“Really, I don’t know.” Vashti had begun to regain some of his natural smugness. “It wasn’t really part of the plan for Storm to take her, so I don’t know where he planned to put her.” Miach somehow doubted that was the entire truth. It was never the entire truth with a man as crafty as Vashti. He knew, however, that they wouldn’t get any more information from him, at least not now. He gave Elan a brief, grim nod, and the Earth Lord wrapped his elbow around Vashti’s neck, squeezing until the smaller man wilted into an unconscious heap on the ground at their feet.
“Elan, you know this Land better than anyone. Where the hell would someone hide Nuriel?” He was very much afraid that, if he hadn’t already killed her, Storm would have stashed her somewhere for later torture or death.
Elan frowned for a minute. “Our Land isn’t very welcoming to that sort of hiding. Perhaps he gave her back to the Earth.”
“What does that mean?” Miach had heard the foreboding phrase before, and he didn’t like the sound of it any more now than he had then.
Elan grabbed Vashti’s leg and began to drag him back toward the clearing. “Given to the Earth? It’s when we are surrounded by the Sacred Earth, held safe as we are given time to reflect on our responsibilities and place in society.”
Miach struggled for patience, focusing for a moment of dark amusement on the way his demon brother’s head bounced over the uneven ground as Elan dragged him briskly through the trees.
“So how are you surrounded by the Earth? Where does it happen.”
“We’re taken to one of the Oubliettes,” Elan answered in a matter of fact voice.
“Oubliettes? You mean like holes in the ground oubliettes?” That was even worse than he’d feared.
Elan nodded without looking up or changing expression. It was as if the idea of being stuffed down into a hole in the ground to think didn’t faze the Earth Lord at all.
“And you’re okay with this?” He didn’t even try to keep the disbelief out of his voice.
Elan finally looked up. His face reflected nothing but surprise at Miach’s strong negative reaction. “It is the way of our land, one of the things that keeps life so peaceful. Besides, until now I’d never thought to question Mother’s wisdom.”
Miach merely shook his head. He hoped that meant that now Elan did question this so-called wisdom, because if not, Elan had a lot to learn.
* * *
Elan let the conversation lapse as he tried to work through the Fyre Lord’s reaction to the customs of the Earth Lands. They were difficult to explain to a stranger, but as Elan spent more time with his Princess and her Consorts, they were making less and less sense to him, as well. It was obvious that Miach’s and Dathan’s Lands allowed their men a daunting amount of freedom. The Ladies there must be extraordinarily brave; he could only imagine what it must be like to keep a man like Miach in his proper place. But Temair was more than capable of handling him, in fact she seemed to relish the challenge.
It was obvious that all three of her Consorts adored her, and Elan found that he, too, was under the Princess’s spell. She was not only lovely to look upon but she had a gentle soul, and around her he didn’t feel like an awkward giant. When he touched her soft body, for the first time in his life he felt like he was perfect just as he was; he felt whole. He’d never been in love before, but if the feeling was close to one’s stomach filled with butterflies and his body feeling alive whenever he was in her presence, than Elan was surely close to it.
The knowledge that, of all his brothers, she’d chosen him for her Consort made those butterflies dance with joy. He was more than ready to start his life with his new family, but first there was more unpleasant business to deal with. He shifted his grip on Vashti’s ankle and picked up his pace. First they would find Princess Nuriel and ensure that she was safe, then his new life would begin.
* * *
Nuriel sat with her arms wrapped around her knees and rocked, trying to comfort herself. She’d tried standing, but even jumping as high as she could, she couldn’t even bump the lid of the oubliette. She’d screamed until her voice broke, but there was no one to hear her. She never could have imagined terror like this, being shut up in complete darkness, no light, no sound. Dirt surrounded her, caking her fingernails where she’d tried to climb the walls to escape.
Hers was the land of shifters, and she was used to wide open spaces and fresh aire. Now, even her tears had dried up.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the darkness, but cold started to settle into her bones, the damp bitter cold given off by the Earth at night. She whimpered as she felt small things crawl along her legs. She was going to die here; no one would ever find her. How could they? She leaned her head against the damp earth, closed her eyes and let the darkness swallow her up.
