. She won't use her magic to harm anyone or to try to escape from your custody. I have her word on it."

“The word of a witch!"

“It can be trusted,” Stephan assured the man. “You have my word on that."

“But my lord—"

Jinny interrupted. “You may put a sigil on me if it would make you more comfortable. It might be a good idea, in fact."

Flame squirmed at that and protested in her mind. “Not send away again! Please!"

Stephan said, “It's not necessary."

The captain stared as if she'd suddenly grown another head. He finally shook off his surprise and said, “I think it would be a good idea, my lord. If only to protect his majesty against any possible risk."

Jinny turned to Stephan and said, “It's all right. I've borne it before. I can again. I think he's right not to take any risks with me."

Flame moaned soundlessly.

Stephan started to protest, but bit it off. “Of course. You're correct,” he said to the captain. “We dare not take any chances with the king's safety. However, you will be sure she's treated with respect. She is a lady."

The captain stared at him with open-mouthed astonishment. It took Jinny a moment to understand. She'd seen so much change in Stephan in their time together she'd forgotten how much he hated the Calavrians. No wonder his behavior was surprising the captain.

Stephan didn't see it, though. He'd turned to her. “Captain Breer is an old friend, and I trust him to do what I ask.” He spoke so low only the two of them could hear. “I'll do what I can with the king, but I have no great hopes of the outcome."

“It will be as the Powers will it. If your king is indeed the fair and just-minded man you claim, I have hope."

“Give him what help you can,” Stephan suggested.

“Of course. Keep yourself safe, Stephan."

“The Powers be on your side, lady,” he returned, before turning away and striding to the main keep's door.

The captain made no move toward her until Stephan had entered the building and the door closed behind him. Then he came to her side and put a hand on her arm. “If you'll accompany me, my lady,” he said. As courteous as the words were, his grip left no room for doubt that it was a command rather than a request.

She was escorted around the main keep to a low, blocky building with a heavy door equipped with several locks and only a few small windows. Her escort unlocked the door with a key at his belt and led her inside. Torches provide little light. A few guards sat processing paperwork or joking with each other. Their quick snap to attention at her entry showed the alertness that underlay their light attitude. While she gave her name and place of birth to the guard with the book and quill, Captain Breer held a short, whispered conversation with one of the guards on duty. The man disappeared into a back room and reappeared shortly, holding a metal collar similar to the one she'd worn before.

She made no move to stop them when the collar closed around her throat. This time she felt more vividly the sudden loss of her magical power. Flame was gone on the instant, but so was something else, a sense barely realized, something beyond sight or sound or taste—an awareness of another level of things happening in the world. A little piece of her life closed off, color drained from her surroundings, little as there was in the dim light.

She began to shake with fear at the utter helplessness the loss of her magic imposed. Anybody could do anything to her now, and she had no defense.

Jinny didn't try to resist when the captain took her arm again to escort her through a door at the far end of the hall. It took all her concentration to walk steadily and not let threatening tears fall. A set of stairs led down into a gloomy corridor, lined on either side with heavy doors. A small window offered a view into each cell. Occasional moans or cries carried from various cubicles as she and her escort walked to the far end of the corridor, where the captain finally led her into the cell at the farthest corner.

“This is our best room, saved for our highest ranking prisoners,” the captain explained. He pointed to two small windows set high in the far wall. “It has ventilation and light from outside.” He turned to her before leaving. “Our guards are under strict orders not to abuse prisoners. I'll be checking with you periodically during your stay here. If anyone violates that rule, I want to know about it."

Jinissa let out the breath she'd been holding. “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your concern."

His stern expression didn't change. “Lord Stephan requested it."

He closed and locked the door behind him when he left.

There was only one place to sit, a low bench along the right side wall that served as the bed. It did have a straw-stuffed pad to soften it, which immediately made it a more comfortable cell than the last one she'd occupied. It also had sconces with actual candles and a cup with eight matches hanging beside one of them, a rolled-up blanket at the foot of the bed, and a curtained-off corner for the latrine, an unexpected concession in a dungeon.

A moderately comfortable cell, but a cell nonetheless. Depression crashed down on her as she faced the bleakness of her prospects. She had no magic to protect her, the king wanted to question her, likely asking her things that she wouldn't be able to answer, and Stephan had tacitly admitted the king would reluctantly resort to torture if he thought the need for answers justified it. She had one bargaining chip to use, but its value was dubious at best. There was no future she could contemplate with any degree of hope. Even thoughts of Stephan, the best thing that had ever come into her life, brought pain. She'd chosen the harder path for him as well as for herself. He'd agonize over his role in whatever happened to her. If she was in fact tortured, he would suffer as well. She had more than enough time to curse herself for the decision she'd made not to run.

Chapter Nineteen

Jinny judged the passage of time by the light coming through the small, high windows. By that reckoning, she'd been in the cell for nearly twenty-four hours. It was late afternoon again, and she didn't relish the idea of spending another night here. She hadn't slept much the night before. Aside from the constant noise from other prisoners yelling, screaming and arguing with each other, the weather had turned colder and one blanket couldn't keep the chill from soaking into her bones.

Even with the coming of daylight, the room didn't warm much. She had the blanket draped around her, and she still felt chilled. Food had come and gone several times. She supposed it wasn't bad by prison standards. The stew wasn't burned, had real meat and vegetables in it, and the portions were adequate. She just didn't seem to have an appetite. No one had bothered her. A couple of the guards delivering her meals had ogled, but none had done more than look.

She wondered how Stephan's interview with the king had gone. With each passing minute, her dread grew, because, surely, if he'd been successful in his appeal, she would have been released already.

Jinny was so miserable she paid no attention at first when the lock was turned and the door to her cell opened. She assumed it was another meal arriving. Until a guardsman coughed and said, “My lady, we need to go."

“Go where?” She turned to face Captain Breer.

“The king wishes to see you."

She'd known the audience would come. But she still wasn't ready to face it. She'd never really be ready for it. She heaved a couple of deep breaths and rose to her feet. Unwrapping the blanket, she folded it neatly, laid it on the bed, and turned to the man.

