Violet and Verde Read online

  They soared up, and Ave turned in his arms, so that he was above her, still holding her, and her wings spread as well. Now, they flew as one, the action of their wings synchronized. It was even better than flying alone had been. But her wings trembled now, and her back was aching from shoulder to the bottom of her ribs, all along the line of her wing bases, where the muscles attached. Rak seemed to understand her predicament, because he forced them down, back onto Scorth’s back, and massaged her back until her spasming muscles finally relented and allowed her wings to furl.

  By the time she was feeling well enough to look around, Scorth had landed in a cave, probably one of the many dragon-dens that lined the plateau. Ave sat up and saw her suspicions confirmed.

  Scorth ambled forward, out of the mouth of the cave and into a sandy area that was probably his nest.

  Rak gathered Ave into his arms and leaped down before a protest could form on her lips. As soon as he landed, he set her down and said, “I did not want your wings to cramp further, m’lady. You need to rest the muscles after over-exerting them like that.”

  “Thank you,” she told him, trying to pack all her gratitude into those two simple words. Finding them insufficient to the task, she added, “That was the most incredible experience of my life. Thank you for that. Thank you both.”

  “You are welcome, of course,” said Rak, as he helped her over to the stone walkway that bordered the sandy nest.

  Scorth curled up in his sand with a gusty, meat-scented sigh.

  Rak led her further into the artificial cave, where another chamber opened into this one. The ceiling of this new chamber was much lower, though still comfortably high. She guessed that this was Rak’s quarters, though most Thezi riders had a cell in the temple as well.

  She liked the simplicity of the black oak furnishings, which reflected a spare, but elegant, style. The chamber wasn’t set up for entertaining either, for the sleeping area was merged with the living area with little differentiation between them. The bed was double width, which surprised her a little, for as a single man, what need did he have for the wider surface? There was a stuffed dark green leather chair that had seen better days, and a couch, equally battered, in dark grey leather. They faced a low black oak table across from a tall bookcase that was mostly filled with odd objects and tools rather than with books. There was a desk along the wall next to the bookcase, its surface clean but for a scant handful of scrolls, the inkpot and a small selection of quills. She also noticed a small pile of bleached white bones in the corner near the chair. She wondered about that but did not ask.

  “White or red?” Rak asked her as she sat on the couch.

  “Red, please,” she said.

  Rak opened a bottle and poured two glasses full of the standard Okyran red wine.

  He handed hers over before he sat down beside her. “This isn’t much,” he said quietly, “but it is very private. No one will overhear us here.”

  She sipped, savoring the sweet spiciness of the vintage, taking a moment to gather herself for what was to come. “I like you a lot,” she said frankly.

  Rak regarded her expressionlessly. “But?” he prompted, tone gentle.

  “My mother is worried about our friendship.” Ave sighed. “She thinks I’ll hurt you. After years of urging me to find a man, now she’s trying to warn me off one. You.”

  Rak’s elegant red eyebrow twitched, and Ave found herself admiring his profile again, even as he scoffed, “Your mother thinks that you will hurt me? Why ever for?”

  Ave caught and held his yellow-green gaze. “Because of what you once were…a Royal Dancer of Zoth.”

  “Oh,” he whispered, as his face drained of color. “That.” He hung his head and seemed to Ave’s eye to almost shrink in on himself. His wings drew up into a tight, unhappy knot, and he let the silence lengthen, the glass of untouched wine dangling loosely from his fingers.

  “I had no idea,” Ave said, suddenly in a rush to get it all off her chest. “My mother caught me unprepared and unaware. I hadn’t even known you’d been a slave, much less a Royal Dancer, much less the King’s Champion.”

  The wineglass fell from his hands and shattered on the stone floor. Wine and glass flew through the air to form an impact pattern that Rak ignored, even though some the shards of glass had cut him. “Yes, I was a Royal Dancer, a sword dancer,” he said finally. “And I was the King’s Champion, too. Does that bother you? The songs the minstrels sung…yes, I have heard them. Yes, I did those things. I did not want to, but I did do them.”

  “Why?” Ave asked. “Why flay your victims? What possible pleasure could there have been in that?”

