“Hai, Muller.” No wonder he had dreaded becoming king. In a realm that kept its freedom only because of its shape-mages, such a distortion of power from the highest authority in the land could debilitate the country.
Muller indicated the distant figure of a woman in a meadow. She was walking toward their hill, her white dress drifting on the wind. Like him, she was ethereally beautiful, almost unbearably so.
“My betrothed,” he said.
“Does Chime know?”
“Yes. She helps me. Soothes me.” Softly he added, “But we cannot deny the truth. She and I are flawed.”
“Muller, nay.”
His face was pensive. “You think she doesn’t realize she has too much trouble understanding spells? She and I will never win acclaim for our gifts of the mind, but we complement each other.”
Iris was beginning to see why he and Chime spent so much time making themselves beautiful. It helped them endure what they perceived as their flaws on the inside. She spoke gently. “Acclaim means little. A love that makes each of you feel whole is priceless.” If only she and Jarid could find their way to such a gift.
“A pretty thought.” Pain showed on his face, though he tried to hide it. “But idealistic.”
“Sometimes idealism is all we have.” Iris watched Chime climbing the hill. “Jarid and I know so little about our duties. All of us are flawed, Muller, but together, perhaps we can do what would be impossible for one of us alone.” She turned to him. “Help us. Let me tell Jarid you will stay. He and I, we need you and Chime.”
For a long moment Muller watched his betrothed. Just as Iris thought he wouldn’t answer, he turned back to her. “I will talk to Chime.” He gave her a wan smile. “But I don’t know how much we can do.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
In truth, Iris didn’t know what she could do, either. Jarid had withdrawn from them all. She didn’t know how to breach the barriers to his heart—and without him, Aronsdale would remain incomplete.
Jarid sat against the wall of the tower room, a curving surface tiled in gold mosaics. He felt like a figure in a round box. He could focus his power through the tiles, the room, the orb-lamp on its stand, even the stairs beyond the door. Power coursed within him, awakened by his wife and her damnably soothing touch, the healing she drew from within herself and gave to him.
Iris.
Pulling his knees to his chest, Jarid crossed his arms and laid his forehead on them. His mind kept replaying that moment from this morning when—for the first time in his life—he had seen his foster father. Stone. The man had a weathered face. A worn face. An aging face.
A beloved face.
Jarid had ordered the guards to free Stone and give him a guest suite in the castle, and he had made sure they did as he said. Then he had retreated here. Nothing would let him escape the truth. Now everyone knew: their king was an atrocity. All this day he had been reliving Murk’s death; no longer could he deny the memory. That night, all those years ago, he had thought he would die himself. He was tainted. He would return with Stone to the mountains and live his life in isolation. He hated to leave Iris, but he couldn’t let her stay with him. He would destroy her. He would destroy Aronsdale.
A knock came on the door.
Jarid ignored it, but silence no longer protected him. Nor could he shut out the compassion that flowed to him from beyond that portal. He shouldn’t have been able to sense Iris so well with the door between them, but he did. They had reached each other across valleys and mountains and rivers, beyond the forest and beneath the bowl of the sky. It should have been impossible, but they had done it. Now she was a part of him, one so integral to his heart that he feared he would shatter when he left her.
The door opened. Jarid rose to his feet, his back against the wall, his posture defensive. Iris stood framed in the gracefully arched doorway. Guards loomed behind her, their hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to defend their queen against their king.
Iris stepped inside and turned to the guards. “You may close the door.”
“Your Majesty,” one began. “You shouldn’t risk—”
“I shall see my husband in private,” Iris said firmly.
When the guard still hesitated, Jarid spoke in his roughened voice. “You heard her.”
With poorly disguised reluctance, the guard closed the door. Jarid told himself he should insist that Iris also leave, but the words deserted him. He wanted her too much.
Stop. He put up his hand, palm out, to push her away.
“You donna fool me,” she murmured.
“You must go.”
She came over to him. “Nay, my love.”
“You cannot love me.”
“You can say I will never be yours, but you canna tell me what I will feel.” She spoke with compassion. “Give us time to learn each other, Jarid. With you, I feel a closeness I’ve never known before. It is as if we have a place in the world. A home. Perhaps neither of us knows how to love the other, but the seed is there. Let us give it a chance to grow.”