“I'm ready, Captain."

“Would you hold out your hands, my lady? I regret the necessity, but security demands.” He wound a soft leather strap around her wrists and buckled the ends together so her arms were crossed and held together in front of her, effectively disabling her hands. The man was firm but gentle in applying the cuffs and fastening them.

When they got to the door that led outside, she had to stop a moment and wait for her dark-adjusted eyes to adapt to the afternoon sunshine. The captain stood patiently until she was ready to move again, then guided her across the courtyard, into the main keep and down a long hall. They came up to a grand set of double doors, but a guard stationed there stopped them. He beckoned the captain aside and the two men held a whispered conversation Jinny couldn't hear. When it was done, Captain Breer came to her and turned her away from the door, leading her down a series of winding, branching corridors to another chamber.

Before he knocked, the captain stopped and removed the strap, freeing her wrists. “The king wants you unfettered, my lady."

“I'm no threat to him,” she assured the captain. “I'm neither strong, nor fast, nor good with weapons—if I had any, which I don't."

For the first time, he smiled at her. “Don't underestimate yourself, my lady. You have weapons. I'm not sure you've learned to use them, however."

“I don't understand, Captain. I'm not armed."

His grin grew even wider. “Don't worry about it.” He tapped on the door. “The king wishes you to be made more presentable for a royal audience."

“More presentable?"

“You'll see. I'll leave you here. Someone will come for me when you're ready. Just cooperate, my lady. No one will harm you. These people are at your service."

By that time, she was thoroughly confused and apprehensive, but the captain left her as soon as the door opened and he'd announced, “The Lady Jinissa,” to the woman who waited inside.

An ample, round-faced woman with gray hair and a network of lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth looked Jinny up and down twice, raised broad eyebrows, and said, “Hmm, yes. A lot of work to do here. Come in, my lady,” she invited her. “I think everything's ready for you."

The bathing room did appear to be ready for her. At least, Jinny hoped it was for her. Seeing the huge tub, big enough for three people, steaming gently in front of a cozy fire, reminded her how filthy she was. Worse, she felt a dirt that was less physical than emotional from her time in the cell. She could hardly wait to shed the dirty rags she'd worn for days on end and climb into the tub. A wonderful fragrance of flowers drifted from the water to tantalize her.

“Hop in, my lady,” the woman invited. “No sense wasting all that good hot water."

“No, indeed,” Jinny agreed. The woman helped her remove her clothes, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she carried off the soiled garments. “You get right in now,” she urged.

Jinny heeded her advice and sank into the deepest tub of the hottest, best-smelling water she'd ever experienced. It was so wonderful that, for a few minutes, she could do nothing more than sit and dip fingers in and out of the water, then lift each leg in turn, and stare at her feet as they emerged and sank again. The woman, who asked to be called Hannah, returned with soap and a brush and helped Jinny wash from head to foot. She had a different cleanser to use on her hair. Once Jinny had been lathered and scrubbed, Hannah left her to relax and enjoy the unaccustomed luxury. It occurred to Jinny she should be worrying about enjoying this too much, and wondering what it portended for her treatment by the king. But she was too thoroughly relaxed and mellow by then to summon any concern.

Hannah eventually returned, helped her out and wrapped her in a towel. She then took her to an adjoining room where her hair was toweled dry, then brushed until it shone and her natural waves flowed down her back in a silky curtain. She was too bemused to make conversation, but the woman didn't seem to expect it. The only thing she refused to do for Jinny was to get her a mirror.

“I want it to be a surprise when we're done,” the woman said. “Wait here, now. I'll be right back."

She returned shortly with another woman in tow, a younger, thinner female with a supercilious air. The newcomer carried a pair of scissors and a comb with very narrow teeth. She sniffed loudly as she looked at Jinny's hair. “This is terrible. Tragic! Such marvelous hair allowed to get into this condition. How could you, my lady?"

She shrugged. “I had little choice in the matter."

The woman sighed and lifted locks of hair here and there, muttering darkly to herself.

“Can you do anything with it, Maline?” Hannah asked.

“Can I do anything with it? Of course I can do something with it. With such wonderful hair, I can do wonders. You'll see."

She ran that narrow-toothed comb through Jinny's hair a few times, then set to work with the scissors. Minutes later, an alarming amount of wavy, light-brown hair lay on the floor around her.

“You're not taking off too much, are you?” Jinny ventured, not too loudly. Maline frankly intimidated her.

“I do not take off too much,” Maline said. “I never take off too much. I take off just the right amount."

By the time she was done snipping, Jinny's hair was completely dry. The woman didn't stop, though. She began combing again, then parting, and gathering up locks of hair that still fell below her shoulders and twisting it this way and that, fastening it with pins in places.

“There, that will do for the moment,” Maline proclaimed. “Now the clothes. You have something appropriate?” she asked Hannah.

The older woman nodded. “I found just the thing. It wasn't easy, though. She's so thin, it was hard to find something appropriate that would fit. I looked around, but couldn't find what I wanted, so I went to the Countess Vastern—you know how thin she is—and she had just the thing. She donated the undergarments as well."

Several layers of undergarments later, they shook out the dress they'd brought for her and Jinny sucked in a sharp breath of pure astonishment. A rich, sky-blue velvet bodice trimmed with lace fell into layers of shimmering satin skirts. She'd never seen a dress as fine as this.

“I can't,” she protested when the two women moved to put it on her. “I've never worn anything this grand before. I don't know how."

“You have a natural grace,” Hannah said to her. “You'll do well enough. It'll suit you far better than it does the countess. That shade of blue doesn't do anything for her complexion. It'll look perfect on you."

“Turns her face to mud,” Maline agreed. “I told her to avoid those pale shades."

Despite Jinny's continued protests, the dress was dropped over her head and laced and hooked into place. This was all making her horribly nervous. She could understand the king wanting her to have a bath and clean clothes before joining him, but why this extraordinary treatment and the spectacular gown?

“Perfect fit,” Maline commented. “Just perfect. You have slippers to go with it? Excellent. Oh, yes, those are exactly right, too. Now, if only we could do something about this.” The woman fingered the metal band of the sigil around her throat.

