The servant’s fingers twisted the plain brown fabric of her gown. “He practices his magic in the white sands.”
“Go to him. Tell him I request his presence in my bedchamber right away.”
The young girl gave a relieved nod and hurried to obey.
“I will have you yet, Tristan.” This time, Zirra did allow herself to laugh, giddy for the first time since Percen cast his traitorous spells.
Romulis strode into her chamber a short while later, all aggression and malevolence. His bare chest glistened with sweat, his muscles laced with sinew and scars. Tiny white crystals were embedded in his pectorals, used as conduits for his magic.
He looked every inch the savage, dangerous warrior that he was, yet all the more potent because his magic hummed all around him, as sharp and deadly as any talon. His booted feet crunched the broken vase on the floor, when he suddenly halted at the edge of her bed, a dark tower against the whiteness of her walls and furnishings, and stared down at her. His features were bold and striking. Silky black hair hung to his shoulders, framing his golden eyes and bladelike cheekbones.
On numerous occasions, he’d attempted to lure her to his bed. She always spurned him quite forcefully, sending him away frustrated and angry, for she never dabbled with the Druinn males. They were too volatile and uncontrollable; with a wave of their hand, they could curse or bless you.
As you both blessed and cursed, Tristan?
Be quiet, common sense! This isn’t about me.
While she relished that power within herself, she did not welcome it in another. The way Percen had so easily stripped her of her mystical abilities only proved her reluctance to take a Druinn lover was well placed.
Though Romulis knew how she felt, he desired her still. Obviously. He would always desire her. The knowledge burned in his eyes. Oh, he might despise himself for his weakness, but he was helpless against it, and she couldn’t blame him. Look at her. Perfection.
“What is it you wish this time, Zirra?”
Her shapely brows furrowed as she offered him a pouty scowl. “Your father has stolen my mystic abilities and sent my slave to another world.”
“I know.” He paused a moment to rest his hand against the alabaster column rising beside him. “All of the palace knows, in fact, and none of us care.”
She forced her expression to remain unaffected. To reveal an emotion was to admit you had a weakness. “Will you bring Tristan back to me?” Watching him, she lounged seductively against the furs and traced her fingertips over the curve of her hip. “I would be most grateful.”
“Is that the only reason you called me? If so, I will take my leave of you now.” He spun toward the entrance.
“Wait! Please. I only wish to punish him,” she lied. “I’ll be indebted to the man who aids me.”
He slowly turned to face her. His lips slanted in an insolent grin. “How indebted, sorceress?”
“Show him to me. Just a glimpse. That’s all I ask. Please, Romulis. I will spend the night with you.”
His eyes lit with something dark and wicked. “Very well,” he said, punctuating each word. “I will give you a single glimpse of Tristan.”
He lifted a crystal shard from the shattered vase and used it to scoop a flaming ember from the hearth. Smoke ribboned all the way up to the vaulted ceiling as he muttered a spell. The magic’s essence scented the air with roses and spice. He moved the fingers of his free hand in a wide arc. Directly above the smoky cloud, oxygen began to swirl and liquefy. In the center of the dappled liquid, Tristan’s image materialized.
Zirra smothered a hungry gasp and forced her body to remain where it was as the mortal she’d dreamed of these many eves filled her vision. He was sitting atop a plain black chair, his arms locked behind his head as he stared up at a ceiling.
He was so deep in thought the fine lines around his eyes were tight, his lips drawn tight.
Her mouth watered for a taste of him.
What thoughts tumbled through his mind? Did he think of her?
She reached out to touch him but grasped only air. Her disappointment was nearly a living thing, and she screeched, “You must show me another glimpse of him, Romulis. You must.”
His hands lowered to his sides, and Tristan’s image floated away. Romulis laughed with forced humor. “You know I will not risk punishment for you. Not even for a night with you. None of us will.”
“Percen is your father. He will never punish you.”
“My answer is still nay.”
“Surely you can do something for me,” she cried. “Or there will be no night for us.”
“Aye, I can do something…but I will not,” he said firmly. “Keep your night. Tristan has had many guan rens since you and he does not need your interference in his new life. The woman he is with now might just set him free.”
No, no, no. But one of this Druinn’s gifts was the ability to see into the future and know. Just know. She could not doubt he spoke true. “Where is he now? Where? Who dares to claim my property?”
Stubbornly he remained silent. Yet his gaze traveled over her hungrily, desperately.
“Please! Help me, Romulis. I am not above begging.”
“Zirra—” he began.
“Romulis,” she returned, gentling her tone. Watching him through the shield of her lashes, she turned to her other side, lounging seductively, her hair draped over one shoulder. She knew she presented a picture of carnality, an image that inspired the lust of legions. “Bring him back to me, and I will give you anything you desire.”
“Nay,” he said, though he hesitated this time.
She persisted. “Anything you desire of me is yours, Romulis. Anything. All you must do is help me.”
Minutes dragged by, an eternity. What thoughts swirled through his mind, she did not know.
“You will do anything I ask?” he finally said.
“Aye,” she answered without consideration to the consequences. Hope