* * *
Temair was the first to see Miach and Elan enter the meadow, Vashti dangling from Elan’s big hand. Miach nodded to Darmon as the Royal Guards gathered the still unconscious Vashti. “Mother, do you have someplace we can lock this piece of offal up?” He gave Mother a brief glance. “Somewhere not underground?”
Mother blinked before answering. “Of course, Lord Fyre. There are rooms that lock in my personal home. Moxan will show you,” she replied, pointing to her female guard.
Temair knew it would be up to her to decide how he should be punished, and the thought made her sick to her stomach. Not because she had any fondness for the traitor but because, in spite of everything, he was Miach’s brother, and she knew her Consort must feel at least some sadness in addition to his anger and betrayal.
Turning to Elan, she asked, “Did he at least give you some idea where to find Nuriel?”
“No.” There was deep sadness in his green and gold eyes. “He claims not to know.” Temair wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to let despair overwhelm her. Nuriel could be anywhere. Her foster sister could be hurt and bleeding, scared and alone.
“My Princess,” Elan added slowly, “I am of the Earth, and the Earth may be willing to tell me where to find her.” Elan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Elan,” Mother snapped, “You’re interrupting and distracting the Princess from the decisions she needs to make.”
Temair turned to the Mother. “I assure you, Mother, that I’m more than interested in anything Elan can contribute to finding Nuriel.” Reaching up, she took his hand between both of hers. “Please help us find her.”
He bent and kissed the tips of her fingers. “As you wish.”
Chapter Eight
Mother crossed her arms over her ample breasts and looked on in disapproval as Elan went to his knees. He laid both of his palms on the soil; his eyes were closed and his face was solemn. “Mother Earth, where all life begins, please answer me in our hour of need. Please tell me where your lost child can be found.”
His hands sank deeper into the ground until they were covered up to his wrist. After a long moment his eyes slid open; they were glowing with golden flames. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Standing up, he turned and caught Temair’s hand. “Come, I know where she is.”
The sun was rising, dim and misty, when Elan led them to a pile of rotting leaves. As he crouched down and balanced on the balls of his feet to move the leaves away, Temair wrung her hands in sick worry. Nuriel had been trapped in that damned pit for almost eighteen hours.
He lifted a round, woven lid and peered into the dark hole. “She’s here,” he affirmed grimly. “Stand back.”
Dear Mother. Nuriel was down in that hole, in the dark, alone.
Temair forced herself to obey Elan and move away from the pit. Miach’s heat was suddenly at her back and Temair gladly pressed her back against him.
“She’ll be okay, Spark. We’ll make sure she’s okay.” He kissed her neck and held her tightly as Zevan came to lean against her side, and Dathan moved to stand close enough to Miach that the two men touched.
The Earthers and the members of the Royal Guar
d who’d followed them through the forest seemed to fade into invisibility as Elan once again knelt and placed his palms down on the ground. This time Temair couldn’t hear the big man’s words, but their effect was obvious. Slowly the earth around him began to shift, and all at once Nuriel rose to the surface, where she lay like one sleeping.
Running to her, Temair reached down and hugged her. “Oh, thank the Great Mother! Nuriel are you hurt?”
Bright blue eyes slowly blinked open in a pale, dirt and tear streaked face, and stared uncomprehendingly at Temair. “Ellie?” she whispered tentatively, suddenly frightened at her friend’s expression.
Comprehension filtered back into Nuriel’s eyes with a rush, and she scrambled to a crouch, wrapping her arms around herself and whimpering.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Nuriel seemed to grow more agitated with every breath, and Temair looked helplessly at her Consorts, unsure of what to do. Before Nuriel could panic entirely, though, Elan stepped forward and knelt before her.
“Princess,” he rumbled in his deep, musical voice. “I would be most honored if you’d allow me to escort you home.” He sat quietly back on his heels, looking amazingly unthreatening for a man of his size, and waited for her answer.