“I'm told it must remain in place,” Hannah said.

Maline studied it with distaste and then suddenly brightened. “I know just the thing. I'll be right back."

Hannah helped her into fine silk stockings and soft slippers dyed to match the dress while Maline was gone.

The woman returned holding several cases. She opened one and extracted a length of blue satin ribbon, embroidered and studded with shimmering glass beads. “We may not be able to remove it,” Maline proclaimed as she wound the ribbon around Jinissa's throat, hiding the metal band, “But we don't have to look at it either. Yes, that works."

Once the ribbon was fastened, she extracted pots and brushes from another case and worked on Jinissa's face, then pulled out a length of pearl beads and wound that into her hair, moving some of the curls and pins she'd put in earlier. She and Hannah fussed and poked, dabbed, pinned, and adjusted until, at last, they proclaimed themselves satisfied.

“May I have a mirror now?” Jinny asked.

Both women nodded. “Come,” Hannah said. They left the dressing area for another trip down the hall to another room where there was a full-length mirror on the far wall. When Jinissa caught sight of her reflection, she stopped and stared in sheer awe.

She hadn't actually seen herself many times in her life. The Order of The Followers of The Flame didn't encourage vanities, and she'd spent little time in the city. She knew at some visceral level she was attractive. People had told her she was pretty. But this beautiful, grandly dressed woman was a stranger. She wished Stephan could see her like this just once.

“Well, what do you think?” Hannah asked her.

“It's astonishing. I had no idea. You really are artists. This is amazing."

“Well, it does help to have quality material to work with,” Maline said with a sniff. She and Hannah were clearly pleased with their handiwork and her reaction to it.

They could hardly fail to be gratified by Captain Breer's reaction when he returned to escort her to the king. The man stepped into the room and stopped, transfixed with astonishment, when she turned to him.

“Stars in the skies,” he mouthed. “Who would have believed it? I think I begin to understand.” He broke off and finally moved forward to offer an arm to her. “My lady? If you would be so good as to accompany me?"

“I will, Captain. Thank you so much, Hannah and Maline. I can't tell you how grateful I am."

“It was our pleasure,” Hannah assured her.

“Be sure to tell the king how pleased you are with our efforts,” Maline added.

Her nervousness returned as they retraced the path to the grand double doors that served as entrance to the main royal audience chamber. The captain knocked, then pushed the doors open. Jinissa had to remind herself to breathe as they entered, walking between a pair of guards stationed on either side of the door, to where the king sat on a raised dais at the far end. He stood as they approached. No one else was in the room.

The captain stopped and went to one knee. Following his lead, Jinissa sank into the best approximation of a curtsy she could manage in her borrowed finery.

“Rise, please,” the king ordered.

“Your majesty,” Captain Breer said, “May I present the Lady Jinissa?"

“You may, Captain, and we thank you for your assistance,” the king answered.

“My lady, His Majesty King Randell of Lendiil."

“Your majesty,” Jinissa tried to curtsy again, but wasn't as successful. Part of that was due to surprise. Stephan's descriptions should have prepared her for the man, but fear and dread had built him into a monstrous ogre in her imagination.

In fact, he was a tall, thin, attractive young man, around the same age as Stephan. She remembered Stephan saying he and Randell had been paired for sword practice because they were close in age and build. The king's coloring, though, was a complete contrast to Stephan's. Randell had blond hair, green eyes, and an astonishingly charming smile, which he used to good effect as he descended the steps from the dais. Up close, he loomed so far over her, she had to bend her neck to look up at him.

“Well, well,” he said, studying her from the closer vantage point. “This is amazing. Quite, quite astonishing. We begin to understand a few things. My lady, would you do us the honor of joining us for dinner? We have many things to discuss, but we'll do it to better effect after a good meal."

Again, Jinny was alarmed by the unexpected turn of events. This was all turning out so differently from what she'd expected, she wasn't quite sure how to handle it. Her head seemed to swim in a sea of clouds, and she shook it a little to clear it. Nonetheless, she recognized the royal request for what it was—a nicely phrased order.

“I'd be honored, your majesty,” she answered.

The king offered an arm. Jinny placed her hand on the bend of his elbow and let him lead her out of the audience hall and down the corridor with Captain Breer behind them. The chamber they entered wasn't the state dining hall. The table here would seat no more than ten at a time. At the moment, it was set for only two. The king seated her, then took his place at the head of the table, to her left. He thanked Captain Breer again and dismissed him. The captain shut the door as he exited. The king rang a small bell, and a servant popped through another door with a laden tray.

Afterward, Jinny couldn't remember much about the meal. Food came and went, large quantities of it, probably more food than she'd ever seen in one place in her life. Many items she didn't recognize at all, some were things she'd only heard of—a steaming, deep brown soup that smelled deliciously of onions and beef; slices of roast goose in a rich, truffle gravy; an orange fish; red and yellow fruits; and a salad of grated fresh vegetables with a biting, vinegary dressing. She nibbled on a few things, but wasn't able to eat much. Her nerves wound her stomach in knots much too tight to leave room for food. Plates were removed and replaced at regular intervals until she wondered how anyone could consume so much.

The king talked while they ate, asking her questions about her background, her life in his kingdom, and the trip with Stephan, but they were light questions, not venturing into dangerous issues. She answered as best she could through the constriction of her throat.

Liquids also came and went, glasses and goblets appearing and disappearing regularly. A swirly, nonalcoholic amber liquid was replaced by a small glass of golden wine, followed by a larger glass of red wine, and then a strong, dark brew and, finally, a tiny glass of sweet-smelling liqueur that burned her throat when she sipped it. She drank as little as she ate, all too cognizant of the need to keep a clear head no matter how nervous she was.

The king noted her lack of appetite and commented. “The food isn't to your liking?"

“Oh, no, your majesty,” she said, dismayed to realize that he could take her restraint as an insult. “It's wonderful. But I'm not used to so much food at one time. My stomach can't cope with it."

The servants entered with the last course, a rich cake bursting with fruit and smelling strongly of honey.

