Swan Star Read online

  He stood insolently, thumbs in the wide leather belt at his waist. He regarded her with so much amusement in the depths of his dark eyes that her shock gave way to an embarrassment that set her cheeks aflame.

  “I’m not frightened,” she said with what dignity she could summon.

  “Oh?” he said, one dark brow lifted with disbelief.

  She felt like a child caught in an untruth, and it irritated her. She was not a child, but a woman and would be treated as such. So, in an attempt to rectify the situation, she said more honestly, “I was a little uneasy. ’Tis all new to me.”

  “Indeed it must be. Would you like me to show you about?” He took his hands from his belt and straightened up.

  “Aye. I had hoped to find a passageway to the open air. I cannot sleep indoors. I never have.”

  “Never?” he said again with the same doubt.

  “Never,” she repeated. “Must I have a man’s voice for you to believe me?”

  He grinned at that. “Nay, it’s just that you are different.”

  “Truth, I am different from you…and you are different from me. Shall we draw swords and fight over our differences?”

  Now he laughed outright. “Milady, you are in ill temper.”

  “That I am,” she admitted.

  “Do you think that men fight each time they do not agree?”

  “From the tales I’ve heard, it seems so.”

  His face sobered. “If that is what you believe about men, then I think ’tis your good fortune that I’ve taken you under my wing—”

  She gave him a hard stare and interjected, “It’s more the way that you’ve taken my wings.”

  “Ah…so we’re back to that already.”

  “We never left.”

  He leaned closer, put his hands on her shoulders and said quietly, “Let’s leave off for tonight. What say I show you my castle and tell you whatever you wish to know about the world of men…and you in turn tell me of the realm of Myr.”

  Again, he was the paragon of courtliness. He stood so close that for one disturbing moment, Arrah could not answer or even breathe properly. She remained still under his touch, wondering all the while why she felt such excitement at his proximity. Aye, she should ask him. But what if it was just her own nervousness and had nothing to do with him.

  She looked at him, at his rugged face and firm lips, his dark eyes warm as firelight; and she felt the strength of his hands on her shoulders and remembered when she had first faced him on the lochshore. Aye, she did want to know more…not so much about men, but about him.

  “I’m in agreement. Yet…” She thought to bargain a little. “If I’m to stay here more than this night, I’ll have my chambers be the open air of your courtyard and my pallet on the upper landing of a castle tower.”

  “You’ve only to ask, milady.” He dropped his hands and gave a slight bow. “Follow me,” he requested, and stepped around her. Taking the keys from his waist, he sorted through them and then put one into the lock mouth. The hinges groaned, and the sound caused Arrah’s breath to slow a pace.

  The candlelight easily exposed a circular chamber with ceiling-high shelves lined with parchment scrolls and a table on which sat glass crockery for the distilling of essences. She supposed it a workroom of sorts. A dank smell seemed to creep toward her like a faint mist, enveloping her in a stifling melancholy. Tears welled in her eyes, and that empathic sense in her knew that this chamber held a profound sorrow within its confines.

  She watched him cross the room.

  “And what do you think so far?” His words echoed oddly off the chamber walls.

  “What do I think of what?” she asked, not following because she was listening more to the unspoken than the spoken.

  “Of Rhune Castle.” He had opened a small lancet window, and the draw of air caused the candle to go out.

  In the same instance, something cold touched the back of her neck. She twirled about, but in the dark saw nothing. Though the presence, whatever it was, did not seem malevolent, her heart was beating at a ferocious pace.

  She saw a flash, and soon the room was again aglow with a light that the mage held in his hand. With curiosity, she narrowed the distance between them. In the center of his palm he held a luminous sphere.

  “Here, you may hold it.”

  He put the sphere into her hand. The outside felt cold and soft. “What is it?”

  “An ancient taper. I found it in a cave across the loch, where they spawn upon the wall like glass baubles. You’ve only to rub your hands together and the heat causes it to light. Have you ever seen one in Myr?”

  “No. We’ve faerie lights, but they are different than this.”

