Chapter Four
Trust will be their greatest issue…
“The Baldur’s daughter shall be our guest until certain issues are resolved,” King Artuntaure told Jack Drake craftily.
Mirie admired the wording. Anarion had cast his translation spell again for her and then grudgingly for Jack.
“What issues?” Jack demanded. “Our surveillance of the prince was aboveboard. We did not interfere with him or his in any fashion. We were watching to see if we could ascertain the whereabouts of the Eyes of the Amber Moon. The Committee’s envoys have made it clear that the item in question is crucial to the prophecies.”
They were still in the grand hallway but the king and all his courtiers had returned to allow Jack his nickel’s worth.
“Perhaps the Committee could explain why it didn’t approach the Elfish contingent and simply ask for the object?” Lord Kavin threw in silkily.
Mirie would have sighed but she thought that perhaps it would have been taken in the wrong light. The green haired elf had done a turnabout and was determined to see that the human, Jack Drake, be put under the spot light and sweated for perceived injustices. Mirie was guiltless but other members of the Committee weren’t so fortunate.
But Jack wasn’t a delicate little flower. “Perhaps the Elfish High Court could explain why the Committee’s agent was nearly killed by one of the prince’s bodyguards when she was merely observing the prince’s activities in her own realm.”
“Not her realm,” Anarion interjected.
“Old argument,” Mirie muttered loudly. “Asked and answered. Better move on, Jack.”
“The Elfish Court and the Committee have not always seen eye to eye,” Artuntaure admitted with a sly smile. Then his crystal like eyes settled on Mirie and she straightened in an involuntary manner. “Mirie Baldursdottir,” he said. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Sumrah, will be joining us in a matter of hours. Would you not like to at least meet with the lady?”
Mirie glanced at Jack who stood like a stone faced golem. Then her eyes went to Anarion who stared at her with silent expectation. She turned her eyes back to the king. “I would like to meet with Her Grace,” she said slowly. “I don’t know that I’m this Ruaora but I do know there are questions that need to be answered.”
Jack said lowly, “No shit.”
Artuntaure smiled. “Good. It’s settled. The Baldur’s daughter shall remain with us.”
“And the Eyes of the Amber Moon?” Jack insisted.
“I have spoken with our most accomplished clairvoyant,” the king said carefully. The sly expression on his face faded to something resembling granite. “You may tell your Committee that the Eyes of the Amber Moon will be safest in our dominion, not connected to the first artifact.”
“And the reason the clairvoyant didn’t see the destruction of the earthly realm?” Jack went on.
The granite countenance of the king became stonier. “I did not speak with the clairvoyant’s actual person, but her immortal essence.”
Mirie started. There was a round of gasps from the elves assembled in the grand hallway.
Jack began to say, “What in God’s name does that-” before Mirie cut him off.
“It means the clairvoyant is dead,” Mirie said solemnly.
“I thought elves were immortals,” Jack muttered.
“The clairvoyant was murdered,” Anarion said. It was almost a question. Mirie could see that his eyes were trained on his father.
Jack took a step back. “You’ve a murderer in your court and you believe the Eyes of the Amber Moon will be safest here.” The statement was partially insult and partially incredulity.
Lord Kavin started to demand that the human, Jack Drake, be drawn and quartered by Elfish griffons, for suggesting that King Artuntaure was wrong in his decision, when the king interrupted and pointed at Mirie. “We have a protector here,” Artuntaure said ingeniously. “And protectors owe allegiance to the throne of the Land of Light. She will protect the Eyes of the Amber Moon unto her death and beyond.”
Anarion began to argue with his father when the king cast him an icy gaze that shut his mouth nearly instantly.
Jack looked at Mirie and shrugged helplessly. “I know how the Committee is going to rule on this, Mirie. If the Eyes of the Amber Moon are here, and the High Court is amicable to your presence then you should remain here to guard the relic.”
“And we’ll find the murderer,” Anarion promised.
•
“If your father spoke to the clairvoyant’s essence why didn’t he ask who killed her?” Mirie asked Anarion after the session had abruptly ended. She was thinking, I would have asked.
Anarion looked at Mirie grimly. “The king was limited to a single question and he decided what was most important.”
They were walking in the gardens and Mirie blinked at the golden light that seemed to come from everywhere. A sun glasses company would make out like hotcakes in a cheap diner in this dimension.
And didn’t Mirie want to distract herself from certain feelings she was having by making rotten jokes? Why, yes, yes she did. Being close to Anarion was like standing in the heat of a warm sun on what was once a cold day. It felt good. Her flesh tingled with pleasure and her stomach clenched with nameless emotion.