“You've just had an arduous journey,” the king commented. “Lord Stephan told me about it.” He dipped a fork into the cake. “You must at least try a bite of this. It's a favorite of mine. So rich, it's sinful."

Jinny did try a bite and found it every bit as stunningly delicious as he promised. Flavors of orange and cream and sugar blended in her mouth and made her tongue almost unbearably happy. She ate nearly half of her piece before her stomach threatened retaliation if she sent any more its way.

“That's better. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist orange trifle.” His smile was almost as sweet and irresistible as the cake. “But now, I suppose we must get down to business."

“Of course, your majesty, though you'll be fortunate if I don't expire from sheer bliss before we're done."

He smiled again, but it faded rapidly. “I fear your bliss won't survive long once we begin our discussion."

“No doubt you're correct, your majesty.” She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “The issues won't go away."

“No.” He sat back in his big, padded chair, picked up the small liqueur glass and took a swallow. He frowned at it, but seemed to relax slightly as it slid down his throat. “The Baron of Dunnefeld came to me yesterday with a rather amazing story.” He stopped, seeing her puzzled look. “That's his official title, though I think you know him as Lord Stephan, which is the correct way to address him directly.

“In any case, Lord Stephan, who is one of my oldest friends, surprised me with a number of things. When I sent him to retrieve the woman who'd been convicted of witchcraft and spying, I was expecting a cold-hearted, cold-minded spy. A sneaking, underhanded, soulless creature who'd use an evil force to subvert my land and my people. But the witch Lord Stephan described was none of those things. He told me of a proud, courageous, gentle and kind woman. One who'd helped with the work of the trip without his even asking, one who'd saved him from a pack of wolves and then took an extraordinary risk to heal him, a woman who'd made a promise to him and kept it, even though it meant facing possible torture and death. A woman who claimed to be—and he believed it true—the illegitimate offspring of a noble family, and one who, by her own admission, was an extremely incompetent spy."

Jinny let out the breath she'd been holding since he mentioned her family. It appeared Stephan had kept her secret.

“His tale forced me to adjust my plans,” the king admitted. “And gave me ideas for new possibilities.” He stopped and, for a moment, his face changed, aged, hardened, drawn into worried lines by the weight of responsibility. “My lady, as I'm sure you've guessed, I have a problem, and I need your help."

“What sort of help, your majesty?"

“I need information. About your people, your country, the population, their readiness for battle, the size of the standing army, weapons, food production.” He smiled grimly. “Nothing much, just a few details."

She drew a deep breath. “Your majesty, I'm sure it will come as no surprise when I tell you I can't answer most of those questions."

“Can't or won't, my lady?"

“In most cases, I can honestly say can't. There are a few things I do know that I won't tell you. I'm sure you understand that I've sworn to guard my people's secrets."

“I understand your loyalty to your country, to the people who raised and nurtured you, but you have to realize I have an obligation to the people who rely on me. I've got to have the information in order to protect them."

“You pointed out earlier I'd kept the promise I made to Lord Stephan. You seemed to think that was a virtue. I made a promise to my country as well. Can you expect me to act honorably in the one instance and not in the other?"

The king rubbed his chin as he considered her words. “The situation is difficult,” he admitted. “I would very much hate it if the only way I could get what I needed was by forcing your betrayal. And I think even that would be difficult and extremely ... unpleasant. Stephan believes your sense of honor and loyalty would carry you through ... a great deal."

“I don't suppose I would enjoy it much, myself,” she admitted.

A half-grin twisted the king's mouth. She watched him and was amazed to realize she wanted to help, wanted to give him what he needed. Perhaps only because he was Stephan's friend, but probably more because she saw in him the man who had earned Stephan's liking and loyalty.

“You wouldn't,” he said. “Nor would I. And I say that in all honesty. I always regret the necessity of causing others discomfort or pain and try to avoid it whenever possible. Unfortunately there are times when it can't be avoided."

His mouth twisted into a frown as he took another sip of his liqueur. He set the glass down and looked her in the eye. “Lady Jinissa, can you think of a solution to this that would allow us both to act honorably and not have to cause each other pain?"

Studying his disturbed expression, she felt that he meant it when he said that having to cause her pain would hurt him as well. She decided it was time to play out the game and see what her hand was worth. “There are one or two things I can tell your majesty that you might very much want to know."

The king looked up at her again. His blond eyebrows rose. “Are you trying to offer me a bargain?"

“I am, your majesty."

“And would this information prove as useful to me as what you're refusing?"

She took another sip of the liqueur herself, mostly to stall for time while she found an adequate answer. “I'm not in a position to judge what information your majesty needs."

“Whereas I have a pretty good idea of exactly what I do need from you. And it probably overlaps sharply with those things you don't want to share with me. I hate to remind you of unpleasant realities, but you're still under sentence of death by one of my authorized agents. Not to mention the question of flogging and branding."

Jinny sucked in a sharp breath, and much as she tried to suppress it, she knew the king had heard it. She'd forgotten about those charges in the greater fear of torture. And she'd discounted the fact those convictions were still legal and binding under the king's own system of justice. She'd been a fool not to run away—promise or no promise—when she could have. But it was too late to regret that now. She had to do the best she could with what she had.

“Then I have incentive to offer as much as I can, your majesty, and barter as high a price as I can for it."

“I'm prepared to offer you mercy in return for some of the information I need.” His smile was grim, but real. “There's this to be said for being king. If I decide to commute or lessen a sentence, it's done. If you'll agree to help me, of course. You need only give me the information you've volunteered and answer just a few simple questions. I'll even allow you to refrain from answering those you feel would compromise your loyalty too unbearably."

Jinny felt a spark of hope rise in her heart. Perhaps there was a way out of this. “What would be your idea of mercy? A quick and painless death rather than torture?"

“That's an option, but not the one I favor. Lord Stephan begged for your life, and I want to grant his wish. I'm more inclined to commute the sentence of death, perhaps even dispense with the branding. Since we must have some appearance that justice is being served, the flogging should be adequate."