  “Victims? Is that how you see them?” Rak looked up at that, a hint of fire in his eyes. “Each man I faced across those bloodied sands was a murderer at the very least, beasts in human form. Each one was tried by the Justicers, their guilt proven from their own minds and memories and condemned to die.”

  “The songs never mention that,” Ave said shakily. “But still, Rak, flaying them?”

  “At the king’s orders,” stated Rak flatly. “Only ever because that is what he commanded of me. Not because he thought to punish them, he knew as well as I that mad dogs, such as these men were, would learn nothing from what I did to them. But because he wanted the kin of their own victims to feel that justice had been done and that the brutal beast that had tortured, raped and murdered their loved ones had been made to suffer even a fraction of what their victims had.” Rak peeled off the couch, swiftly moving to the far side of the chamber, only to return a moment later with a handful of rags that he dropped on the spill of mingled crystalline daggers and blood-red wine.

  “I’m sorry,” Ave offered as she knelt down to help Rak clean up the mess. “I had no idea…but I said that already, didn’t I. I guess that was the worst part, that I didn’t know. You hadn’t told me. I felt a little betrayed that my mother knew, and I didn’t. If we’re going to have a relationship, it needs to be based on trust.”

  Rak set the fouled rags into a metal pail then spread sand over the area to soak up any remaining fluid.

  Ave touched his hand, trying to draw him out of the silent shell he’d locked himself into. It worked.

  He looked up, meeting her eyes briefly before glancing away. “That was a time in my life that I have tried very hard to forget. I did not tell you because I was hoping that you would like me for myself and not because you pitied me. I got enough of that when I first arrived here. Even now, I wonder if my brethren are nice to me because they feel sorry for me.”

  The pain in his voice melted her heart. She wrapped her arms around him and said, “Rak, I liked you before I found out. And I don’t think my feeling have changed in that regard.”

  Rak returned the hug, pulling her against him.

  The sensation of his hard, strong body pressed against hers made her knees feel weak, and she was suddenly grateful that she was already sitting down. Impulsively, she squirmed herself into his lap and snuggled against his upper body.

  They cuddled, speaking quietly of their hopes and dreams, until abruptly, Rak changed the subject. “There is something else I must tell you. Something you will need to know about me, and I pray this will not destroy our relationship.”

  “Tell me, Rak. Whatever it is, I am sure we can overcome it together.” Ave smiled at him, letting the burgeoning love she felt spill over into her expression and voice.

  “M’lady, I was a Royal Dancer.” He waited, clearly expecting her to understand this.

  “You told me that,” she said. “That isn’t an issue between us.”

  “But it is, m’lady. Dancers are, uhm, pleasure slaves, as well.”

  He’s cute when he blushes, thought Ave. “I know that. Everyone knows that.”

  Rak’s red eyebrows arched at her, but she didn’t get what he was driving at. She shrugged.

  He sighed. “Ave, I am…altered. I was given the potions, all of them. I cannot function with a woman without feeling pain.
And a woman, no matter how skilled or how much I care for her, a woman cannot relieve my fires.”

  “Oh,” she said, utterly surprised. “Oh! But then…why are we even seeing each other? You need a man, not me.”

  “Yes, but I want you. I think I love you, m’lady Ave.”

  “But if we can’t be together…the purpose of marriage is children, Rak.” She drew away, trying to mask her confusion and hurt.

  Rak caught her hands before she could escape. “It is not an insurmountable obstacle, m’lady. We can still be together. But you would have to…tie me down…and take charge.”

  “That sounds…intriguing,” said Ave with a shaky laugh. “But if I can’t relieve your slave fires, that means there will be someone else…”

  “There is, his name is S’Tyll, of the Kephi sect. He is a good man, Ave. I think you will like him.”

  “I don’t know, Rak. That’s a lot to take in and accept.” Ave succeeded in pulling away and stood up. “Can you take me back to the temple now?” She hoped the tears she was refusing to shed didn’t show in her voice.

  “Of course,” said Rak.