Certainly Mirie had been in love before. But the distant relationships paled in comparison to how Anarion made her feel. She was readily aware what he was, an elf, and worse, an elf who had been around for five hundred years compared to her measly almost three decades. He’d had mistresses, consorts, and the Gods only knew what else. The elves’ social society was somewhat different than the human world. They largely believed in marriage as a societal counterpoint. If Ruaora, the missing Elfish lady, had been promised to Anarion, then there was a political reason for it, and unquestionably not some romantic reason that some long ago clairvoyant had pulled out of a top hat.
But all of Mirie’s logic didn’t explain her unfathomable attraction to the prince. Not that she was going to act on it. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that there were not three bodyguards trailing behind, but Jack and Asta bringing up the rear. It wasn’t three making a crowd, but seven.
Mirie exhaled. “What happened to the bodyguard who shot me?” She saw the other two in the group behind them. Laris, towered over the rest, with his Katana knife, tucked in its scabbard at his waist, and who stared at Mirie as if he were examining a particularly interesting bug under his microscope. Fascinatingly enough his hair appeared black in the human realm while it was a vivid purple in the Land of Light.
Anarion gritted, “His name is Fermil. The human weapon he used was not authorized. Human weapons tend to be more destructive than necessary.”
“You’re punishing him for shooting me when I threatened you?” Mirie asked curiously. Alarm made her flesh break out in goose bumps. “It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know I was bluffing. He was protecting you.”
Anarion paused mid-step. “Once I had made my determination of your identity, Fermil should have been protecting you.”
Mirie took three steps and paused, her face screwing up in a scowl. “Your determination of my identity? Well, yes, we haven’t discussed this and by the way, an apology from your man will work. You don’t have to stick him in a dungeon or in the stocks or whatever you do.”
A low laugh came from Anarion. “Fermil paid in blood and there’s naught that can be done about that. Especially now.”
Mirie frowned. “He’s not dead, is he?”
“The healer used his essence and blood to bring you back from the brink of death,” Anarion said seriously. “Fermil will recover eventually. It was just.”
Her mouth opened. “You used your man to heal me because he shot me.”
“It would have been me otherwise,” he commented.
“Are you sure he’ll be all right?” Mirie insisted. “And was I really on the brink of death or are you ju
st-”
“Your eyes were glassy.” Anarion’s expression was grim and fixed. “Your pulse was thready. You were dying. There was nothing that could be done except that I brought you here and Fermil volunteered to be your vonrion, your ice walker. That term means the one who takes your pain and returns a part of his essence. He threw himself into the path of death to assuage his honor. Make no mistake, he is ill now, but he will recover and live to serve the High Court again, his mistake rectified.”
“And your determination that I’m this other person,” Mirie couldn’t help herself. “How is that possible? You were surprised about it when it was brought up by the king. You couldn’t have known that I was Ruaora on the rooftop.”
“Then, I didn’t know that you are Ruaora,” Anarion stepped closer to her and smiled at her. The smile made her insides clench in a very pleasing manner. “But I knew that you are she, the one I’ve waited for. All elves have the sense of the one they are destined to be with. Some are unfortunate enough not to meet the other half of their souls, and some have lost the ability, but not I, and not you as well.” His hand came up and brushed across her cheek, causing her knees to tremble. “You feel it as well. The scent that smells so wonderful in your nose. The prickling of the skin. The knowledge that individual is the special one to you, your complement.”
Mirie took a helpless breath. Abruptly she could feel everything that Anarion was saying, as if something was twisting her heart into an untidy knot. The discomfort was almost tangible. It was as if only Anarion’s embrace could put the feelings into perspective. She didn’t care for the thoughts tumbling through her head as if she was a brainless teenager lost in the throes of an elaborate crush. She stepped back and Anarion dropped his hand.
“We should look at the crime scene,” she said.
Anarion had a surprised look on his face that was nearly priceless. Apparently in five hundred or so years, he wasn’t used to having women turn him down. “Crime scene?” he repeated.
“The murdered clairvoyant,” she reminded him. “We are seasoned agents, used to criminal investigation. Typically we scrutinize otherworldly crimes, not the least of which is homicide.”
“Of course,” Anarion replied after a lengthy lapse. “We have investigators as well.”
Minutes later Anarion was leading Jack and Mirie into a segregated wing of the castle. “Arisar, the silver seeker and seer, resided in these rooms. Her remains have already been cremated as is our custom.”
Jack said something nasty under his breath. One of the bodyguards trailing behind said, “Careful human. There’s no roof to jump off here.”
“Bring it, asshole,” Jack snapped immediately. “If we can’t examine the remains then how can you tell if the woman was murdered?”
“Elves die in two ways,” Anarion explained. “One is an accident, which does happen. The second is murder, which also happens upon occasion. It’s clear that Arisar did not die in an accident. There was a knife stuck in her back, which precludes an accident, wouldn’t you say?”
“Who has access to her rooms?” Mirie stood back as she asked, looking through the airy rooms. “Was there signs of anyone forcing their way inside? Is anything missing?”