After an eternity she nodded, and he rose to offer her his arm. Before the torture pit was even out of sight she’d allowed him to scoop her into his arms. She looked so tiny against his massive frame, but he held her like she was a precious gift. Temair’s heart squeezed tight and she was even surer she’d made the right decision in choosing Elan.
* * *
Nuriel hadn’t said a word since her rescue from the oubliette, even after Temair had bathed the caked on dirt and grime from her body, and combed her long golden tresses. She avoided eye contact and barely seemed even to breathe. Somehow, though, what worried Temair the most was that Nuriel didn’t cry.
The practice of “returning to the Earth” troubled Temair. The idea of someone being buried in a hole simply because he might disagree with his mother or sister or wife went against every fiber of her being. Unable to reconcile what she’d seen here and what she’d learned from her fathers, Temair knew she needed to seek answers.
She sat before the enchanted mirror in the Mother’s private chambers while Marl, her Earth father, faced her from her mother’s sitting room at the palace.
“Father, I don’t understand this practice of returning to the Earth,” she said. “It seems inhumane and even torturous.”
Marl frowned thoughtfully. “What you describe is somewhat more extreme than the purifications my mother, the last Lady Earth, practiced.”
“It’s not just the oubliettes, though,” she protested. “The men here are allowed no say in any of the decisions, from what their vocation will be to who they’ll mate with. And almost from birth they’re taught that’s how it should be, that a man’s place is whatever the women in his life say it is.”
“Temmie, that’s the way of things; not only in the Earth Lands, but in all of Emetra. In all of Merab for that matter. Women rule, and we men wield the magic.” He shook his head ruefully. “I will admit, though, it sounds as if the current Lady Earth has taken her role as leader to the extreme.”
Temair sighed. “I think we’ve hidden behind the castle walls for too long, Father. Our subjects need to see us, to know us and what we value. And they need to see and to know each other. I want to encourage the Elements to come together instead of living so far apart. And I am going to ban the awful punishments I have witnessed, effective immediately.”
Marl’s smile was overflowing with love and pride. “You will make such a wonderful Queen, Temmie. I’m so very proud of you.”
Temair felt her eyes fill; while she was secure in the love of all her parents, hearing her Earth sire’s words of pride warmed her clear through. “Thank you, Father. We will be returning soon.” She blew Marl a kiss.
He caught it and returned it to her. “Good. We miss you. I love you, Temair.”
* * *
Temair stood facing Mother, her Consorts clustered around her protectively. Their close attention was making her feel the slightest bit claustrophobic, but since she’d insisted on leaving Darmon and Pelagia with Nuriel, who was still nearly catatonic after her trauma, she couldn’t really complain that her husbands were being overprotective.
Behind Mother, her children stood, beautiful faces in all the shades of gold and bronze. And one face rose above them all: Elan, his green and gold eyes glowing as they boldly met her own.
“Mother, you have honored us with your hospitality, and we thank you.” Mother smiled graciously, but Temair saw the anticipation building in the woman’s leaf-green eyes. “Now I ask you to honor us further,” she continued in her most grand “court” voice. “I formally petition you. I have chosen Elan, thirteenth son of the House of Earth, as my Consort, and I ask Lady Earth if she is agreeable to my choice.”
Against all protocol, Mother stepped forward and caught Temair’s hands in her own. “Oh, my dear, of course I’m agreeable.” Then Mother beckoned Elan forward and placed one of his hands in Temair’s. “I joyfully give you my son.”
Temair was so caught in the blaze igniting in Elan’s gaze that she almost missed Mother’s next words. Almost.
“Now I shall have to see Mother India to arrange Elan’s marriage mark.” She looked at Temair eagerly. “Do you have a special symbol you’d prefer, or shall we just go with the Mark of the Royal House?”
“No!” Temair’s reaction was immediate and loud, drawing the eyes of the gathered people. “Absolutely not! I will not have my Consort marked so painfully and permanently without his desire or consent.”
“But it’s his pledge,” Mother protested.