Flogging. She hadn't avoided that terrible punishment, just delayed it. And this time there would—A horrible thought occurred to Jinny. “Oh, no, please, your majesty. Not that. It would be better to put me to death."

“You'd rather die than take a flogging?"

“Yes, your majesty.” She couldn't make the words louder than a whisper.

“Absurd,” he said. “Granted, a flogging is rather traumatic, but it's rarely fatal. The pain is temporary and you go on with your life once it's healed. Death is final."

“Please, your majesty, not a flogging. Anything else."

“Why, my lady?"

“I couldn't bear it."

“You might not think so, but you can. The executioners tend to be rather lenient with women anyway, so I daresay it wouldn't be too horrible."

“It would be. He couldn't stand it. Please, your majesty, I'll trade you everything I can tell you, including things you don't even know you want to know, if you'll make the sentence simply my death, as quickly and as painlessly as possible."

The king was staring at her. “Do you truly want to die that much, my lady?"

“No. But if it's the only alternative, then it's what I'd prefer.” She'd made a tactical mistake in letting him see how badly she wanted to avoid the flogging, but it was too late to back away from it now.

“If you'll tell me everything I want to know, answer every question I put to you as completely and accurately as you can, I'll dispense with the penalty entirely. We can say that clemency is offered in return for your service to the kingdom."

“I can't do that, either, your majesty. I can't betray my people. No matter how much you torture me, there are some things I won't tell you."

“Extraordinary loyalty,” the king murmured. “You're a credit to your family and the people who raised you. They must have been special."

“In truth, no.” She wasn't about to tell him she'd been raised as an orphan by a group of religious zealots who'd never offered her more than cool affection, her only family a mother who wouldn't acknowledge her and a few half-siblings who didn't know of her existence.

He sighed and shook his head. “You can't bear the thought of a flogging, but you're willing to face much worse torture and believe you can keep your secrets?"

She shrugged. “I know it's not consistent, your majesty."

The king sighed. “Your death is not an option right now. I need you alive."

“So I can choose between cooperation and a flogging or not cooperating and facing more prolonged torture."

“I believe that sums up your options pretty accurately, Lady Jinissa."

Terror was a fireball in her gut, burning her stomach to cinders and heating her skin. Tears pressed at her eyes and she struggled to keep them from falling. “If I were willing to cooperate in a limited way and take the flogging, would it be possible to keep anyone from knowing about it in advance? Could it be done privately with no else aware of it?"

“The whole point of the punishment is that the public sees justice carried out and understands the price to pay for breaking the king's laws."

Her tears finally broke loose and ran down her cheeks, burning the skin they traced. “Then I believe I'll have to choose not to cooperate, your majesty."

“Think hard on this, my lady. I don't know if you truly understand.” He proceeded to elaborate on the instruments of torture he had available, how they were used, the effects they had on a body and the anguish they could inflict.

By the end of it, Jinny could barely see for her tears and was so terrified she was in danger of losing what little dinner she'd eaten. “Please, no more, your majesty. I understand."

“And you still want it to be this way?"

“I don't want it, your majesty, I don't want it.” She was in danger of collapsing from fear. Even so, she couldn't change her mind. Some debts couldn't be paid, but she had to try, whatever the cost. She searched for every bit of resolution she could find. “But it's the way it has to be."

“Simply because you can't stand the idea of a public flogging?"

She nodded.

“What you're choosing is much, much worse."

“It's my choice."

“Then your mind is resolved?"

She drew breath and wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, surreptitiously drying it on the tablecloth. “It is, your majesty."

He picked up the bell on the table. “This is your last chance to change your mind. Once I've rung for the guard, there's no turning back."

She heaved a long breath. “I'm not going to change my mind."

Chapter Twenty

The king set the bell back down on the table without ringing it. He stared at her for a moment, then picked up his napkin, leaned toward her, and gently wiped the tears from her face.

“You're quite an extraordinary individual, Lady Jinissa,” he said. “I can't imagine anyone else I know making that choice. No wonder Stephan is tied in knots."

Jinny didn't know what to say. She didn't understand what was happening, why the king hadn't called for the guards.

“Just for the record, would you tell me the real reason why you didn't want to take the flogging option unless it could be done privately?"

She shook her head.

“It wouldn't have anything to do with Stephan, would it?” he asked. “You said earlier, ‘he couldn't bear it.’ You meant Stephan, of course. And you think he would try to bear it, don't you? Maybe too literally."

“He thinks he owes me his life,” Jinny admitted.

“And you'd do anything, up to and including accepting torture or death, to spare him that."

“I owe him more than just my life. And you know about his past. You know what it would do to him. I couldn't do that."

The king's solemn face broke into a radiant and enchanting smile. “Thank you, my lady. I can't tell you how gratified I am to find another person who understands Stephan well enough to value him as he deserves, for being the man he is, not just for what he has."

He reached over and took her hand. “Lady Jinissa, I apologize from the depth of my soul for what I just did to you. It was close to inexcusable, but I had to know if you were truly everything Stephan claimed you were. I should know by now to trust his judgment, but sometimes, the demands of my position require that I verify even what appears to be entirely reliable information."

“I'm sorry ... Your majesty?” Her voice broke on a small sob. “I don't understand."

“Of course not. Why should you? That was a test, my lady. To see if you were truly the person Stephan said you were. I'm pleased to say that, if anything, he understated your virtues. I do need your help, but not in the way you're expecting, and I'm going to entrust you with information that isn't commonly known as yet.” He patted her hand and wiped away another tear that had escaped to leak down her cheek. “I had to be sure I could trust you. Several nations could fall as a result of a mistake on my part. I couldn't take a chance. I hope you'll understand, be able to forgive me?"

“There's nothing to forgive, your majesty. You did what you felt you had to."

“Lady Jinissa, to remove any remaining awkwardness, I'd like to offer you a full and complete pardon for your crimes, if you'll give me the information you offered earlier and as much cooperation as you feel you can after you hear what the situation is."

Jinny borrowed the napkin to wipe her face again. “Truly, your majesty?"

“Truly, my lady."

“Then, of course, I accept."