  * * * *

  Ave sat on a stool in the scriptorium, barefooted, with one foot curled around the wooden rungs of the stool and the other just dangling. There was a glass of red wine near to hand, for the rules the Movai imposed on novices didn’t apply to full priestesses like her. She was carefully copying an ancient spell written on a moldering parchment scroll and paying no attention to her surroundings.

  A light touch on the nape of her neck caused her to jump, furled violet wings sweeping open, sending loose papers flying as she emitted an undignified squawk of surprise.

  “Sorry about that,” said a mellow baritone voice full of wry amusement.

  She spun to face her attacker and saw nothing. Stiffening in rage, she cast out with her mage senses. Not directly before me, but perhaps there, off to the left…yes, there’s someone there, I’m certain of it. A moment of concentration, a whispered word and a simple gesture caused a fat spark of purple electricity to flash across the space between them and give whoever it was quite a jolt.

  “Ow!” said the baritone, his invisibility fading to reveal a Kephi, dressed in the black and amber of his sect, down to the concealing, full-face mask and gloves meant to hide his identity. Not a bit of skin or hair was visible, entirely by design, for the Kephi often went into Polemo, the very lair of the Unmaker, their God’s true enemy. “I should have known better than to play games with a mage,” he continued, his voice strangely cheerful for a man who’d just been shocked.

  “You must be S’Tyll,” said Ave crossly. “I hope you realize that your voice is so distinctive that it would be a dead giveaway. Why conceal your face but not your voice?”

  “I’m a Riverlands specialist,” said Tyll. After a moment, he pulled the mask off. “The thing’s such a bother, anyway.”

  Ave studied him. He was tall, handsome, with sandy light brown hair and appealing dark blue eyes. But his best feature had to be his voice. It was marvelous to hear, a liquid flow of honeyed tones, inflected just so. He was studying her in turn, so after a moment, she said, “So, you’re Rak’s lover, I hear.”

  “That’s right, I am.” There was no heat in Tyll’s voice. He was perfectly calm. “I first met Rak when he was still a dancer. I’ve been in love with him for years.”

  “Why are you here? To rub it in?” Ave’s ire was growing again. She scowled at him, hoping he’d take the warning and hoof it out of there before her temper exploded into further displays of electrical ability.

  Tyll shook his head. “No, not at all. I’m here to ask you not to throw away what you have with Rak.”

  “What I have with him? What do I have with him? Nothing, that’s what. Because he has you already. He doesn’t need me.”

  “You’re wrong, he does need you, Ave. He’s in love with you. He spent half the day crying on my shoulder, I’ll have you know, because he thinks he’s lost you. Because of his past, what was done to him. The potions.”

  “But—”

  “And I can’t marry him, Ave,” Tyll continued, cutting across her budding protest. “The purpose of marriage is children. I’m Kephi, I’m away more than I’m here. He’s Thezi, a member of the dragonwings. We’re both in fighting sects. How can we adopt when we are not here to see to the children we’ve taken responsibility for?”

  “Enough,” she snapped, purple tracings of power skittering across her hands. To her relief, he stopped immediately. Tentatively, she asked, “You won’t mind? Really? If Rak and I were a couple?”

  Tyll shook his head. “Not so long as I wasn’t shut out of Rak’s life. Besides…look at it this way…you’d have a lover in him on your terms. When you wanted it and no more.”

  Although Ave rolled her eyes, that did have some appeal. She’d heard some of the other priestesses complaining about how their mates always wanted it at the worst possible times. And Rak’s wings were tesserine, like hers, a sign of the Loftoni royal bloodline. Nobody in their right mind would object to their union. Rak was, in a word, perfect for her.

  As she ruminated on her relationship with Rak, intent on exploring her feelings, Tyll settled down on a stool, glanced about furtively then pulled a small lyre out from under his robe. He plucked a string, adjusted a knob then struck up a soft, plaintive melody.

  As she glanced up, feeling her eyes widening, he burst into song. The power of his voice shook her, then swept her mind far away.

  Through the power of his music, she saw the ancient, creamy marble buildings of Zoth. She flew over green hills until she came to the magnificent structure that could only be the Aroz palace. Guided by Tyll’s gift, she floated into the palace, unseen, a ghost, visiting the reconstructed past. She entered the great hall, and as she’d guessed she would, she saw Rak dance. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

  The vision shattered into a million pieces as an irate Movai grabbed Tyll’s lyre and hissed, “Silence in the scriptorium.”