  “It stays alight for many hours. So,” he continued, “I’m still wondering what you think of Rhune Castle.”

  She sighed and began, “’Tis not a pleasant place to be. I had expected more than haunted chambers and dour-faced warriors whose hearts are closed to any measure of feeling.”

  His features shifted into mock offense. “Not a pleasant place to be? Lady, you insult my Fianna, my person and my abode.”

  “You asked and I spoke honestly.”

  “Take a moment to reconsider. Mayhap you were too harsh—”

  “—or too honest,” she interjected.

  He studied her closer, the dark eyes never wavering as he looked.

  She returned his gaze steadily, finding herself wholly puzzled. Something about his face held her, something in the lean, irregular features which might be handsome or ugly. There was an uncompromising blend of the two, giving him the appearance of ungentled ruthlessness.

  “Have you seen enough?” he finally asked.

  Coming to herself, she said, “Forgive me for staring.”

  “Now we are even,” he said with a half-laugh.

  She stepped back. “I must confess that this is the only castle I’ve been inside and that you are the first man I’ve seen. I have nothing to compare you or the castle with.”

  “Lady, you make excuses now. I shall let it pass, but in the future be more circumspect in your criticisms.”

  She was not sure what he meant. “First you tell me not to question, now not to criticize. Am I to hold my tongue and never speak?”

  “Nay, speak as you will, but so none will take offense,” he advised.

  “’Tis only you who takes offense,” she declared.

  Something shifted in his features. He did not like her open speaking, for he was used to being in control. She looked at him, at his dark eyes and firm mouth; indeed, his face was as craggy as granite cliffs. Aye, but there was vulnerability in him as well as strength.

  Studying him thoughtfully, she remembered asking Terwen about men, and her answer had been, “Each man is a riddle unto himself.” Well, she had always loved riddles, and the one standing before her was proving to be challenge enough. Aye, like he had said, he was many men in one.

  “I owe you an apology,” she amended. “It would be unwise to cause offense, especially to the Mage of the Dragon’s Mouth.” And then, with a touch of mischief in her voice, she said, “I have no wish to end up a wart on a toad’s back.”

  Her jest dispelled the tension between them.

  He smiled at her, and she watched the tiny flames spring to instant life in his eyes. “In truth, you would be the fairest wart that ever appeared upon a toad’s back. Come, now, Arrah of Myr, and let me take you for a walk upon the battlements of my castle.” He took the sphere from her hand and set it carefully upon a small pedestal.

  The mage led her down a short passageway. She was glad to leave the room, for she felt an uneasy presence there. It was haunted. Indeed, all the castle was haunted.

  He opened a narrow door that brought them to the tower walk.

  “Take your ease, milady,” he said with a grand sweep of his arm. “Consider my entire fortress at your disposal—lifeless as it may be.”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, she breathed in the fresh air and sighed. “Oh, ’tis refreshing after the closeness inside.” She leaned out over the parapet and took in the full expanse of the forested mountains and the yawning loch below. “Aye, we’re high up!” she exclaimed.

  “You cannot be afraid of heights,” he said.

  “Only when I have no wings.” She laughed, and moved across the walkway to see the other side.

  He followed her, standing near. “Tell me…What is it like to fly so high one might touch the stars?”

  “Do you not know?” She turned her gaze away from the loch and back to him.

  He shook his head. “’Tis not within my ken. In that regard I am more my father’s race than my mother’s.”

  “Beway…” she began. His words had stunned her. “Until this moment I have never thought about what it would be like not to fly. Did you take my feather skin in hopes of flying yourself?”

  He seemed on the verge of laughing, but he did not. “Nay, the thought never entered my mind.”

  “Then why?”

  He scratched his chin. “I’m still wondering myself.”

  His face was swarthy in the moonlight. He stood looking at her, and slowly the world seemed to recede into the vast and breathless silence of heaven. All faded away—there were no sounds from below, no faint rustle of wind in the trees—and Arrah remembered the strange moment she had first seen him by the loch, when her heart had missed a beat.