“Thank you.” The smile he offered was astonishing for the depth of warmth and charm it radiated. If she hadn't met Stephan first, she'd have been in danger of falling hard for this man.

“What I'm going to tell you now,” he said, “is known only to a few people, and I need you to promise you won't reveal it to anyone else.” He smiled again. “Stephan assures me that, if you make a promise, you'll keep it."

“I suppose he knows that well enough,” Jinny answered.

“He was definite about it. Do I have your word?"

Jinny considered the kinds of difficulties such a promise might cause her. But could it be worse than her present dilemma anyway? “Yes, your majesty. You have my promise."

“Thank you, my lady. This won't be pleasant to hear. It certainly wasn't anything I wanted to know. But evading the truth won't help us, and facing it might. I don't know if you've heard the rumors of war in the lands to the east of us, in Pyrlla and Josseland particularly? They've remained remote from us for a long time, but that's coming to an end. Sources I trust tell me most of Pyrlla has been overrun by invaders from across the Eastern sea. The Pyrllans call them the Droms. Having gained the land along the Eastern coast, the Droms are turning their attention west. Toward us."

The king released her hand and reached for the liqueur glass again. He took another small sip of the powerful drink, put it down and rubbed his eyes. “The Droms have weapons we've never faced before and what seems like a limitless source of troops. The Pyrllans say no matter how many Droms they kill, there are always more. We have a year at best, maybe less, to prepare for their attack. I don't want word to get out yet, because I don't want to cause a panic. When I do tell my people, I want plans and procedures in place. I want to give everyone in this kingdom something productive they can do to further the effort, rather than see them feeling frightened and helpless and doomed."

The face he turned to her was grim. “It's going to take everything we've got and more to defeat these invaders. We have allies to the west, and I've already sent messages to begin to coordinate our efforts with them. The lands to the north are mostly unoccupied, so we can't expect much help there. That leaves Calavria. Our relations haven't been openly hostile for the last few years, but they've never been friendly. I can't approach the royal family directly. They wouldn't receive or listen to me. Which is why you're here."

“I don't know how I can help, your majesty. I'm not ... I don't have access to the people in power there."

“Stephan said you were from a noble family."

“And did he tell you my birth was tainted? They don't acknowledge me."

“That's a shame.” He studied the little glass of liqueur thoughtfully. “My original plan, before we knew about you, was to use you as a hostage to leverage access to the king and queen. When Stephan told me you were of the nobility, I'd hoped we could be more direct. I suppose I'll have to go back to my original idea."

Jinny couldn't help it. She laughed. It was a rather bitter-sounding laugh, even to her own ears.

The king gave her a puzzled look. “May I ask what's so funny, my lady?"

“It's not really funny, your majesty. It's ironic. Neither plan will work. Trying to use me as a hostage is even more useless than trying to contact the royal family through me."

“They wouldn't be interested in exchanging a captured spy for a few hours at a conference table? What could they lose by it?"

“They'd prefer you simply executed me and got it over with."

“My lady! I hope that isn't true."

“I'm afraid it is, your majesty. They'd much prefer me dead to having me returned to their midst."

“My dear! That's dreadful! I'm terribly sorry about it."

She shrugged. “I've had a long time to get used to it. But it doesn't help you with your problem."

“No, it doesn't.” He tapped his lips thoughtfully. “I've got to talk to your leaders. If we don't stand together against these invaders, we won't stand at all. And time grows shorter by the day. So far, your king and queen have returned all my messages unread and refused to listen to my delegates. I doubt they realize or understand the nature of the threat hanging over us. How can I get to them?"

If the situation was truly as dire as he said, Jinny had to readjust her thinking about what loyalty to her people and country meant. Stephan's confidence in his friend met and tallied with her own impressions of the king. She believed him, and it changed quite a few things. “There might be a way, your majesty. I might be able to get a message to someone who has the queen's ear."

“Would they listen to you? Believe what you say?"

A fair question. Would they? “I think they will, your majesty. If I put it to them properly. And if you could tell me exactly what your sources have told you about the threat. But all I can get you is a possible chance to speak."

“If you can do that much, I can handle the rest."

“You believe you can convince them?"

“I hope so. I also plan to offer to cement the alliance in a more practical way."

“Your majesty?"

“I understand there are three princesses, only one of whom is currently married."

“You'd offer for one of them?"

“Do you think it would be accepted?"

Ironic laughter was threatening again. She tried to suppress it, but then wondered why. Why not tell him? What did she owe to her family in this anyway? Not much, in truth, except for some minor gratitude that her mother had insisted she be allowed to live. And what could it hurt? There was no way he could use the information against her people now, at least not in any way that would help achieve what he claimed he wanted. Of course, he was clever enough to lie to her about his goals if it would help his cause. She didn't think he had. She remembered Stephan telling the people of the town about a possibility of war. He'd kept it vague and unthreatening, but that, too, was in keeping with the king's desire to prevent panic.

She was starting to feel she owed Randell something more than simple gratitude for apparently being willing to spare her life. He'd rescued Stephan, too, pulling him out of his self-destructive despair. She met the king's green eyes, trying to read the thoughts and emotions behind his bright gaze, but found it futile. The man was too complex to measure easily. Nonetheless, her instincts said he was an honorable man, one she could trust as much as Stephan did, even though she was, by the land and circumstances of her birth, his enemy. And with trust, came respect for his intelligence, his conscience and what he was trying to do. She let the laughter roll out.

He sighed. “What is it now, my lady?"

“One of the things you might want to know that I didn't want to tell you. It occurs to me there's no real reason to hide it. The only thing you could do with it to harm the royal family wouldn't advance your cause. In fact, indicating you know what I am would likely destroy any chance of making them see reason. So you might as well know ... The queen is my mother."

He couldn't have looked more stunned if she'd reached over and slapped him. “You are one of the princesses?"

“No. The princesses are my half-sisters. The king was not my father. The princesses don't know about me."

He was still staring at her in astonishment. “That is ... exceptionally awkward. It must have been difficult for you. Sometime, I hope you'll trust me with the details."

