Twelve
"What do you think you're doing?" gasped Cassandra.
"Showing you the pleasure of my magic."
She knew that as soon as she looked at him she would fall under his spell and would not be able to resist him. And she'd tried very hard to keep her back to him, to shy from his touch. Not that she blamed Dominic for the sins of his father, but she felt as if she needed some distance from him to settle her beliefs with what he'd shown her.
But when he'd astonished her with that intimate touch of his magic, she could not suppress her reaction. And now she could only stare at his beautiful face and body and feel every fiber of her being long for him.
He smelled like starlight. Faith, he'd created a starry night above her, small flickers of yellow diamonds atop the wooden ceiling of their bed. But those stars kept falling as his fingers wove a pattern in the air. Falling to land on her exposed skin.
His midnight eyes reflected those tiny specks of light, his beautiful brow furrowed in concentration as he orchestrated their dance. The rest of his face retained its usual smooth calm, his full lips set in a soft line, the rigid planes of his cheeks and jaw arranged in that ethereal composure of his.
But when she looked back into his eyes she noticed the subtle difference. They shimmered with a warmth that made her heart melt, that made her want to reach out to him and apologize for her earlier indifference.
But she could not speak, could not move other than to wriggle beneath the onslaught of his magic. As soon as she'd flipped over he'd rained more of his yellow flames down upon her. She'd watched them fall, anticipated their gentle, warm touch with an arch of her back that she could not suppress. Her breasts had been covered with tiny yellow diamonds, except for her nipples, which felt coldly neglected in comparison. Flames danced across her stomach, burrowed into her belly button, skimmed down the length of her legs, and curled about her toes. Each flame brought warmth and the lightest of touches. Lighter than a feather swept across her skin. And yet they did not tickle… Fie, she could not describe the way they felt. She could only feel. Thousands of caresses that soothed and titillated all at the same time.
Her scalp tingled from their weaving in her hair, from their strokes along the strands of it. Her mouth trembled beneath the warm flow against her lips. She wiggled her fingers and felt the flames move with her, pulsating around her fingertips and brushing across her palms.
Cassandra tore her gaze away from Dominic's and glanced down at her body. Merciful heaven, she glowed with fire. Her entire body writhed with it, and it should have frightened her.
"Look at me," he commanded, and she could not refuse him. Could not help losing herself in the bottomless depths of his dark eyes. He glowed golden in the reflected light, the muscles in his broad shoulders rippling as he continued to sweep his fingers over her body.
And then he smiled at her. With such tender passion that Cass could not help smiling back at him. And when she raised her arms above her head in absolute surrender, his smile grew wider. Triumphant.
Fire licked up her underarms and set her to quivering again. And suddenly tiny warm flames entered every crevice of her body. Her ears warmed from the inside. Her lips parted and tendrils stroked the insides of her cheeks, curled around her tongue. She blew out a breath of flame and tossed her head, for the fire had curled between her legs, filled the space between them, a gentle pressure that drove her mad for want of more. It filled her up, but so gently and teasingly that she could not help—
"Look at me."
She'd forgotten he would not allow her to look away from him. He wanted to see the pleasure in her eyes, as if it somehow brought him the same. And indeed, he looked just as maddened as she felt.
Thousands of gentle caresses with only two areas exposed to the cold night air. When the heat finally came to her nipples, to the nub of pleasure between her curls, she could no longer suppress a moan. Some of the flames stroked her; some whorled so fast they created a vortex that plucked at her skin, making her flesh rise higher and higher.
Dominic's eyes had become fierce. She reached out a hand to him and he clasped it, flames dancing between their entwined fingers. And when the spasms shook her body, he held her rooted to the earth, and when her moans threatened to turn into screams, he leaned down and covered her mouth with his own, taking her cries into his lungs while he continued to weave his magic.
Her pleasure lasted forever. Her pleasure lasted but a moment.
Cass had never felt anything like it before. Hadn't imagined such wonders of feeling aroused in her body.
Dominic pulled away from her. The yellow flames suddenly died, plunging her into cold and darkness.
And she realized it hadn't been enough.
"Dominic."
"I'm here." She felt the bed move, but he did not touch her.
"You have proven your point. Magic can be wonderful. But…"
She heard his intake of breath, the shaky release of it. Had her pleasure affected him so strongly, then?