Jarid wished he could give that to her: a home, a place, a husband to cherish her. She deserved all that and more. But his scarred heart had nothing to offer.
Iris besieged his defenses. He barely stopped himself from gathering her into his arms. His conflicted emotions bewildered him: his longing to believe her; his conviction he didn’t deserve what she offered; his pleasure at seeing her, hearing her, feeling her. He felt her self-doubts and couldn’t fathom why she considered herself undesirable. Her hair, so full and curly, gleamed gold, chestnut, red, yellow. Seeing her lush body, he remembered their wedding night and his pulse quickened. Her face glowed with health, her cheeks pink as if she had been running.
He spoke in a rasp. “I cannot promise you a life of the laughter and love you deserve.”
Her voice softened. “I couldna bear it if you left.”
It was too much. Even knowing he should push her away, he drew her forward, into his arms, and laid his cheek on the crown of her head. “Iris—”
“Is it truly so horrible, to be with the likes of me?”
“It is a miracle. But you destroy my defenses.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “It is a good thing, to heal.”
“It’s killing me.”
“Nay, Jarid. Living hurts, but that is’n death.”
“I must never forget what I am.”
“You are Jarid Dawnfield, King of Aronsdale.”
“I am a monstrosity.”
“Nay!” She drew back to look at him. “You are a marvel.”
His hands tightened on her back. “Muller is right. He is more worthy to be king.”
“He didna say that.”
“He doesn’t want me to wear the crown.”
“He wants it even less himself.”
“He doesn’t mean that.”
“He means it.” She set her palms against his chest. “Muller is also a mage, but his spells go awry. You fear you will kill because you have so much power within you. He fears he will kill because his spells twist out of shape.”
He stared at her. “Muller is a mage? ”
“Aye. He says I may tell only you.”
Jarid leaned his forehead against hers. “He can learn to control his spells.”
“He thinks not.”
“I cannot accept the crown.”
“You already have it.”
“I will abdicate.”
“Nay.” Her melodious voice flowed over him. “What meaning would light have without darkness to define it? Goodness is’n the absence of evil, it is our ability to rise above the shadows within. If you had no such goodness, you would have never punished yourself all these years. That you have both light and shadows donna make you evil, it makes you human.”
“I must go.” He feared to accept the hope she offered him. “You must stay.”
Her voice caught. “I would miss you forever if you left me.”
Jarid pulled her close so he wouldn’t have to look into her face. He couldn’t speak his heart: I fear to love you. It would hurt too much, for to love meant to risk the anguish of loss.
Tenderness came into her voice. “We all leave this life someday. We canna let that stop us from giving our hearts. If we do, our lives have no meaning.”
He told himself that his leaving would protect Iris, but when he tried to imagine a life without her, isolated in his mountain refuge, it was unbearable. Great ice floes were breaking within him, as his defenses cracked and split.
“Let them crack,” Iris murmured.
His voice broke. “I don’t know how to love you.”
She cupped his cheek with her hand. “Let us learn together.”
It was a long moment before he spoke. Then finally he said the words that both terrified and elated him. “I will try.” He took a deep breath. “I will stay, my wife.”
E PILOGUE
Like sunshine sparkling on water, Chime ran up the hill to Muller, her husband. Sitting farther up the slope, Iris watched them. Off to her right, on the edge of a bluff, Jarid stood alone, staring out at the vista of green hills, meadows and woods. Although he wore rich garments now instead of rags, he still dressed simply in dark trousers and a white shirt. Iris had no idea what he was thinking now; even when she could feel his moods, she had trouble understanding them. But whatever thoughts occupied him today were calm.
Over the past months, during the spring and summer, his tormented moods had eased. Although she doubted he would ever let himself free of the guilt that haunted him, his days at Suncroft seemed to soften the jagged edges of his grief. He had asked Stone to stay, providing him with farmland to the south of Crofts Vale.
Iris was coming to know her husband. In many ways, he was still the boy who had lost his parents. Although he learned at an incredible rate, he rarely spoke. His powers were unparalleled. Fourteen years of honing them through meditation had turned him into a mage greater than any known in the recorded history of Aronsdale. In the past, the queen had served as the mage for the realm and the king as its sovereign. Iris and Jarid were reversing those roles. He had little desire to govern, but he could easily spend all day developing spells. Together, they could give Aronsdale the strength to stand against Harsdown.
