sandy grass of the desert as well. Do not tell me that his nefarious plans for war are because Hetar is threatened, for it is not!”
“How can you know these things?” Arcas wanted to know.
“Do you think Gaius Prospero is the only one with spies?” Lara taunted him.
He laughed. “I suppose not,” he said. “This is a high-stakes game that is being played. The future of Hetar depends upon who wins.”
“You have land here in your own kingdom that lies fallow and unused,” Lara said to him. “I have ridden across it on many an afternoon. Why will you not share your lands with those who feed Hetar? You would not have to give it away, or even sell it. You could lease it to the farmers, and those who did not produce would not have their leases renewed. And the purpose of the land would not be for settlement, but only for growing. The Midlands farmers coming here could not bring their families. They would only work the land. They would pay their leases yearly, and then from their profits give Hetar’s government a quarter share.”
“Lease our land?” Arcas looked horrified. “It is ours. We do not want strangers coming onto it.”
“You would rather involve Hetar in another war to try and take land from the Outland clan families?”
“The Outlands are populated by savages,” he said. “They do not deserve the land. It should belong to Hetar.”
“You know you speak foolishness, Arcas,” his father said. “You are more aware than most on Hetar that the Outlands are populated by peaceful people who simply wish to be allowed to live their lives as they see fit, and as their customs dictate.”
“I will grant you Rendor is a fine fellow,” Arcas admitted, “but as for the others -” He stopped.
Lara was shaking her head. “Did you find my husband a savage, Arcas?” she asked him. “I found more civility and kindness among the Fiacre than among the good people of Hetar. Did not the mercenary Wilmot tell the High Council the truth of the Outlands when he spoke before them? For Gaius Prospero to persist in the fantasy of savagery, and to use it as an excuse to invade the Outlands, is just wrong!”
“You speak treason,” he said in a threatening voice. “You are Hetarian.”
“No, I am Lara – widow of Vartan, daughter of Swiftsword, half mortal, half faerie. I was born in the faerie realm and raised in the City, but I found my greatest happiness in the Outlands,” she told him. “I use the small magic I possess only for good, Arcas. I will speak against intolerance and injustice while there is breath in my body.”
“How can someone so obviously meant for pleasure debate on such things?” he asked her.
“You are hopeless,” she told him.
He did not understand her, Arcas thought irritably, but he found he still wanted her. Yet in the days that followed she grew no warmer toward him despite his many compliments. But her sweetness toward his father seemed to grow. And as Gaius Prospero had told him, Archeron and Lara rode out together almost every afternoon. They did not ask him to join them, and on one or two occasions he had suggested going with them his father had said no. Arcas had been amazed by the refusal. Was Gaius Prospero right? Was his father Lara’s lover? Still, Arcas could find no other evidence of such a relationship. And he had easily learned that his father spent his nights in his own bed, and not in Lara’s arms. This knowledge made him want her even more. Perhaps she was one of those women a man must force to his will. Of course! That would have been the way the Fiacre lord, Vartan, obtained her. Lara was a strong woman. She needed a strong man to tell her what to do, and how to do it. Then she would melt with passion.
IN THE DARK of an early winter’s night Arcas made his way to Lara’s chamber. He entered quietly, making his way to her bedside. Flinging off his chamber robe he gazed down at her sleeping form. She was exquisite. Perfectly made with lovely breasts, and just the faintest swell of belly. Her skin was like white silk. Her golden hair like thistledown. His male member was hard with his deep longing for her. He was about to climb into her bed and take her for his own when suddenly her eyes opened. Even in the dimly lit room he could see the icy green glare.
“Get out!” she said quietly.
Arcas was about to bluster a refusal when he became painfully aware that his male organ had suddenly gone limp, and was shrinking at a most alarming rate.
“Get out,” Lara repeated, “or do you wish me to make it disappear entirely, Arcas?” Her cold voice matched her cold eyes.
The Coastal King turned and fled, not even bothering to gather up his robe. Looking at it, Lara pointed a finger, and the garment disappeared. Then turning over she went back to sleep again. But when the morning came, she found she was very angry. She would not tell Archeron of his son’s breach of good manners. It would hurt the man who was sheltering her so generously, and drive a wedge between father and son. She could not do that.
To Lara’s surprise Arcas sought her out that morning. He knelt before her.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly. Then he sighed. “I cannot help but desire you, Lara, and I have presented my case badly. When we first met I offended you, and now I have done it again. I apologize.”
“What is it you want of me?” she asked him quietly. “I only share pleasures with those whom I choose, Arcas.”
“And I am not one of those fortunate, am I?”
“Vartan is gone from me but six months, Arcas. I am not ready yet to love again, or even share my body again. I am sorry,” Lara told him. “Get up now.”
He arose. “Do you deny that you are my father’s lover?” he asked half-angrily.
“Yes, I do,” Lara told him. “Your father is my dear friend, but he is not my lover, nor is he ever likely to be. Is that why you did what you did, Arcas? Because you were jealous?” Her tone with him had softened.
Hearing it he nodded, lowering his head as if in shame. The bitch had refused him twice now. He would have his revenge on her. He had but to find a weakness in her character he might exploit. “Will you forgive me?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she told him. He could never know she did it for his father’s sake, and not his. Arcas was a fool. She had known it the first time they met, and he had but confirmed her belief with his behavior last night. “It will please your father we no longer quarrel.”
“Yes,” he answered her. “We should be friends, and allies. My father tells me that you are interested in our trading partners from the Dominion.” He smiled.
“I am!” she said enthusiastically. “Tell me what they are like, Arcas? What do they look like? Do their women travel with them? Are there faeries in the sea?”
He laughed. “Would you like to see for yourself, Lara? I had planned to captain one of my ships to the meeting place while I was home. Travel with me, and you can meet some Terahns for yourself. And I swear to behave myself,” he concluded with a rueful smile.
Could she trust him? she wondered. Her instinct warned her no, but instinct warred with her curiosity. “Perhaps another time,” she said. “I have never traveled upon this sea of yours, and I am quite in awe of it. It is a powerful force, Arcas. I don’t think I am yet ready, or even brave enough to sail upon it.”
“Then another time,” he responded. “I will take a second voyage before I leave again for the City. Mayhap you will come with me then, Lara. It is not because you are still angry with me, I hope.”
“Nay, of course not,” she lied facilely. And she even gave him a smile.
He departed the following day, and returned ten days later. She enjoyed the time Arcas was away. She did not like the man, and he had obviously become an ally of Gaius Prospero, which did not please Archeron at all. They had quarreled the night before Arcas had gone to sea. Archeron feared a more centralized authority could endanger the monopoly the Coastal Kings had on the secret of their sea trade. But Arcas had assured his sire that he was not that big a fool.
“Do you think I want us powerless?” he demanded of Archeron.
“Of course not, but if the secret is made known we may have no choice, Arcas.”
“We are the only ones who can build sailing vessels or man them,” Arcas responded. “The magnates in the City have no talent for that, nor a way to accomplish such a task, my father.”
“The wood we need to build new ships we have always purchased from the Forest Lords,” Archeron said. “Now the City allows the Midlands to encroach into the forests.
“Gaius Prospero plans a new invasion of the Outlands. Once he has accomplished that what is to prevent him