"But I need more," she continued. "I need you."
And suddenly the heat of his body covered her, so much stronger than the tiny flecks of his magic. She reveled in the heavy feel of him between her legs, in the firm press of his lips against hers, and then the heat of his breath against her ear.
"Demanding wench, aren't you?"
Cass answered by wrapping her legs about his waist and pulling him unerringly into her. Ah, this was the pressure she'd craved, the feel her body had trembled for. She reached up and wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers again.
He made a strangled sound and ground his lips atop hers, a pleasure-pain that made her tug at his hair and tighten her legs about him. She knew she'd taken him by surprise when she'd guided him so quickly into her, and she didn't want to give him a chance to recover. She pressed against him, not allowing him to pull out of her, deeper and deeper until he shuddered, plunging his tongue into her mouth as his own release rocked him, his groan of surprise muffled by her lips.
Something wonderful spread deep within Cassandra, a flow of warmth much stronger than magic. She held him to her with a strength she hadn't known she possessed. And in that moment her soul accepted his own as a part of her, and she knew she'd never be able to separate herself from him again.
Dominic rolled off her, taking her with him, so they lay on their sides facing each other, one of her legs still wrapped around his hip. Cass kept her hands twined in his hair, felt his breath stir the top of her head and the slight pressure of his chin, which rested upon it. She did not want to move. She wanted to stay like this forever, allow the happiness that filled her to stay a little while, for she'd never expected to feel such joy. Had never expected she'd fall in love with the elven lord's son.
Or that he might care for her in turn.
But she had to get up to brew the herbs that prevented pregnancy. For just a moment she allowed herself to think of what it might be like to conceive a child with him and felt such a fierce sort of joy it astonished her. She hadn't thought herself capable of such a feeling.
"Dominic?"
"Mmm," he replied, sounding half-asleep. Cass knew how much using her own bit of magic drained her, befuddling her mind afterward and sapping her body of strength. He must be so very tired after wielding the greater power he had at his disposal, despite his stronger elven blood.
But she had to ask.
"What will happen if we have a child?"
"You mean when."
He sounded so arrogant it made her smile. "All right then… when. If the child possesses this black fire as you fear you might, what will we do?"
He stiffened, disentangled himself from her arms, and rolled onto his back.
"We cannot give our child to your father," she continued. "Now that we know about—"
"Do not speak of it. Not within these walls."
Fire appeared in his hands, but not the warm flare of yellow and, fortunately, not the burning heat of red. Balls of orange flame rolled along his palms, lighting up the confines of their bed, the stiff beauty of his face.
Cass pulled the covers over her and propped herself up on an elbow. Despite the fact that the orange fire could burn her or the bedding, she had complete confidence in his ability to control it. To protect her from it. A very odd feeling for a girl who had been taught to rely on no one but herself.
Dominic made no move to cover his own nakedness and she guiltily felt glad. She could look at the beauty of his perfect form for years and never tire of it. But since she didn't have years, she tried to make up for it by drinking in the sight of him with desperate intensity.
Despite the stern look upon his face, he still resembled a Roman statue, with his long, smooth nose and full lips, the high cheekbones and square jaw. But his hair did not curl like the busts she'd seen; indeed, it lay thick and straight down his head, a luxurious fall curving over his broad shoulders and flowing down to his ridged abdomen.
Cass leaned over and twisted a hank of it about her fist, marveling at the silver glow that shimmered from the strands.
"I will fight him then," he finally said, "and as usual, it will be my father's whim whether I live or die."
She loosed his hair. "Then I will be at your side."
Dominic tossed the fireballs in the air, his midnight eyes reflecting the orange flecks of color in crystal glitters. "You and what army?"
"We don't need an army, Dominic. We will have God with us."
He glanced at her in surprise, the fire suspended in midair, twirling like small dervishes. "You still cling to your faith? After what I have shown you?"
Cass set her mouth in a stubborn line.
"Devil a bit, woman. If this God of yours exists, why would he allow such atrocities to happen?"
"Because he gave us free will. Do not blame the devil's actions on him… and do not try to debate theology with me. You shall lose."