“No, his pledge is when he looks into my eyes and promises to love, cherish and serve not only me, but our family and our country. I don’t need those promises carved into his flesh. His word is enough.”
Elan, who’d remained silent during this exchange, gave his mother a long look, then turned to Temair. When he dropped to his knees in front of her, her first instinct was to pull him back to his feet, but he shook his head stubbornly. When he spoke, Temair’s heart melted all over again.
“Princess, you’ve shown me so many honors I can scarcely take them all in. I do promise to love and cherish you, the family we share, and the country that we protect. I promise this willingly, and eagerly.” He raised her trembling hands to his mouth and pressed warm kisses to her palms. “You asked me what I would wish for, if I could have anything in the world? I would wish for you. I would choose you. I do choose you.”
Temair was trying to sniff back tears, but she wasn’t too distracted to hear Dathan murmur, “Man, Nuriel will be so pissed that she missed this. It’s like the happy-ever-after from one of her books.” She had no doubt Miach had some snarky comeback, but she was too busy kissing Elan to hear it.
* * *
When the Royal Family returned to the hogan, they found Nuriel wrapped firmly in Sorcha’s arms, the tears she’d refused to shed earlier streaking her face.
“Oh, Ellie,” Sorcha was crooning, her voice broken. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”
Surprisingly, it was Miach who moved to Sorcha’s side. Or maybe not so surprisingly. From the beginning Miach and Sorcha had shared a bond, recognizing in each other a fellow warrior.
“Not even you can be two places at once, little sister,” he soothed, stroking a gentle hand over Sorcha’s riot of flame-colored curls. “Fuck,” he added darkly, “I was there, and look at the good I did her.”
“Neither of you are to blame,” Nuriel whispered, surprising them all. “It was those… those men. Those evil, cruel men.”
“Sweetie, not all men are like that.” Temair joined the impromptu group hug. Dathan and Zevan joined them, too, not touching, but standing nearby sharing their strength.
“I know,” Nuriel sobbed. “I know. Your Consorts are the exception. You are so lucky, Temair. The me
n of Zirah aren’t so civilized.” Her voice choked, and Temair was dismayed to see fresh fear in her foster sister’s eyes. “The men of Zirah are beasts, literally. Oh, Sacred Mother. What am I going to do?”
Sorcha met her gaze helplessly over Nuriel’s bowed head. What would Nuriel do? What would her country do? Temair had never felt so powerless in her life.
* * *
Sitric watched from his customary place, a hidden cupboard built into the wall of the hogan. Every Noble House, it seemed, had secret passages and hidden watching spots in their guest quarters. He wasn’t sure whether to find that comforting or disturbing. Right now, he was seething, more filled with rage than he could remember being, ever. His beast threatened to explode, every protective and dominant instinct screaming for action, for retribution.
Vashti had finally gone too far. Not only had he staged an unsanctioned attack, but he’d targeted a woman who gave all appearances of being a strong potential ally. And when he couldn’t get his hands on her, Vashti had brutalized the most innocent, vulnerable member of her household.
Sitric believed in the rebellion down to his soul. He knew that the men of Merab desperately needed to be freed, from the cruel treatment they received at the hands of many power-hungry women. In the short time he’d been in Earth he’d also witnessed the well-intentioned oppression of loving women. That, too, needed to be remedied.
But becoming more evil than their foes was not the way to do it.
Again and again Sitric found his gaze drawn to the Princess from the Mystical Continent. Sorcha had repeatedly shown herself a wise and fair ruler as she fought to untangle the mess Lady Alta had left at the Aerie. Time after time Sorcha had treated the abused men with compassion and dignity. She’d never flinched in passing judgment on their abusers, either, which had surprised him no end.
More, she’d made a point to work with the more liberal, open-minded women, teaching them the benefits of a more equitable society. Already they were reaping the rewards of treating their men fairly. It was an inarguable fact that men who respected their women worked harder, diligently and even willingly. And there was no doubt that the men of the Aerie had been yearning for women they could respect.