“He’s hardly a boy.”
“He’s too young for her,” Darz groused. Then he sighed, and the tension in his arms eased. “But for some reason, Jade loves him. He makes her happy. So I can live with it.”
“Good…” She closed her eyes.
He turned on his side. “Don’t go to sleep, Ginger-Sun.”
“Darz—”
“I know,” he muttered. “‘Behave, Baz. She’s been through a lot. And don’t make a baby for at least three months.’”
“They told you not to touch me for three months?”
“Let’s just say it was strongly suggested.”
“I need time, but not that much.” Given the way her body was reacting to him, she suspected it wouldn’t be long at all. “We can figure some other way to avoid pregnancy for three months.”
His voice lightened. “I like that idea better.”
She smiled, pleased. “You’re a prince.”
“Yes, I know,” he grumbled. “I assure you, it doesn’t mean I’m a nice person.”
“You try to hide it. But you don’t very well.”
He groused more, holding her, but she could tell he was pleased. He fell silent, and she thought he had gone to sleep. Then he asked, “Are you awake?”
Drowsing, she didn’t have the energy to answer. After she had been quiet for some time, her breathing deep and regular, he murmured, “I think I’m in love with you, Ginger-Sun.”
Softly she said, “Then I am a lucky woman indeed, to have my feelings returned.”
“Ach! I thought you were asleep!”
“Mmm…Light of the moon, my loud husband.”
He laughed and lowered his voice. “Light always, wife.”
For the first time since the night the miners had brought Baz into the temple, she felt safe.
Epilogue
Ginger wandered the exquisite wings of the Topaz Palace and marveled at its beauty, the mosaics, the arched windows, the detailed carvings in the woodwork. In one hall, life-sized portraits of the Quaazeras stared at her, fierce men and lushly beautiful women. Her two guards followed at a discreet distance, close enough to protect her, but far enough away that she didn’t feel as if they were treading on her heels.
She found the temple in the woods near the lake. It was much like the one in Sky Flames, with inverted terraces for a roof, an airy main room, smaller chambers around the periphery, and the glowing RayLight Chamber in its center. Its size was the same, too, though the temple in Sky Flames had been for an entire village, whereas this one served only the palace.
The craftsmanship astonished her: porcelain vases, engraved arches that resembled frozen lace, lush tapestries on the walls—it was incredible. The basin of the fountain was wider across than two men were tall. Sculpted fire-lily statues opened in the center, and water cascaded out of the blossoms. The sunwood furniture was set with brocade cushions in sunrise colors. It was also covered with dust. She would need to do a lot of cleaning to make the temple presentable, but such a fine place was well worth the effort.
Nor would she be hindered in her work. Instead of a wrap, the maids had offered her an astounding choice of garments, all acceptable for a priestess, they assured her. The yellow skirt they suggested she wear fit low on her hips and hung to her ankles, so full that when she spun around, it swirled in a circle. The yellow silk bodice sparkled with topazes. It covered most of her torso, but left her abdomen bare, and also her lower arms. In Sky Flames, even before she had trouble with the elders, such apparel would have convinced them they needed to lock her up forever. More than so much else, these clothes made her aware of her new freedom.
She sat on the ledge of the fountain, pensive. Although she would gladly serve here, it reminded her of all she had lost. She couldn’t imagine returning to Sky Flames even now, when she could ride into the village as consort to the Quaazera prince, with a full company of the army. She could never again see the village without remembering the betrayals of the elders or reliving the terror of flames roaring around her at the stake.
She had written her brother to let him know she was all right, that matters had worked out better than anyone could have expected. She hoped he and Harjan would visit her. Along with that letter, the queen sent a retinue for Kindle, to bring him to Quaaz so he could work with the army on the powder. Whether or not anything would come of this “gunpowder,” Ginger had no idea. Nor did she think she would ever feel comfortable around Kindle. But he had a lot of good in him, if he could learn to control his temper. And he was an excellent choice to investigate the powder; he had always had a knack for making things work, and he seemed fascinated with the challenge.