It wasn’t an easy road, learning to govern, but to Iris’s surprise, it suited her. She was also learning self-discipline. Incredibly, she had talents to offer Aronsdale, and she had a place here at Suncroft. She and Jarid spent most of their time learning their duties, with help from Muller and Chime, but today they had borrowed a few moments just to enjoy the sunshine.
As if he had heard her thoughts, Jarid turned to her, his dark hair blowing in the wind, and beckoned, inviting her over. Her mood warming, she rose to her feet and went to him, savoring the sight of this man who had come to mean so much to her. They sat together on the edge of the bluff, gazing at the countryside. In a distant valley, Crofts Vale slumbered in the sunlight. Closer, but still far down the slope, Muller and Chime strolled into view, holding hands.
Jarid spoke in a low voice. “They are happy.”
“Aye.” Iris wanted to ask, And you? But she held back. On the night he had agreed to stay at Suncroft, she had sworn to herself she would never push him. In the months since, she had done her best to keep the vow.
Jarid took her hand. “Iris—”
“Aye?”
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “A lovely day.”
“That it is.” She wondered at his mood; he so rarely engaged in casual conversation.
He spoke softly. “It will never come easy for me.”
“It?”
“Speaking.”
She flushed. “Can you tell my moods that easily?”
“Not so easy. But some.” He touched her cheek. “My silences leave a woman lonely, I think.”
“Nay. You fill my life.” She had never felt lonely since he had come here. Vulnerable, yes; if you loved someone, you risked hurting that much more if you ever lost them. But it was far, far better than loneliness. The emptiness she had known all her life was filling now.
“Silence donna mean absence,” she said.
“It is hard for me to say what is inside.”
Iris curled her hand around his. “It is you I want. Not words.” She almost added, Words can’t love you, but she held back. It was too much to ask him to return her love. They had wed as strangers. It was enough that he seemed content with their union.
Jarid turned her palm upward to the sky. He cupped his hand under hers, as if they were holding an invisible orb. “Look.”
A sphere of light appeared in her hand, glowing violet. His mage color. Her pulse quickened. The power of that simple orb could vanquish any mage in the land.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Terrifying and beautiful.”
“Now yours.”
“Mine?” No one knew yet her mage color.
His voice rumbled. “Watch.”
The orb of light in her hand changed—into a rainbow. Every color swirled within the enchanted sphere, swirling in beauty.
Wonder spread through Iris at the exquisite sight. But she said, “It cannot be. A mage is one color, not all.”
“You are like none other. You have part of all of us in you.” He lifted their hands together, offering the orb to the sun, sky and land. Its light swirled and spun.
As she watched, marveling, the sphere rose from their hands, growing in size, translucent in the streaming sunlight. She could see the countryside through its glimmering surfaces. The orb bobbed on the gentle breezes like a giant bubble, rising higher, blown toward the village. It drifted across the land, pulling out into an arc against the sky. Farther and farther it floated, stretching out…
Then it was done—and a rainbow arched in the sky. It was impossible in the clear, sunny weather, without a raindrop in sight. Yet there it was, brilliant and pure, a great bow of color over the village of Crofts Vale.
“A gift to our people,” Jarid murmured. “Light and the healing that comes after a storm.”
Tears gathered in Iris’s eyes. “It is truly lovely.”
“It truly is.” His voice had an odd sound. “A sight that I love.”
Iris turned—to find
him looking at her. Her breath caught. “That you love?”
“Aye.” His voice gentled, falling into the cadences of the Tallwalk Mountains. He curved his hand around her cheek, his palm tingling with the power of the sphere they had held. “You.”
For a moment her voice failed. When she found it again, she said, “And I you, my love.”
So they sat together in the sunlight, watching the enchanted view, each a haven for the other, their hearts reborn in the gentle radiance of their shared gifts.
CHARMED DESTINIES
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3540-7
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
COUNTING CROWS
Copyright © 2003 by Mercedes Lackey
DRUSILLA’S DREAM
Copyright © 2003 by Rachel Lee
MOONGLOW
Copyright © 2003 by Catherine Asaro
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