"Indeed?" The orange flames shifted to yellow and danced up to the bed's ceiling again, swirling across the top of it like ribbons of golden light. "We could talk all night and I'd still call you a fool."
She could hear the anger, the bitterness in his voice. Her mouth softened and she put her hand over his heart. "You shall see. God will help us win."
He spoke again, and this time she heard the despair. The pain of a man who had felt abandoned for far too long. "Damn it, Cassandra, what has your God ever done for me?"
She allowed the covers to fall, scooted closer, and leaned over him, her breasts pressed against the smooth hardness of his chest. "He brought you… me."
He blinked and then gave a great sigh. Her body lifted and fell with his. Dominic brought his hands up to her face, the palms still heated from his magic, and gently smoothed back her hair. Cass half closed her eyes at the tenderness of his touch. His thumbs smoothed over her lips and traced a path across her cheeks.
His lip quirked. "How can I argue with that?"
She gave him a brilliant smile. He blinked again and then pulled her mouth down to his, sweeping his lips across her own again and again, until she pressed against him for something deeper. He obliged, opening his mouth, allowing Cassandra to sink into him as deeply as she could.
When she finally pulled away, they both were breathing hard.
"I love you," she said, suddenly feeling shy and vulnerable, but unable to stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.
"I know," he replied without arrogance or conceit. "I can recognize it in others. But it's been long and long since I've found it in myself. You have become more important to me than my own life. Is that love?"
Cass couldn't answer him. He would have to discover that on his own. And perhaps if they had enough time, he might. She let her head relax on his shoulder, burrowed her face into his neck. Silky warmth.
She felt the muscles in his arms contract, and he pulled her close against him until she all but straddled his body full length. "I will protect you. And any child of ours. I will find this greater power within me. Ador says I will be strong enough soon. I will make it sooner."
"Dominic, you are crushing me." He relaxed his hold and Cass could breathe again. "I do not understand how your power could be hidden from you… how the dragon knows all this."
"Ador is connected to the scepter somehow. And the scepter—fie, I don't understand the half of it myself, only that it amplifies an elven lord's power and therefore possesses magic of its own. But when I touched the talisman as a child—"
"Touched it? And it did not harm you?" blurted Cassandra. The Rebellion had tried often enough to steal the scepters, much to the instant demise of the thieves.
Dominic shrugged. "I have seen Father carelessly brush it up against people time and again with no harm to them. But once a foolish courtier tried to wrest it from my father, and the man burned to ash where he stood. Perhaps it didn't harm me because I didn't try to wield it, or because I have so much elven blood running through my veins… I can't be sure. But I do know it somehow forged a connection with me when I touched it. One strong enough to hide my magic from my father. The scepter is… aware. And it wants to return to Elfhame, or so says Ador."
"And you believe this?"
"I have sensed the magic within me for years; so yes, I believe he speaks the truth. But they play a deadly game, Cassandra, in their quest to return to their homeland. One in which I do not want you caught up."
She had no intention, of course, of staying out of it. But it would do no good to argue with him. His will had been tempered in fire, and his strength astonished and humbled her. And despite her belief that God would help them win against the elven lord, she couldn't be sure she would survive the battle.
So when his breathing finally steadied, and he succumbed to exhaustion, Cassandra scrambled from the bed and set a kettle to heat on the fire. She washed herself and wrapped a robe about her shoulders, and while her herbs steeped, she prayed to God that he would protect Dominic. She could not bear the thought of a world without him, even if she no longer lived in it.
* * *
The next morning, when Cassandra again woke up alone, she no longer felt dismayed by her husband's absence. For she'd become his lover… the son of an elven lord. A fire lord himself. The thought terrified and excited her all at the same time. And even though she knew he would rebuff her in public as he always did, she could not wait to see him again.
Gwendolyn's pretty face lit when Cass allowed her to choose a gown—a chocolate velvet with gold trim along the sleeves and hem. Wide hoops and a stomacher layered with golden bows. A woven gold pinner for her hair, heeled shoes with a bow perched on the toes. A dress fit for the court of the king and finer than Lady Cassandra would normally wear to break her fast.
But she hoped to call forth that glimmer of feeling within her husband's crystal black eyes, if only for just a moment, before he shuttered them again.