Darz wanted to heave the elders and Dirk into a dungeon. But Ginger had checked the legal archives; they hadn’t broken any laws. Although no one was burned at the stake anymore, the antiquated law remained part of Taka Mal’s legal code. She knew Darz would have them arrested if she asked. She didn’t. Given her new status, they wouldn’t get a fair trial; if she let them be convicted that way, it was no better than what they had done to her. She wanted to face them, to make them see the wrong they had done. She didn’t want them executed; she wanted them to suffer guilt for the rest of their godforsaken lives.
Until she could handle the anger burning within her—and control it—she couldn’t see them. She had to deal with the darkness in herself before she faced it in others. She wasn’t ready yet. But the time would come. Then she and Darz would go to Sky Flames.
“I forget how serene it is here,” a man said.
She jumped up and whirled around. A few feet away, Drummer Headwind stood watching her, his yellow hair gleaming in the light slanting through a stained-glass window. Even without moving, he had an extraordinary grace. He wasn’t as tall as a Taka Mal man, barely taller than Ginger herself, and he had a lithe build rather than the bulk she was used to seeing in men. His eyes were blue. The extraordinary color looked unreal. His face was handsome, but in a way that made the word beautiful or even pretty seem more apt. He looked neither fierce nor deadly. By Taka Mal standards, he wasn’t at all masculine, but she could see why the queen found him compelling. He was uncommonly pleasing to look upon.
She suddenly realized she was gawking at the prince consort. Mortified, she dropped to one knee and bent her head. “My honor at your presence, Your Majesty.”
Footsteps sounded on the stone floor. Then Drummer was down on his knees, peering at her. “Did you drop something?”
“Goodness! You shouldn’t be on the floor. I haven’t swept it yet.” She scrambled back to her feet.
Drummer rose in a fluid motion and smiled, a dazzling flash of white teeth. “Neither should you be on the floor. And Ginger-Sun, you needn’t sweep the temple. You have maids to do all that. Acolytes, too, someday.”
“Oh.” She put one palm against her cheek. She was used to doing everything herself. “It’s gracious of you to visit.”
He motioned to the fountain. “Would you sit with me?”
“I would be honored.”
They settled on the ledge while their guards stood at the temple entrances. The fountain burbled next to them.
Drummer regarded her with a kind gaze, “I’m just a minstrel. Don’t kneel to me.”
She spoke softly. “There is much to get used to here.”
“It takes awhile.” He pushed his hand through his shining hair. Like the sun. He had sky eyes and sun hair. “But a person adapts,” he said. More to himself, it seemed, he added, “Eventually.”
From his tone, she suspected he was still adjusting. It had to be hard for him, immersed in a culture where he was considered strange and exotic; a place where few people were inclined to trust him; where strength, height and military prowess were far more valued in men than an ability to sing. She couldn’t imagine how he dealt with the royal court after he had spent his life wandering as a minstrel. She had at least learned the protocols in the temple, so she could serve all who came to her.
In the same instant Ginger said, “Queen Vizarana thought you might—” Drummer said, “Jade said you—” They both stopped, and she laughed self-consciously.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“It’s just, well—the queen thought you might help me learn about my Aronsdale ancestry.”
He nodded, seemingly relaxed, but his shoulder muscles were tensed beneath his shirt. “If you would like.”
She took the opal out of a pocket in her skirt and held her hand open with the pyramid on her palm. “My grandfather gave this to me. He said someday I would want to go to Aronsdale.” She regarded Drummer with an apologetic look. “I have never so wished. But I would like to know—to—” She stopped, afraid to say more.
“About this?” he asked. A golden radiance formed around the pyramid, sparkling with points of light.
“Oh!” She stared at the light. “That’s beautiful.”
“It doesn’t frighten you?”
“But why would it—” Ginger stopped, realizing what she was about to say. Drummer had made the light while their guards were here. The soldiers were too far away to hear her and Drummer, or see her hand clearly, so they might think she had a candle, but no guarantee of that existed. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff with no idea what lay below.
She leapt.
“How can you make light with my opal?” she asked. “Don’t you have to use your own? I’ve only used this rock, except a few times when I was—” She almost said desperate, then stopped. She didn’t want him to ask her why. “When I was trying especially hard.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled. Perhaps he had feared her reaction as much as she feared his. The light faded around her opal.
“It’s the shape,” he said. “The more sides it has, the greater the power it gives you. And three-dimensional shapes are stronger than those with two dimensions.” He nodded at her opal. “That’s a good shape, a strong one.”