  Ave busied herself with cleaning up her station as Tyll apologized to the glaring monk, eventually convincing him that he intended no further disruption to the sanctity of the sacred scriptorium. Once the Movai had walked off, still muttering about fool music-making Kephi, she turned to Tyll and said, “No wonder your voice is so distinctively lovely. You’re a bard.”

  Tyll inclined his head gravely, but his boyish grin ruined the effect.

  Ave found herself warming to him, he who was her competition for Rak. With a start, she realized that she actually liked the man. She offered him a hand. “I will see Rak tonight, speak to him. Perhaps we should have dinner together?”

  Delighted, Tyll swept her up into a rib-cracking hug that only relented when she squeaked for mercy.

  * * * *

  It was only a few nights later when Ravinia waylaid Ave coming out of the circular chamber the mages used for major workings. “Ave,” she said, in a patently hearty tone of voice. “You haven’t been to see your family in far too long. How about tonight, after mass, you join us for supper?”

  “What are you planning, Mother?” Ave knew her mother wouldn’t be inviting her just because she missed her daughter. Ravinia did fiercely love her children, but she had never been very motherly and had almost seemed relieved as her offspring left home, one by one, to enter the novitiate and forge their own careers in the temple.

  “Uncle Torel may not have told you, but there’s a new family in from Loftos. They have a son, Baedel. I was thinking you might like to meet him. He’s only two years younger than you are.”

  “Mother, I am already seeing Rak tonight,” Ave said firmly. “I’m going to ask him to marry me.”

  “Marriage? Ave! He hasn’t even met the family or asked permission to court you.”

  “He did ask permission. Of me. I don’t need your or father’s or the family’s permission to follow my heart.”

  “Rak’s male-obligate,” Ravi said in a hard voice. “He can’t li
e with a woman without feeling pain. He also has a lover, the Kephi S’Tyll. Even if you love him, even if he professes to love you, odds are you will never be anything but second best to him. Is that the mate, the life, you want? Oh, daughter…you could do so much better. Come to dinner and meet Baedel. You’ll see.”

  “No, Mother. I won’t. And I like Tyll almost as much as I like Rak!” Ave turned on a heel and stalked off, fuming. How dare her mother try to dictate who she could marry! And asking permission of the family to court her? How incredibly archaic!

  * * * *

  Ave stood scowling at the noncompliant heap of fabric. She had been trying to set the spells into this blasted tent for half the night, and for some reason, they just wouldn’t take. Rak was a welcome distraction.

  He gently rested a hand on her shoulder, murmuring, “M’lady, did you forget that we were to meet this evening?”

  Ave leaned back against him, sighing. “I’m sorry, Rak. I did forget, thanks to this dragon-blasted, night-cursed tent that won’t take a simple spell!”

  Rak eyed the heap of fabric dubiously. “Hmm. Are you certain that it is a tent, m’lady? It does not look like one.”

  Ave scowled at the tent. “Of course I’m sure! What else could it be?”

  Rak poked at it with a finger. “It looks more like the jackets that we use to keep the baby basilisk from hurting each other than a tent, m’lady.”

  Ave’s eyes widened, and she could feel the heat of her face as it turned red. She reached for the tent and began to spread out the folds of the bundled fabric. Quickly, she discovered that Rak was right. Although it had been folded to look like a tent, it wasn’t. It was indeed a basilisk jacket. “That’s it,” she snarled. “I can’t take this any longer!” She stomped off without a word, leaving Rak bemusedly studying the jacket.

  * * * *

  Ave returned to the lesser workroom to find Rak pretty much where she’d left him. She smiled at the way he hastily backed away from a shelf, as if he hadn’t been peering at its contents. “Well, I’m taking the rest of tonight off, having wasted a great deal of power trying to get a basilisk jacket to think it’s a tent. And the young acolyte responsible for this prank is roasting nicely over the coals of S’Tanyl’s rage.”