Another elf joined them. “I am Ridon, the spear keeper,” he said to Mirie, with a slight nod to Jack. He was as tall as Anarion, with pale blonde hair one shade darker than Mirie’s. His bluish eyes were intent as he stared at her and she wondered why he was so interested.
“He is the principal investigator,” Anarion conceded.
“Your Highness,” Ridon bowed to Anarion. He rose up and continued to speak to Mirie. “Arisar’s rooms showed no evidence of struggle nor were there anything broken. Her maid states that some of her journals are missing. Perhaps Arisar had recorded her visions there and the offender felt that he or she would have been implicated.”
“And who had access to the seer?” Jack said.
“The entire court,” Ridon grimaced. “Perhaps a hundred. Then one can add retainers, maids, visiting diplomats, and their retinues, and the number could be easily doubled.”
“No security cameras,” Mirie stated.
“Electricity doesn’t work the same on this realm,” Anarion told her with a slight smile. “There are spells that could reveal who has come and gone from these rooms, but it wouldn’t narrow the number considerably. Arisar was a popular seer and since she had the king’s ear, there were many who wished to consult with her, including visiting dignitaries.”
“We need a list of names,” Mirie said. “So that each may be questioned.”
“Impossible,” Ridon declared. “The king and three of his consorts would be on the list as well as half of the High Court. It would cause the highest level of dissention.”
“Your Highness,” Mirie turned to Anarion. “Clearly your court is unused to murder within its midst. Do you really wish to continue with a murderer walking around scot free?”
Anarion stared at Mirie. Finally, without looking away from her, he said, “I’ll need the list, Ridon. It will be for my eyes alone until the king and I have decreed otherwise.”
Mirie rolled her eyes and Ridon’s mouth opened at her action.
“It’s true that you’ve spent too much time in the land of the barbarians,” Ridon avowed sardonically. “You’ll never be Sumrah.”
Mirie didn’t have time to think of an appropriate retort before Anarion had the investigator on the floor with one of his hands wrapped around the elf’s throat. He growled at Ridon, “If she has, then it wasn’t her fault, and she has thus acted blamelessly. Can you say the same for yourself?”
Ridon struggled to get out from under the prince, but Anarion had him truly pinned and his thighs clamped around the investigator’s ribs until he groaned with pain. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“Not to me,” Anarion hissed. “Apologize to your cousin.”
“She’s not my-” Ridon started to say and then the words were cut off as Anarion’s hand convulsively gripped his throat tighter.
“Cousin?” Mirie repeated. That was interesting. She might have a cousin who hated her existence. Then she shook herself. When did I start thinking that I might really be this Ruaora?
“My apologies, Cousin,” Ridon gritted when Anarion marginally released his throat.
“I don’t know that we are cousins,” Mirie said slowly. “But if we are, Ridon, I won’t need the prince to kick your ass. I’ll do it myself.”
Anarion laughed. Then he launched himself up and offered a hand to Ridon. “I think she might be able to do it, too.”
Ridon glowered then accepted the hand. “Your confidence is refreshing,” he said, keeping his tone moderate.
Jack sighed loudly. “All this political, touchy-feely crap is giving me a headache. Why can’t we just talk to another clairvoyant about who they see us catching in a few hours?”
Mirie smiled. “It doesn’t work like that. They don’t always get to see what they want to see.”
“Well, I guess that would make it easy then.” Jack grimaced. “I could go back to the Committee and talk with our clairvoyants. You’ve got someone in the Court here that doesn’t want us to know something and is willing to kill for it. Am I the only one who’s disturbed at that?”
Anarion stepped around Mirie, almost as if he were protecting her from the rest of the group. “Of course, the Court is disturbed. Otherwise, no humans would have been allowed here at all.”
Jack said ironically, “Well, that shows me my place, doesn’t it?”
Mirie studied the room. “It was someone she knew. Someone that she didn’t mistrust. She turned her back on the person. She didn’t see this person in her visions nor did she foresee her own death?” The questions were meant to be archetypical but Anarion answered.
“Arisar would have subjected herself to death if she knew that was the only manner in which fate could proceed. Her deat
h brought about investigation and her visions only brought quiet murmurs of discord.”
“She allowed herself to die to bring about a vision she saw?” Jack rephrased. “Why not just tell someone? Jeez. I’ll never understand otherworldly politics.”
“It was a matter of honor,” Ridon said softly. “Your Highness, Cousin, Jack Drake. I’ll get that list put together.”
Mirie stared at the pale haired elf as he walked from the room. She took a moment to check for magicks with her special powers and saw many old lines of power twisting around the great room. Some were old and faded. Others were new and vibrant. Many reminded her of some of the restriction spells that the Master Warlock had taught to her.
“Why would there be spells of restriction in this room?” she murmured.
Anarion snapped about and stared at her. “You see those?”
