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.She was lost in a maelstrom of internal conflict, primitive and compelling, and she struggled to find some way to impose order upon it so that she might regain control of the situation.But the ikati was equally determined.No man should have access to her until he had proved himself, according to the patterns of courtship that ruled her species.So Siderea cast herself back into memory, remembering the night of Nasaan’s conquest, grasping at shadows of confluence.All about her the battle rages.Warriors with their lances and horses and swords sweep past her, each one fighting for his own life as well as for a cause.The sound of it is deafening: cries of challenge from all directions, weapons crashing against shields, the squealing of horses in pain.The violence surrounds her like an ocean tide, and she holds it at bay with a single thought, allowing the energy of battle to envelope her but not allowing the warriors themselves to come near.Not far away is Nasaan.How fierce he is, and how fearless! She watches as his sword thrusts into the side of an enemy warrior, releasing a gush of steaming blood.Never mind that her power has weakened the enemy warriors so that they stand no chance against him.He did not know that would be the case when he first charged headlong into their ranks.It is the offering, the intended sacrifice, that matters.He is fighting for us, she thinks to her consort.Not that he thinks of it in those terms, of course.To his mind this is just about winning a city, a piddling desert kingdom that could have fit inside Sankara’s walls with room to spare.But Siderea has made herself into a greater prize.He is fighting for her.All of these men are fighting for her, allies and enemies alike, and blood will flow in rivers as proof of their passion, while she looks on.Feeling their energy flow into her from all sides, heating her blood, stirring instincts the young ikati mind does not know how to respond to—Somewhere in the distance the young queen keened in pleasure.The vision that Siderea had summoned clearly resonated within the ikati.Oh, yes, it resonated.Blood was being shed for her.Males were fighting over her.The blood of the weakest would water the earth, while the offspring of the strongest would hatch.It would all begin at her call, and no male would be allowed to touch her who had not felt the madness take root in his flesh, who had not run that terrible gauntlet—Nasaan has, Siderea thought to her.The statement hung suspended in the air for a moment, as a wave of sensation that should have been pleasure crested in Siderea’s flesh.Her fingers grasped Nasaan’s hair, encouraging his ardor, but her mind was elsewhere.And then the response came, at last.He is worthy.And her wings beat in pleasure against the sunlight as surrenderd herself to the moment.Chapter 8GWYNOFAR ARRIVED just as Karmandi’s ambassador was heading out the door of the audience chamber.The High King had ordered a flagon of ale to wash the stale taste of politics out of his mouth, and he was going over the maps his visitor had left behind when a servant announced his mother’s entrance.He could tell immediately from her expression that some weighty issue was on her mind.Or perhaps it was from something other than her expression.He had developed an uncanny ability to read her mood lately, and he suspected that was because of the mystical connection they’d shared the day she sat upon the Throne of Tears, the day she had acted as a metaphysical conduit for all those of lyr heritage.That connection had never completely faded.Which would explain a number of strange things.“Mother.” He nodded a greeting to her and gestured for a servant to collect the maps and then leave the chamber.He had never become completely comfortable with the royal habit of allowing servants to overhear his personal business.“Are you busy?” she asked.Always polite.“Never too busy for you.” He brushed a stray lock of hair back from his face.“Not that I wouldn’t have welcomed a distraction five minutes ago.”“Karmandi?”He nodded.“Territorial dispute?”He chuckled darkly.“Nothing that burning down a forest or two wouldn’t solve.”“Your father would have done that in a heartbeat, were it necessary.”“As will I, if it becomes necessary.”“Yes.” A strange, guarded smile spread across her face.“I do believe you would.”He picked up his flagon as the servant gathered up the last of the maps.“I am not as soft as you feared, then.”“You are not as soft as anyone feared, my son.”He took a deep drink of the ale, shutting his eyes for a moment as he tried to open himself up to the emanations of power surrounding her.Ever since her return to the palace he had sensed them about her, though they never took concrete enough form for him to give them a name.Sometimes late at night, on the edge of sleep, he thought he could detect them seeping out from her bedchamber, like dreams that had gone astray.Shadows of forgotten memory, hints of half-formed visions.Trying to grasp hold of the ephemeral images was like trying to capture the breeze in one’s hand.Was it a significant phenomenon, worth the time and effort that would be required to decipher it? Or was he simply sensing residual impressions from the Throne of Tears, a dying echo of the power she had once channeled to his entire bloodline? He had not yet managed to sort it all out in his mind.And he was not comfortable discussing it with her—or with anyone—until he did.“I never did thank you for maintaining my shrine,” she said.Her words startled him back to the present moment.My shrine.By that she meant the bloodstained monstrosity in the courtyard.Not that it was bloodstained any longer.The first thing he’d done when she left for Kierdwyn was to have the thing scrubbed down, ten times over, until all evidence of her idolatrous offerings had been erased.It was the least he could do to ease his religious conscience.He’d really wanted to remove the thing entirely, but respect for his mother had overridden Penitent tradition.The mere knowledge that such an idolatrous thing existed within his home was a constant thorn in his side.but she was family.And besides, the faith of his forefathers was not entirely delusional, as the Penitents had once believed, but had turned out to be anchored in ancient truths [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]