The confidence his lovemaking had instilled in her made her bound down the stairs, cursing the heels of her shoes but admiring the gold bows whenever they peeped from beneath her hem. She brought herself up short near the entrance to the dining room, the loud conversation of the nobles giving her pause.
Lady Cassandra couldn't care less what they thought of her. She'd told herself that the moment she'd entered the palace. But a small part of her shied away from their disrespect. It felt… exhausting sometimes. To keep her head raised high while they whispered scathing comments about her behind lacquered fans and gloved hands.
She sailed through the doorway, eyes searching for a tall man with silver-white hair, and for a moment her heart flipped when she spied him across the room. But she quickly realized it wasn't Dominic, but his father. She collapsed into the nearest seat and didn't acknowledge the two nobles who hurriedly excused themselves and vacated their spots next to her.
Mor'ded had returned to Firehame. She now had no chance of engaging Dominic in public, for he would surely return to his rigid demeanor with his father back. And he would use Lady Agnes as a shield again. Fie, what would she do when she saw them together?
Could their secret feelings for one another sustain her while she watched the general's mistress fondle him in public?
Lady Cassandra glanced up from her fork, where she'd made a complete muck of the scrambled eggs that the footman had served her, and felt compelled to meet Mor'ded's intense gaze. The image of mounds of gray ash came unbidden into her mind, and she struggled to control the hatred that twisted her mouth. She tried to copy Dominic, smoothing her lips and brow to an indifferent calm. She nodded at her father-in-law, and he narrowed his black eyes at her in response, hastily rising from the table and quitting the room.
Several other nobles quickly followed him.
She looked back down at her plate, forcing another mouthful of fried potato between her lips, trying to swallow past the tight feeling in her throat.
How could she fall so deeply in love with the son, when she detested the father so very much?
Lady Cassandra concentrated on her meal, nodded at the liveried footman when he brought a tray of watered wine near her elbow. She drank greedily, hoping to numb her shattered nerves.
"That's a useful talent you have."
Cass choked and quickly brought her napkin to cover her mouth, looking up into the piercing eyes of Sir Robert Walpole. "I beg your pardon?"
He took the seat next to her, flipping back the skirt of his somber blue coat. "The way you manage to clear a room." He waved a heavy hand about the table. Other than a few couples sitting far down the linens from them, the room lay empty.
Cass felt her face heat. The hope of the future of England sat next to her and she valued his opinion. Yearned for his respect and admiration. She took the napkin away from her mouth and slowly placed it on the table.
"A neat trick," he continued. "I wish I had the knack of it."
His face did not betray a hint of sarcasm. Indeed, he managed to look most sincere, his dark heavy brows lowered in earnest, his mouth curved into a gentle smile. He wore an enormous white wig, liberally powdered with the finely crushed stone that mimicked the elven's silvery sparkle. Only one of his bulk could manage to look distinguished in it.
Cass smiled tentatively back at him, relieved he hadn't been making fun of her. Perhaps he thought she'd cultivated the court's disdain on purpose.
He leaned closer to her. "It is most fortuitous for me, for at last I have a moment to speak with you alone."
She nodded, a tremor of uneasiness running through her. Surely he meant to ask about his note, his suggestion that Dominic hated his father. He would want to know what she had discovered, and she had to warn him. But how much could she reveal to him without betraying her husband? How far could she trust the Rebellion?
Cass suddenly realized that although she would gladly give her life for England, she could not do the same with Dominic's.
Sir Robert's voice dropped to a murmur. "We haven't much time. Thomas needs your help."
It was the last thing she'd expected to hear. She studied the portly man, realized that he struggled with some other, greater matter than the conversion to their cause of the elven lord's son.
"Where is he?" she breathed. "Is Thomas all right?" She struggled to keep the hysteria from her voice. It had never occurred to her that Thomas might need her help, that he would be in danger. He'd been her teacher and she'd held the utmost confidence in him.
"He's fine. You haven't heard the rumors?"
"Of what?"
A footman passed their seats with fruit tarts on a silver tray, and Sir Robert gave a hearty laugh and helped himself. "These will be the death of me, I'm sure." He bit into the sugary crust and waited for the footman to reach the other stragglers at the table. His voice lowered again. "Mor'ded has returned with a young girl destined for tomorrow's trials. She's one of Breden's half-breeds and has potential for great magic, powers that could be useful to our cause. Her mother agreed to allow us to hide her, and the girl agreed to give up the promise of Elfhame to aid our cause, but—what is it?"