“Many, like tangled knots, wound so tightly even my witch blade would have a hard time cutting through them.”
Jack said, “Restrictions on the seer? Or spells by the seer?”
“What colors are the spells?” Anarion asked softly.
“Purples, all shades of purples. Some are very old, years perhaps.” Mirie hesitated. “I’d have to see Arisar’s personal magicks to make a comparison, but from what I can see, it looks like her colors were more in the silver range. Silvers and grays.” She pointed at the desk. “There’s something hidden in the desk protected by a personal magick spell. Something that was not affected when she died. It must have been a blood spell.”
Jack approached the desk carefully. “Is this what you’ve been doing for years, Mirie? Seeing magicks in the air? Is that how you had some of your ‘hunches?’ ”
Mirie said, “Yes,” without compunction. She knew that she should apologize to Jack for pulling the wool over his eyes for all the years they’d been partners but she couldn’t do it front of Anarion and his bodyguards.
Jack shrugged. “Makes sense now,” he said simply, without rancor. “With your permission, Your Highness?” he said to Anarion, gesturing at the desk.
Anarion nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Will the magick bite me?” Jack asked.
“You’re not supposed to see what’s there,” Mirie said. “It’s like a don’t-see-me-spell. Look at the drawer in the front.”
“What drawer…oh,” Jack murmured. Then he yanked it open and ducked, more out of habit. When a dragon or a sprite didn’t materialize to engage in battle he looked inside. Carefully he pulled out a piece of parchment. “I guess Arisar had a vision that she kept here. It’s addressed to me and in English.”
Mirie watched as Jack unfolded the parchment and read it. Then he handed it to Anarion who tilted it for Mirie. “Another riddle,” she said. “ ‘The cat and the man shall uncover the Silver Moon’s mystery, but only together shall they overcome.’ ”
She handed the piece back to Jack and shrugged. “What does it mean to you, Jack?”
Jack grumbled, “It means elves are as ambiguous as politicians.”
Mirie looked around. “I think it means that Arisar was cursed to keep her mouth shut about her visions. These binding spells are proof that someone didn’t want her talking or doing something, so she probably had to be ambiguous.”
Anarion snapped something to his three bodyguards and they left the room without a word. Then he unbuckled the Eyes of the Amber Moon and handed it to Mirie. “You are the protector, Lady,” he said formally. “This should be under your protection.”
Mirie took the piece and nearly dropped it. “The magicks have been so spelled that no one would know, except one who could look at the colors binding it,” she said. “No wonder you didn’t know that it was what it is. But dear God, it feels rotten. Do you remember, Jack, that the Cat Clan said the same of the Book of the Black Moon? The magicks are twisted, corrupt.”
“I felt nothing,” Anarion said softly. He produced a handkerchief made of blue silk and handed it to Mirie. She wrapped the buckle in the cloth and stuck it inside her pocket. Looking at the piece made her skin crawl and it was wrapped in variations of purples the same as the restrictive spells in the room.
Jack’s eyebrows went up and he made a face. “I think I’ll see if I can pick a fight with one of your bodyguards,” he said idly and left the room in the same direction.
“You trust me with this?” Mirie asked.
“And more,” Anarion said affirmatively. “Much more.”
“Why?”
“You are Amaias, my beautiful mate. Who should I trust more?”
Suddenly Anarion was so close to Mirie that she could feel his breath on her face as he stared down into her features. She had to tilt her head back to return his look and she made herself not look away. “I don’t understand your certainty,” she whispered.
Anarion pressed closer, his lips a fraction from her own. “I know, but you will,” he murmured against her lips. For a long moment it was the only contact they had. His warm lips surged against hers. His mouth opened and the tip of his tongue tantalized the curve of her mouth, enticing her until hers opened in return. When she allowed her tongue to play with him, he groaned audibly and his arms circled about her figure, so tightly that she thought he wouldn’t let her go. Everything was crushing together in a delicious friction that caused those butterflies in Mirie’s stomach to go wild with desire. The scent of him and the press of his flesh against hers were insidiously undermining her sensibilities. The moment became a minute and all she could feel was the drag of his marvelous mouth and the curves of his muscles flexing against her lusciously sensitive body.
Then someone coughed indelicately from the door and Anarion set Mirie aside with a panting groan that nearly did her in. She had to shake her head to free the cobwebs there before she looked at the door and saw…
A woman with platinum blonde hair and violet eyes, and features that very much resembled Mirie’s. She was trying to catch her breath but Anarion was too close and the fragrance in her nose too tantalizing.
“Lady Amycate Sumrah,” Anarion said hoarsely and Mirie blinked.
Oh, great, someone who might be my mother saw me playing tonsil hockey with the hottest hunk this side of the Elfish borders. Mirie pushed her lips together and wished for a bucket of ice water to be poured over her entire body.