“It’s the most sides I’ve ever used.” The circle and ring were two dimensions.
He didn’t seem surprised. “Each mage has a maximum shape.”
“And colors, too?”
“Yes! That’s right.” He beamed at her. “Colors determine the type of spell. Red creates heat and flame. Orange is for physical comfort. Yellow soothes. Green is for sensing emotions, and blue is for healing.”
He knew! Someone existed who understood. But green and blue? “I’ve never done emotion or healing spells.”
“Every mage has different talents. From what Baz told me, yours are the hot colors.”
Hope unfolded within her. “Will you teach me?”
He gave her a rueful look. “I’m no expert. But I’ll try. We can learn together.”
“I would like that.”
“Like what?” a rumbling voice demanded.
Ginger didn’t jump this time, though this new voice was, on the surface, far more threatening than Drummer’s musical words. She looked up at the scowling warlord who stood a few paces away. The contrast between him and Drummer was so acute, they seemed like different species. Darz towered, his broad shoulders and heavy musculature evident. He wore his day uniform, a dark red shirt with five enameled disks on the chest and brown trousers with heavy boots. His black hair was tousled as if he had been riding, and his eyes blazed. It was only noon, yet already the shadow of a beard darkened his face. Even when he wasn’t angry, he looked fierce, as if he were ready to skewer someone.
Ginger rose to her feet. “Light of the morning, husband.”
He stalked over to them and glared at Drummer. “You better not be singing to her.”
Drummer also stood. “A pleasant day to you, too, Baz.” He didn’t sound exactly thrilled.
“It was lovely to talk to you,” Ginger told Drummer. Then she took Darz’s arm. “Perhaps you will join us?”
Darz’s smile quirked at Drummer. “She might civilize me yet, eh?”
Drummer gave a startled laugh. He had the tact to refrain from answering.
The three of them talked for a bit, and Ginger watched Darz and Drummer, fascinated. Although they behaved as if they didn’t like each other, she didn’t believe them. They were so unalike, they would probably never see the world in the same way, but she had a feeling they had come to terms with their differences more than either was willing to admit. It made her smile, but she refrained from any comments that would embarrass them.
Eventually Drummer returned to the palace, and Ginger and Darz strolled outside, where the gardens drowsed in the heat of midday. So much green life: grass and flowers and vines and trees. It cooled the air. More eloquently than all the jewels and gold in the palace, the copious water here spoke of the great Quaazera wealth.
They stopped at a wooden bridge that arched over a creek. Trees heavy with red-box vines drooped over the water, and sun-dragons grew in profusion on the banks, mixed with exotic blue skybells the Aronsdale queen had sent as a wedding gift for Jade and Drummer. The perfume of flowers drifted on the air. Gold-wings trilled, and butterflies with red and gold wings floated over the blossoms. The creek gurgled, part of it routed to the temple and the rest flowing to the lake. They stood at the rail where they could see that body of water, which mirrored the endless blue sky.
“It’s so lovely,” Ginger said.
“Aye.” Darz sounded subdued. “So much in our world is ugly and harsh. A place like this seems ephemeral, as if we could lose it tomorrow to war or treachery or violence.”
His pensive tone surprised Ginger. “The Topaz Palace has stood here for over six centuries. The House of Quaazera has ruled even longer.”
He smiled at her. “How do you know all that?”
“I read history scrolls.”
“We have many in the temple.”
“I can catalogue them for you.” The prospect appealed to her, and with help in the temple, she would even have time.
Darz kissed her. “I’m glad you’re here, Ginger-Sun.”
“I’m honored.”
“I don’t want you to be honored.” His grin flashed. “I want you to be madly, passionately enthralled by your irresistible husband.”
A laugh bubbled within her. “That, too. Especially by his modesty.”
“Well, he tries.” He moved behind her and put his arms around her waist. “If you’ll be patient with him.”
“Always,” she murmured. In truth, she liked him exactly the way he was, grumbling, snoring loud voice, and all.
They stood together, gazing at the lake that gave life to the desert much as a lonely warlord and priestess had given life to each other.
First edition July 2007
THE FIRE OPAL
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0621-6
Copyright © 2007 by Catherine Asaro
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Worldwide Library, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Catherine Asaro, The Fire Opal
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