When he had gone Ing stepped from the back room where he has been waiting. “What was that about?” he asked his younger brother.
Corrado shrugged. “If I knew I could not tell you, my brother, but I do not know. Is my ship ready to depart? The crew aboard?”
Ing nodded. “All is in readiness,” he said.
“Go to Sirvat, and tell her I have, at the Dominus’s request, departed. I will see her in a few days. Take Father with you. She enjoys his company. Says it shows her what I will be like when I am an old man,” Corrado chuckled.
Ing barked one of his few laughs. “A romantic girl, your wife,” he said. Then he and Corrado clasped hands. “Travel in safety,” he told his sibling.
“It will be the will of the Great Creator that I do,” Corrado answered, and then was gone from the small shop.
It was almost day’s end Ing saw looking out through the single dusty window his chandlery possessed onto the fjord. Corrado was fortunate in that he would catch the late tide, which would sweep him quickly out to sea. The winds this time of year were perfect. They were neither too soft, nor too hard. He watched his younger brother board his vessel; the gangway drawn up; the sails hoisted; the ship slipped out into the Dominus’s fjord, its square sails catching the breeze as it moved gracefully toward Sagitta. Ing closed up his shop and went to fetch his father, Dima. Together the two men made their way to the apartments of Corrado and Sirvat.
She welcomed them warmly. “Stay and have the evening meal with us. Corrado will undoubtedly be here shortly after he has checked the other woman in his life to be certain she is ready to travel again.”
Dima chuckled appreciatively, for he yet recalled what it was to be the captain of captains for a Dominus of Terah.
“My brother has already embarked,” Ing said apologetically. “There was no time for him to bid you farewell. He asked that I come and tell you.”
“My brother found him,” Sirvat said resigned. Then she went to the window, and looked down on the fjord where she could just make out the lavender sails of her husband’s ship as it rounded the bend in the waterway that opened into the sea. “What did Magnus say to him that sent him scurrying without even a farewell to me?”
Ing shook his head. “I do not know, my lady Sirvat. I was not privy to their conversation. I’m sorry. But he did say to tell you he would be back in just a few days. It is an ordinary voyage, for all I provisioned his ship for was the usual trading journey. That much I can tell you.”
“I will speak to my brother on the morrow,” Sirvat said. “I would still appreciate your company for the meal.” She smiled at her father-in-law. “We are having prawns, Dima, and I know how you love prawns. Especially the large ones that come from the Ocean Fjord. My cook bought them just this morning right off the boat that caught them.”
The old man smiled broadly. “You know how to please a sailor’s palate, Sirvat,” he told her nodding. “You have mustard sauce, too, I am certain.”
Yes, she considered, Corrado would look like this handsome old man one day. And he would not go to sea much longer if she had her way. She would have to speak to Magnus, Sirvat thought, and smiled back at Dima. But her smile came from the knowledge that even now her brother and his wife were taking pleasures with one another, and would create a child to be the playmate of the baby now growing in her own womb. Siruat’s hands went instinctively to her belly.
BUT LARA was still not certain of what she wanted to do. The future was too murky. What if she were called by her damned destiny from Terah? Could she ignore her destiny? What would happen if she did? It was all very well and good for Kaliq, her mother and the others in the magic realm to prattle on about her destiny. What was that destiny, and was it to elude her forever? She had loved Vartan, and if the rest of her life had been spent in the old Outlands with him and their children, she could have been satisfied with that life.
But what, her sensible self asked, would have happened if Vartan had survived his assassination? What would they have done when Hetar invaded the Outlands? Could they have overcome the greater forces of Gaius Prospero’s armies? She did not think so, and so many would have been killed. Vartan’s death had indeed been a part of her destiny, much as she hated to admit it. His death had sent her on her way again. To Terah. Into Magnus Hauk’s arms, but on her own terms. As the wife of the Dominus she had been able to save the clan families from Gaius Prospero’s greedy machinations. Vartan would have approved. The emperor would be busy for some time to come bringing civilization to the old Outlands. But how long would that keep him from Terah?
They should not have gone to the City she thought for probably the hundredth time. She should not have given in to Magnus’s wishes. The emperor’s curiosity had been quickly engaged by the knowledge there was another land beyond Hetar’s borders.
And the dark land to the north? Lara knew she needed to know more about it, but there she sensed that she yet had time enough. She must speak with the High Priest Arik and learn what he knew of Usi before she considered her move in that direction. Magnus must not know, for the interim, that she could shape-shift. Did he really think her so naive as to ride her winged stallion over the dark land? But then he knew naught of the owl’s shape she could take. The eagle had been Vartan’s symbol. He, too, was capable of shape-shifting. They had both taken a bird’s form once, and flown together to seek Kaliq’s advice. She smiled with the memory.
“What are you thinking of?” Magnus asked her as he joined her in the soaking pool. Like his wife he had already washed and rinsed himself in another part of the bath.
“Of how good it was to see my children,” she lied to him, and yet it was not a lie. But then Lara quickly realized her error in bringing up the subject of her children.
“I am glad the thought of children makes you smile,” he responded quietly. “It would please me more if it was the thought of our children, however.” His big hand cupped the back of her head, and he pulled her into his embrace for a kiss.
He thought to seduce her, Lara knew, but it must be she who seduced him away from these thoughts. Her lips softened beneath his, the tip of her tongue slipping out to encircle his mouth delicately. Turquoise eyes met green, and each felt an explosion of lust as their gazes locked. “Magnus!” she said his name breathlessly. Great Creator, she was going to give into him. But she couldn’t! It wasn’t time yet.
Magnus Hauk smiled a slow smile, and he kissed her again. A sweet, lingering kiss first, and then a more demanding kiss. His mouth was hard and fierce on hers for several long moments. Then taking her face between his two hands his lips traveled from her mouth to her eyelids, her cheeks. “I love you, Lara, my faerie wife,” he told her in a low voice. “I can no longer imagine life without you.” His gaze encompassed her beautiful face, and Lara saw the simple truth of his words in her husband’s look.
She slipped her slender arms about his neck. “I love you, too,” she told him. “I did not believe I would love again after Vartan’s death, Magnus. It is difficult for faerie women to love at all, but I have mortal blood, too, and I suppose where love is concerned I am weak.” Lara sighed softly. “When you look at me as you are looking now I find my knees grow weak, the fire within me burns hot, and there is little I would deny you. But I don’t want to make love in the water tonight. I want to be in our bedchamber.” She took his hand and they stepped up from the bathing pool.
Taking a large towel from the pile upon a bench she began to dry his magnificent body off. Kneeling she rubbed each of his long legs free of water both front and back. She took each of his two feet, pushing the toweling in between the toes. She dried his hard buttocks. Then Lara stood, and taking another towel rubbed it across his back, his shoulders and his chest. She dried his belly, and gently patted his genitalia free of moisture. He was already hard with her delicate touch. His burnished gold hair was half-dry, and so she gave it but a cursory rub of the towel.