Dance of the Gods
Page 52

She turned her head, saw the coast with its high, steep cliffs that flowed down to graceful inlets. The sea spread out, velvet black, and cupped a trio of rough little islands on its journey to the horizon.
She heard Glenna give a quick gasp behind her, and looked over again.
The fantasy rose from the high hill, a wide curl of river at its back. Its stones gleamed like jewels in the moonlight, rising up into towers and turrets, stretching out into crenelated walls.
A castle, Blair thought, dumbfounded. And what castle would be complete without a drawbridge, or peaked caps on towers that held silky white flags?
A claddaugh on one, she noted as they waved in the breeze. A dragon on the other.
Glenna leaned forward to speak in her ear. “A hell of a lot to take in, for a couple of twenty-first-century girls.”
“I thought nothing was going to surprise me.” There was wonder in her voice; Blair could hear it herself. “But wow, a freaking castle.”
Larkin circled it so they could keep the horse and riders in view below. Then he glided down to a wide courtyard.
Instantly, Blair found herself surrounded by men in light armor, swords already drawn. She held her hands up in plain sight as she and her companions slid to the ground.
“Your name and your purpose.” One of the guards stepped forward.
Larkin shed the dragon. “That’s hardly a warm welcome, Tynan.”
“Larkin!” The guard sheathed his sword, then grabbed Larkin in a one-armed hug. “Thank the gods! Where the devil have you been all these weeks? We’d all but given up on you. And the princess, where—”
“Open the gates. The princess Moira is waiting to come home.”
“You heard Lord Larkin,” Tynan snapped. He lacked an inch or two of Larkin’s height, but his voice boomed with command. “Raise the gate. You must tell all. Your father will want to be waked.”
“There’s much to tell. Wake the cook while you’re about it. Give welcome to my friends. The warrior Blair, Glenna the witch, Hoyt the sorcerer. We’ve traveled far today, Tynan. Farther than you can know.”
He turned, reaching up to lift Moira down from the horse.
The men bowed, Blair noted, when Moira’s feet touched the ground.
“Tynan, your face is a welcome sight.” She kissed his cheek. “This is Cian, and this fine fellow is his Vlad. Would you have one of the men take him to the stables, see he’s housed and tended?”
“Me or the horse?” Cian murmured, but she pretended not to hear.
“Have my uncle told we’ve come home, and we wait upon him in the family parlor.”
“At once, Highness.”
Moira led the way through the courtyard toward a wide archway. The doors were already open for them.
“Nice summer house you’ve got here,” Blair murmured. “Lord Larkin.”
He shot her a grin. “’Tisn’t much, but it’s home. In truth, my own family home isn’t far from here. My father would be acting as ruler until Moira is crowned.”
“If it’s meant,” Moira said over her shoulder.
“If it’s meant,” he agreed.
Torches were being lit in the great hall, so Blair assumed word of the return was already spreading. In the floor, fashioned of some sort of tile, the two symbols from the flag here inlaid so that the claddaugh seemed to float over the dragon’s head.
They flew again in the glass dome curved into the high ceiling.
She had the impression of heavy furnishings, of colorful tapestries, caught the scent of roses as they started up a curve of stairs.
“The castle has stood more than twelve hundred years,” Larkin told her. “Built here, at the order of the gods, on this rise known as Rioga. Royal. All who have ruled Geall since have ruled from here.”
Blair glanced back at Glenna. “Makes the White House look like a hovel.”
Blair wouldn’t have called the room they entered any sort of parlor. It was huge and high-ceilinged, backed by a hearth tall and wide enough for five men to stand in. The fire already roared inside, and over it was a mantel of lapis blue marble.
Overhead, a mural depicted what she assumed were scenes of Geallian history.
There were several long, low seats with jewel-toned fabrics. Chairs with high, ornate backs stood at a long table where servants were already placing tankards and goblets, bowls of apples and pears, plates of cheese and bread.
Paintings and tapestries covered the walls while patterned rugs spread over the floor. Candles flamed in chandeliers, in tall stands, in silver candleabras.
One of the servants, a curvy one with a long spill of gold hair curtseyed in front of Moira. “My lady, we thank the gods for your return. And yours, my lord.”
There was a glint in her eye when she looked at Larkin that had Blair’s eyebrows raising.
“Isleen. I’m happy to see you.” Moira took both her hands. “Your mother is well?”
“She is, my lady. Already weeping with joy.”
“Will you tell her I’ll see her soon? And we need chambers prepared for our guests.” Moira took her aside to explain what she wanted.
Larkin was already heading for the table, and the food. He broke off a hunk of bread, hacked off a wide chunk of cheese, then mashed them together. “Ah, this tastes like home,” he said with his mouth full. “Here now, Blair, have some of this.”
Before she could object, he was stuffing some in her mouth. “Good,” she managed.
“Good? Why it’s brilliant as starshine. And what’s this?” He lifted a tankard. “Wine, it is? Glenna, you’ll have some, won’t you?”
“Boy, won’t I.”
“Little changes,” came a voice from the wide doorway. The man who stood there, tall, well built, his dark hair liberally threaded with gray, stared at Larkin. “Surrounded by food and pretty women.”
“Da.”
They met halfway across the room, and with bear hugs. Blair could see the man’s face, the emotion that held it. Then she could see Larkin in the eyes of tawny gold.
The man caught Larkin’s face in his big hands, gave his son a hard kiss on the mouth. “I didn’t wake your mother. I wanted to be sure before I lifted her hopes.”
“I’ll go to her as soon as I can. You’re well. You look well. A bit tired.”
“Sleep hasn’t come easy these past weeks. You’re injured.”