She saw compassion and speculation mix in his expression as he studied her. Then he lowered his eyes and stared at the table while thinking for a moment. “I don't see how it can be useful, but it is good to know.” He gave her a hard look. “So, my lady, have you any other soup pots to break over my head?"

She grinned at his metaphor. “Actually I do have one other. But before I do, I'd like to be sure I have your word about all my sins and crimes being forgiven."

He nodded, rang for a servant, and requested paper and quill. When it came, he spent several minutes writing, then blotted his work and handed the sheet to her. The paper proclaimed her exonerated of all prior crimes against the state by order of the king. It was signed and dated. “Will that do?” he asked.

“I'd have settled for your word,” she admitted. “I believe anyone Stephan trusts as much as he does you will keep his promises."

“Thank you, my lady. I'm honored by your trust."

“And I'm somewhat overwhelmed by your courtesy."

He laughed. “You're very forgiving if you can call what I did to you earlier courtesy."

“But you did it in such a very polite way,” she pointed out.

The king laughed again. “Training. I can't escape it, however hard I try."

“I wouldn't worry about trying too hard, your majesty."

He shook his head. “I think I'm going to have to keep you around, Lady Jinissa. In fact, I truly regret you're not a princess I could use to cement my alliance with your country."

“And I could regret it as well,” she admitted. “Except that..."

“Yes, there is that. Prior claims.” He sat straighter. “In any case, we're getting off track. Now that you have my royal pardon for having the bad taste to save a child's life with magic, in public yet, would you share with me that other possibly explosive surprise you mentioned?"

She nodded. “I know the secret of the shrines in the mountains to the east of us."

His shocked expression said that whatever he might have been expecting, it certainly wasn't that. Once again, she'd managed to astonish him completely. “Tell me about it,” he demanded.

So she related what had happened after Stephan was injured by the wolves and she'd taken him to the shrine. The king listened intently while she retold the story she'd half-seen, half-heard in her meditations in the cave.

“I think I remember reading about a war like that in some ancient manuscripts kept in the scriptorium,” he said, once she'd finished. “It was a long time ago. So all the magic of the land is harnessed in those shrines?"

“It is."

He sat quiet for some moments, hands folded together, fingers tapping his lips while he mused on what she said. “Do you have any idea how to free it again?"

“No, your majesty. The forces trapped there have no idea what binds them, and I couldn't see anything either."

“But if we could find a way to release it, it would make a formidable weapon to use against our enemies."

“I should think so. Here's something else. If you can persuade my family to ally themselves with you in marriage, any of my sisters might be able to find a way to do it."

“You think so?"

“The ability to use magic runs strong in the royal family. They're probably much more adept than I am."

“All the more incentive to make that alliance.” He sat back in his chair, looking more relaxed than he had since they'd begun the meal. “Lady Jinissa, I thank you again. You've given me far more than I'd expected to gain from you. I can't tell you how grateful I am."

“You've been rather generous yourself, your majesty."

“Not as generous as I'd like to be, my lady. With your permission, I'd like to give you something else, something I think you'll value even more. But it's going to take a bit of deception on both our parts for a brief time. Do you think you can manage it?"

Chapter Twenty-One

Jinny's stomach fluttered with nerves—not the same kind of nervousness she'd felt earlier when contemplating the imminent possibility of torture and death, but fear nonetheless. She tightened her grip on the king's arm as he led her down the hall and back to the royal audience chamber. He felt her tremors and patted her hand reassuringly. “It will work,” he said.

“But if it doesn't?” she asked.

“We'll try something else."

“No, your majesty. If this doesn't work, then I think it better to leave it be."

“I have to disagree, my lady. But I'll be bound by your wishes."

“Thank you."

They reached the doors to the chamber. “I'll summon you in a moment. Then just follow my lead,” he reminded her.

“Yes, your majesty."

She stepped out of the way when he pushed the doors open. She heard the guards inside the door make a loud banging noise. The buzz of laughter and conversation within stopped abruptly. In the ensuing silence, one of the guards intoned, “His Most Excellent Majesty, King Randell."

Clothing rustled, boots squeaked and joints groaned as the assembly genuflected or curtsied as the king went by. Then the guards shut the doors again and she heard no more.

She paced the hallway while she waited for her cue. It seemed an unreasonably long time before the doors cracked open and a pair of guards emerged. She hadn't met these men before.

“Lady Jinissa?” one of them asked. “The king said we were to wait three minutes before we go in."

She nodded. “How many people are in there?"

“It's not a large crowd tonight. Maybe fifty."

She sucked in a hard breath. “Fifty isn't a large crowd?"

“The room can hold several hundred, my lady."

“Does that happen often?"

“That there are so many people here?” He shrugged. “Not very. For special occasions, mostly."

The other guard came up and said, “Time."

The men positioned themselves on either side of her and took her arms as though she were a prisoner.

“Ready, my lady?” one asked.

“Ready.” Her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

The guard pushed open the door. Again, someone within banged a staff on the floor for attention. Her guard whispered to another, then the second guard announced, “The Lady Jinissa, as summoned by His Majesty, King Randell."

She'd never before had to walk so far with so many eyes on her. Jinny was grateful for the guard's grip on her. She wasn't sure she could have done it without their support.

She'd already picked out Stephan in the group. It wasn't hard since he was several inches taller than anyone else in the room other than the king. Her eyes met his across the throng of people. For a moment, she saw astonishment on his face as he absorbed her borrowed finery and Maline's handiwork with her hair. Then his face closed in on itself, and she could no longer read his expression. He didn't take his eyes off her, however.

She was surprised in turn by how incredibly wonderful he looked in the dress clothes of court. His dark green tunic, worn over a lighter green shirt and beige leggings, was plainer than most of the others present, with only a few subtle rows of embroidery at shoulders and throat, but all of his garments were of superb quality and fit his long, muscular frame to perfection. His black hair, combed smooth and pulled into a queue, shone from recent washing. She watched him as she walked forward, only dropping her eyes again when she passed where he stood.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps to the dais. The king descended one step, then halted above her.