This secret Cassandra had to share. She could not allow the atrocities to continue and she felt sure Dominic would agree. "The children—those who prove powerful enough to be sent to Elfhame…"
He did not ask questions, just waited for her to continue with his eyes riveted to hers.
"They… are destroyed. I do not know if the elven lords can even return to their home world. There is much I still—you are not surprised."
"No. We have long suspected, but… are you sure?"
"He showed me." She did not need to say who. "I saw the children's ashes."
This time Sir Robert betrayed a reaction, the blood draining from his face. But he quickly recovered. "What else did you find out from him?"
Cass shook her head, gold thread winking from her lappets. "You will have to ask him that yourself."
"So that is the way of it?"
"I have not wavered from my intentions," she hastened to assure him. "But as far as my husband goes… he will have to make a commitment himself."
"I believe he will—if only to protect you. In the meantime, keep our secrets as securely as you keep his. You will help Thomas?"
Cassandra knew what he asked. "He wants to free the girl?"
Sir Robert nodded. "A traveling company will perform Romeo and Juliet tonight." He grimaced, well-known for his distaste of the theater. "No one else in the palace will want to miss it. You must devise a way to leave after the first scene and meet Viscount Althorp in the small parlor where we first spoke. Do you remember?"
The same footman neared them again, this time with a tray of sugared fruit. Sir Robert did not wait for her answer. Instead he rose with a muffled grunt and gave her a small bow. "So you will ask the general to join the king in his box tonight?" he said in a loud voice. "We would be most honored. The king admires the cut of his suit, you see."
Cass gave him a watery smile, and he turned and left, snatching a sparkling strawberry from the footman's tray as he passed. She was the only one left in the dining room now, and slaves began to slip in to clean up the mess. The liveried servants ignored them as one would a dog beneath their heels, but several times Cass caught the slaves glancing her way with hidden smiles, which she returned with muted delight.
She'd made some friends in the palace, at least.
* * *
That evening Lady Cassandra sat at her dressing table and frowned at the mirror, thinking that since she'd come to live at the palace, she spent entirely too much time changing her wardrobe.
"No, Gwendolyn, not that one."
The girl held up the silk gown that required enormously wide hoops and tsked. "But I'm sure all the other ladies will be wearing the like. The king admires the fashion—"
"Not tonight. Fetch me the black wool."
Gwen's face fell and Cass immediately felt contrite for snapping at the girl. But she had to wear something less restrictive, for she felt sure they wouldn't rescue the captive girl without a fight, and the black would help her blend into the shadows.
And she should admit to herself that she felt on edge with nerves. Thank heavens Dominic had been absent from the palace today, training his men. He surely would have realized something was afoot. And she couldn't tell him what she intended to do. He would only stop her in his personal quest to keep her safe.
Gwen slowly dragged out the black gown and scowled at the unadorned woolen. "It won't fit yer hoops."
"I know. Just fetch the black flannel petticoats."
The girl grudgingly obliged, then with a wicked gleam to her crystal eyes, held forth a stomacher sewn with jet beads. But Cass did not want anything that would catch the light, and when she told Gwen she would wear the plain embroidered one instead, the child looked on the verge of tears.
The child's obsession with fancy clothing would drive Lady Cassandra mad.
When Cass stood fully dressed before the looking glass, pulling on a long pair of black silk gloves, she nodded in approval while Gwen hung her head in despair.
"Ye shall look so drab, my lady."
"That is the point, Gwendolyn." Cass hesitated. She felt sure Thomas had a plan. But Thomas did not have Gwen. And unlike her husband, she trusted in her servant's loyalty. The court was now abuzz with the gossip of the trials and of the children who had been sequestered for the honor. No mention had been made of a powerful girl who had to be dragged to the palace for them. Would Mor'ded be so arrogant as to keep the girl with the rest of the other children?
Never underestimate the enemy.
"Shall I call for May to do yer hair?" asked Gwen, her voice rising hopefully. "She can twine it so lovely no one might notice the plainness of yer gown."