  He put out his hand and pushed aside a wayward lock of hair beside her cheek. She did not move, for all will had left her at his touch. Then he held her chin and lifted her face to his.

  “I’m told there is bewitchment in the kiss of a swan maiden,” he said quietly.

  “’Tis true,” she answered, low.

  “That is the pity. If not, I would kiss you.”

  She wanted his kiss as she had never wanted anything before. For that kiss she would have ransomed not only her swan skin, but her soul.

  His hand dropped to his side and he took a step back. “Come, there is more to see. Where to first? You may choose. The stables, kitchen or armory? Wherever your fancy leads.”

  Her fancy led to his face; the only place she wished to explore was his mouth. But she dared not say it. “Take me where you wish. I’ll follow.”

  He put out his hand to take hers.

  They walked along the battlement together, and he did not release his hold. Arrah knew in some way that he had captured more than her feather skin and that she must go wherever that strong hand led, no matter what befell her.

  “Rhune Castle is very ancient. None know how it was built or by whom. Mayhap it grew out of granite rock through sorcery,” he said as they approached the adjacent tower. “Three towers form its heart. There’s the tower of the dragon’s claw, the one we just left.” He pointed behind them. “Then there’s the tower of the dragon’s fire, beyond…and here before us is the tower of the dragon’s fang.”

  Arrah turned her head to glimpse the towers. All three were connected by the battlement walkways and loomed darkly above them.

  “In my childhood, I lived here alone, yet I do not fully know its every step and corridor. Rooms come and go. Doorways often disappear. Within its bowels, ’tis ever changing.”

  “Does anyone become lost?”

  “All the time. ’Tis a hazard of living here. But none have come to harm, and most are the better for the adventure.” He opened the tower door for her to pass through. “If you find yourself lost, the secret is to always climb an upward path and keep taking any intersect of corridor marked by the twining dragon heads.”

  Still holding her hand, he began down the spiral stairs. She near lost her balance, not being used to steps, especially when taken so quickly.

  “Hold tight, take three steps at a time and trust me not to let you fall. I’ll show you my way of flying,” he chuckled.

  She did as he asked. Down, down he leaped ahead of her, his footsteps swift, ever on the edge, but never out of control. It was not long before she became dizzy, her feet merely dusting the steps. Suddenly, he let go of her hand and caught her up upon his back. Faster and faster, he carried her downward on his broad shoulders. Excitement washed over her. She liked the feel and vibrancy of him.

  She saw the door coming head-on and squealed aloud. But he halted short. She was breathless and he was laughing as he dropped her to her feet.

  Her knees buckled, but he caught her in his arms and held her close to him. Trying not to fall, she leaned into him. He felt hard and soft at once. Her cheek brushed against his; his skin chafed hers. Aye, it was rough like bark or sandstone. Pulling back, she lifted her fingers to explore his chin, then irrepressibly, she traced his lips.

  His eyes locked upon hers and his large hand captured her fingers. “I’m not a green lad. You’ll not seduce me with your netherworld charms and bewitchments.” Then he grinned as his thumb nuzzled open her fingers and he touched a soft kiss to her palm.

  He might as well have breathed fire into her, for the heat of his kiss traversed into her very heart. In the beginning by the loch she had not chosen him, but now…

  “Come, you shall meet the Fianna and see the great hall.” He sidestepped away from her and shouldered open the door.

  She did not move at first—she could not. So much in her was a tremble of emotion and fire and wanting…Now, she understood why she was discontent in Myr and what had driven her out into the world of men this midsummer’s eve. It was Traeth of Rhune, the Mage of the Dragon’s Mouth, she’d come to find.

  “Don’t be frightened, the Fianna are harmless in their own lair.”

  She did not believe him, but stepped through the threshold into the anteroom that was a transit passage between the hall and the spiral stair.

  Talking ceased and heads turned when she and Traeth entered the hall. Still breathless, she was scarcely ready to be appraised by a roomful of curious men. Some were playing a dice game on the floor before the hearth, and a dozen or so others lounged about polishing scabbards and shields.