“Lady Jinissa.” She wasn't surprised by his stern tone. “You come here before us, convicted of witchcraft and treason, sentenced to flogging, branding and execution for those crimes. We have spoken with you earlier, and you made no attempt to deny the truth of the charges. You did, however, provide circumstances to weigh in your favor. You are a noble lady, as well, and you have given us information that could be of great value. We are, therefore, moved to consider that some mercy is in order. In our judgment, the help you offered us counter-balances the accusation of treachery, and we therefore dismiss it."

A small hubbub of voices broke as he made the pronouncement. The king held up a hand, demanding and getting a return to quiet.

“We are, however, greatly concerned that you admit to using magic. We have been assured by people we trust that there is no taint of evil in you, and it is equally our own personal judgment this is true.” His face tightened into grim lines and his tone grew heavy and portentous on his next words. “However, as long as such power exists and can be controlled by an individual, there exists the possibility it could be used to our detriment. To the detriment of our country and our people. This is a risk we cannot lightly take. Though you wear a sigil to contain your power, we have no guarantee you'll not find a way to have it removed. Therefore, it is our determination that we must reluctantly order you executed at first light tomorrow, dispensing with all other penalties."

Another flurry of activity broke out, comments and exclamations of surprise and shock flying around the room, and one deep voice behind her quietly saying, “No,” with a combination of outrage and despair.

The king raised his hand, demanding order once again. “We are not finished!” He waited until the room was completely silent before continuing. “Despite the danger she represents, we personally believe the lady to be untainted and a potential ally to us. In fact, we believe she could bring great benefit to our reign were she properly guarded to ensure her power is restrained. Therefore, we would find a way to avoid the unpleasant necessity of executing her. If one of our trusted friends would come forward and offer a personal parole for this lady, agree to take custody of her and guard her, we believe it would be safe to commute the sentence of death. We would take it as a great favor to us personally and to our lands if one of our unmarried lords would accept the lady in marriage. She would make a worthy wife. She's of noble birth and, certainly, she's quite comely. We understand the risk and do not ask this boon lightly, but there are compensations, as well. Is anyone here so willing?"

For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke, and Jinny's heart turned over in her chest. Then the deep voice she'd never fail to recognize spoke up. “I am, your majesty."

Stephan stepped forward until he was standing beside her. So great was her relief, she felt faint. Stephan took her arm and held her steady. “I'll give my personal parole for the lady,” he repeated.

The king smiled at him. “If she is willing, would you take her as your wedded lady?"

“I would, your majesty."

“Lady Jinissa, would you take this man for your husband?"

“I would, your majesty."

“Then come forward and let us give you our royal blessing."

Stephan took her hand and together they knelt in front of the king. Randell came down two steps to stand in front of them and put a hand on each of their heads, silently praying over them. Then he bade them rise. Only Jinissa and the king himself heard Stephan say, very softly, “You've outdone yourself this time, Randy. Remind me never to underestimate the extent of your deviousness."

“I do what I can for my friends,” the king answered, just as quietly. “Be happy. I've never met two people who loved each other more—and more unselfishly—than you two."

He handed a small object to Stephan. Aloud this time for their rapt audience, the king said, “Go, now, with our blessing, and spend time alone together. Tomorrow, we'll meet to discuss the details of the wedding. And we thank you more than we can say for this service, Lord Stephan. We believe you will never have cause to regret this decision."

He nodded to them both and they turned to leave. As they walked back down the aisle, through the audience, to the doors at the far end of the hall, they heard a burst of laughter and cheers and applause behind them. Neither of them stopped for it, though.

Once they were outside and the doors closed behind them, they stopped and turned to each other. Stephan's face was serious and unsmiling. “Is this what you want, Jinny? Randy can be like a mountain wind, blowing all before him, when he wants to be. If this isn't what you want, tell me now, and I'll do what I can to get him to change his mind."

She looked up at him, studying his face with a possessive hunger she was finally free to indulge. She'd never get tired of watching him, of wanting to be close to him, talking to him, sharing with him. “It's what I want, Stephan. The only thing I do want. But what about you? If the king forced you into this..."

His face softened, and he laughed, a genuinely joyful sound. “The king went to a lot of trouble just now to give me what he knew I wanted, in a way that would ensure everyone at court understood just how much he approved.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard. “Had he not done so, some might have seen my marriage to you as a potential treason toward the king. None will dare question it now. Turn around."

“What...?"

His fingers fumbled at the back of her neck, pushing aside the ribbon, then freeing the lock on the sigil. He pulled the metal band off her.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “The king said you should keep me from doing just that."

“That's what he said for the court to hear. But Randy handed me the key in there. He trusts my judgement in this. And I trust you. I wouldn't have a wife who is only half herself, being bereft of so important a part of who she is."

“But the court will see..."

“The ribbon we'll leave in place. And they'll assume the sigil remains beneath it. You'll ensure they never have reason to question that. You can exercise your power in private but restrain yourself in public."

Jinny felt dizzy, dazed, with the impossible twists and turns the day had taken, and this final, unexpected, unbelievably wonderful ending to it. He leaned down to kiss her again. Their lips clung for a long time. “I can't believe this,” she said when they finally came up for air. “I didn't think I'd even be alive by now. This is..."

“What, love?"

“More than I ever dared hope for. Is it real? I'm not sure it can be. I'm afraid I'm dreaming."

He hoisted her into his arms and held her tightly against his chest. “It better be real. No one's ever going to take you from me again."

“I don't have much to bring you. I don't have anything at all. Even the clothes I'm wearing are borrowed."

“Things,” he scoffed. “I have enough for both of us. You've already given me everything I wanted and never thought to look for. But I'm so greedy for it, now, I'll never stop wanting more. Can you live with a demanding husband, who'll want you morning, noon, and night?"

“I can live with him,” she said, reaching up to touch his lips. “I wouldn't want to live without him. Stephan, you were willing to die for me. Will you live for me?"

“Willingly. Gladly. Every day of my life,” he answered.

“Then what are we doing wasting time in the hall?"

He carried her down miles of corridors to his chambers where he kicked the door closed behind them.