"Not yet." Cass fetched the map of the palace from the drawer and laid it out flat on the marble table. Gwen glanced from the paper to her mistress with growing curiosity.
"I want you to find someone again for me."
Gwen bounced to her side. "The champion is on the west grounds, my lady. I don't need my magic to tell ye that."
"That's not who I want you to find. Have… have you heard of the children awaiting the trials?"
Gwen smiled dreamily. "Aye, and lucky they be. But everyone knows where they are. Even the servants. In the old guest rooms of the palace."
Cass's suspicions solidified. "I think it's possible one of the children may be… housed in a different location."
"But why?"
"It's hard to explain. Can you do this for me without asking too many questions?"
Those wise hazel eyes took in Cass's appearance again, flicked to the map, and the girl nodded. "I trust ye. But I don't see as how I can help. I wouldn't know what to seek, ye see."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Well, when ye asked me to look fer the champion, I could see his light clear as day on the map."
"His light?"
"Oh aye." Gwen scratched her head. "The champion's light is near as bright as his father's. He's easy to find."
"So everyone has a light?"
"Aye. May's light looks like it's woven. Cook's light slowly spins like a pig on a roast."
"And mine?"
"Yours dances, my lady. Like it's doing a merry jig."
Cass smiled at the bemused look on her servant's face. This light that Gwen saw must be a reflection of each person's magic. But how would she be able to recognize someone's light if she'd never seen it in relation to the person before?
"You said the general's light shines brightly? What does it look like compared to mine?"
"Oh, his shines much brighter and wiggles like a flame. Yers is soft, my lady, but… ye see, everyone with the fire magic has a bit of black about it. Mor'ded is the only one whose is completely black."
"I think I see. Not only do you see the strength of their magic, Gwen, but you see what kind of magic they possess as well."
"Then why don't our lights shimmer with red flame, my lady?"
Cass thought of the black fire Dominic told her about and suppressed a shudder, unwilling to reveal that knowledge to the young girl. "Perhaps because Mor'ded rules with a black scepter. Now, most of the nobles here are related to the fire lord, but there are many who possess magic from other sovereignties. Do you see those as clearly?"
"So that's why some have blue or brown or silver lights! Their magic matches the elven lord's scepter. I should have thought about that before. But it's always been something that's just there… and I never thought about looking for their lights on a map, my lady. Until you had me search fer the champion, that is."
"Be careful not to tell anyone about this, Gwendolyn. You have a unique gift and if it were known… others might want to use it for ill. Can you understand that?"
"Aye. There's some things that shouldn't be found."
Cass nodded and spread her palms across the map. "What lights do you see?"
"Mor'ded's." A frown. "The champion's. And yers and mine"—she stabbed her finger on the paper—"right here. And May's, in the other room. And Cook's, here in the kitchens. And May's stable boy, outside, here."
Cass glanced up with a smile.
Gwen shrugged. "He likes May. And he's got a gift with the horses. I like horses."
Lady Cassandra sighed. It seemed Gwen could focus on the people she knew well, or who were important to her, easier than the others. "Can you see the lesser lights of the nobles?"
Her brow wrinkled in concentration, her pink tongue appeared briefly at the corner of her mouth. "Oh aye, but they're so faint, it's very hard. Except for this here blue one."
Hadn't Sir Robert said the girl was one of Breden's nobles? He ruled with the blue scepter of sky and water! And if she held as much power as the Rebellion guessed… "Where?"
Gwen pointed to a tower near the western end of the palace. "That's an old part of the building and the stones of the tower are so ancient and crumbling, no one dares climb it. Why would they keep one of the children there?"
"Indeed." Cassandra's suspicions had proven right. They'd kept the girl in a different location than the other children, in a place no one would think to look for her. Thomas might already know this, but if he didn't, she'd just increased their chances of rescuing the girl.
Cass leaned down and hugged Gwendolyn. She was so young, and yet… "You must speak of this to no one. And if you hear any gossip, don't question anyone about it. Just understand that I'm doing what's best. I'm counting on your loyalty, my dear. My very life may depend upon it."
Those hazel eyes widened to alarming proportions, and Gwen practically whispered her next words. "Of course, my lady."
Cass folded the map and tucked it back into the drawer. "Now you may call May to arrange my hair. And while she's about it, tell me about this stable boy of hers."