  Arrah’s eyes widened. Hearths in the shape of giant, stone dragons flanked each end of the hall. A smoldering fire burned in each gaping mouth. Tapestries hung on the walls above swords, shields and other weaponry of battle. A shiver crept down her spine when she spied human and animal skulls placed about the hall as lanterns. Beway, she thought, they must drink the blood of their enemies from the silver goblets lining the tables.

  “My Fianna,” Traeth said. “I present to you the lady Arrah of Myr.”

  Parting themselves from the others, two men, dressed much like Traeth in leather tunics and leggings, came forward and bowed.

  “I am Dath Bright Spear,” said one. Arrah was fascinated by the black, braided beard hanging like a long tail from his chin.

  “Our enemies have offered a bounty of gold for the head and fine beard of Dath Bright Spear,” said Traeth.

  “’Tis a gruesome thing for them to do,” said Arrah, unabashedly.

  “I agree, milady,” said Dath, bestowing a flashing smile upon her.

  The other called himself Enwir, Malicious in Battle. He looked very fierce indeed. His muscled arms hung by his sides like two great clubs.

  Carne the Aged stepped from behind Enwir and took her hand. “I am honored once again, lady swan,” he said.

  “Do not be misled by his good manners,” warned Traeth. “He’s the canniest old wizard within the five kingdoms when it comes to guile and craft.”

  “I do believe you,” agreed Arrah, but she smiled as she said it.

  “And there is Fergus Dry Lips, a scoundrel’s scoundrel,” Traeth said, moving on. “And before the hearth you must not miss Camlan the Unsmiling. He is the heartthrob of every maid who lays eyes upon him,” declared Traeth.

  It was not Camlan the Unsmiling who caught Arrah’s eye, but the crouching form at his feet. Her heart leaped. Sib! There was her sister Sib.

  In the moment their eyes locked in recognition, Traeth said, “And here is another vagabond of this enchanted night. I cannot say from where or why she’s come. But she shadows our Camlan with more devotion than a hound in heat.”

  Neither she nor Sib dared say a word. Arrah realized that the worst had happened. In the most vulnerable of phases before chrysalis, Sib had encountered the man Camlan and imprinted on him. This meant her heart, her fealty and her person would be wholly fixated on Camlan. Everywhere he went she would follow. Such a bonding was rare, because most swan maidens never left Myr to encounter men until after chrysalis. She would be his servant or slave…whatever he chose. He had no need to capture her feather skin.

  Camlan the Unsmiling was not without gallantry, and he gave Arrah a slight bow. However, she saw no compassion in his handsome face for little Sib. He considered her a nuisance, to be sure, and at her wretched stage of life she would be.

  “She might serve as lady’s maid to you, if we can pry her from Camlan’s heels,” offered Traeth.

  “Aye! I will need a friend here,” said Arrah, so quickly that Traeth’s eyes narrowed quizzically.

  She walked over to the hearth and stooped down on bent knee. “Did you hear? The mage says you are to be with me now.”

  Sib frowned at her.

  Arrah came very close to scolding her outright. It was no time for her to be stubborn. “’Tis for your own good,” she said.

  Sib looked away.

  In her innocence, Sib had no idea of the predicament she’d put herself into. The sooner they escaped the better. Yet Arrah knew that escape was far from Sib’s mind.

  Mayhap it was her own frayed nerves, or Sib’s undisguised stubbornness, but Arrah was in no mood to beg or plead. “You come with me,” she insisted.

  “Do you not hear?” said Camlan, reaching out his fingers and catching Sib in an ear pinch. He pulled her to her feet and with a cuff on the side of her head thrust her toward Arrah. “Go with her!” he ordered.

  Traeth protested, “Now, don’t be too heavy-handed with her.”

  Arrah was taken back by Camlan’s meanness. He had struck her sister. She stood very still and glared at him. He returned her stare, and she felt his contempt like a tangible thing. Not intimidated by his arrogance, she gave him one last look, then turned back to Sib.