“Then free yourself, Brecia.”
She was speaking, some sort of chant, he imagined, and closed his eyes to see the words in his mind, and to counteract them.
She was sending him to hell. No, wait, not exactly to hell. She was with him, there, deep in an oak forest, and he was tied to an ancient oak that shuddered around him, branches trembling as if in a high wind—but there were no high winds deep in an oak forest.
He walked to the altar, stared down into those green eyes, and felt the force of her and himself, tied to that damned oak tree. He stood over her, and lightly, very lightly, he touched his finger to the tip of her nose. It broke her concentration. She looked up at him, and he knew she would slay him if she had the chance. She would send him to the Spanish Karelia to roast in a cage during one of those cold nights. He touched the tip of her nose yet again, smiled.
“Listen to me, Brecia. Shall I make you itch like I did Callas?”
“Black bastard.”
“I have told you I am not a bastard. Is my magic black? You say that only because you like to imagine yourself some sort of angel, decked out in pure white.”
“You are a fool. Release me.”
“No, not yet. A fool, am I? I learned my lesson with you three years ago, after you managed to escape. You refused to understand that the marriage was one I had to make. There was no choice.
“When I awoke from that fathomless sleep that was steeped in dark dreams with phantoms chaining me to boulders at the edge of the sea, I also awoke with the knowledge of how to control you. I have your wand now, too. You can’t bring me down, Brecia. I have all the power.”
Her lips weren’t moving, but he knew, simply knew, that she was fashioning another curse, one designed specifically for him.
He lifted his wizard’s wand high, lightly skimmed it over her, from her bare toes to the top of her head.
The white robe didn’t disappear. She wasn’t naked. Now what was this? He didn’t use his wand again, merely thought her naked, dwelt on it with precise concentration. Her damned robe stayed just where it was. So she wasn’t cursing him. Instead, she was fashioning chants to keep her clothes on.
He leaned over her. “You will yield to me, Brecia. You can struggle all you like against those ropes, but they can hold you—until forever and beyond.”
She was suddenly silent, staring up at him, and then she cursed him in vivid words that called upon every power from Satan himself to the first Druids who’d lived in caves and dyed their hair green, to the crude, barbaric Karelia from the south, who filed their teeth to points to better rip the meat from the bones of their sacrifices.
“Don’t think your curses do any more than make me laugh,” he said, and still he was laughing even as he lea
ned down and kissed her. But it wasn’t her mouth he felt, it was something raw and slick. He lurched back and saw not Brecia lying there naked, but a dozen ropes all looped and tangled together, like twisted snakes, and there was wet blood on them, dripping onto the dirt floor.
Brecia was gone.
In the next instant, the bluestone altar was gone. There was naught but a white gown lying on the ground.
The prince was so surprised that he was held quiet. He had taken her gown, but she’d managed to give him an illusion that she was still clothed. How had she done that? He threw back his head and bellowed the only promise he knew she wouldn’t ignore. “If you don’t come back, I will leave and take your wand with me.”
She was standing in front of him again, the white robe that had been lying on the ground suddenly on her, neatly belted by the gold chain at her waist. But her feet were bare, her golden sandals probably left in oblivion.
She was his now, and he knew it. He hoped she knew it as well. “Now,” he said, “if you are so powerful even without your wand, then you will cast a grand spell that will provide your multitude of ghosts, all the old priests, and all your followers with enough food, water, and shelter to last them a thousand years.”
“Why would I do that, prince?”
“Because I’m taking you with me. Together we will produce a son to master any wizard now living or ever to come on this blessed earth.”
“I will have nothing to do with you. You lied to me. You wed another. I could kill you if I really tried.”
“The marriage—it is over. I am free and now here for you. Now, you say you want nothing to do with me simply because I am more powerful than you. You say that because you fear me, since you know I can overcome you. Aye, Brecia, you will come with me. You will mate with me.”
She was silent, but he knew she was sorting through his words, even seeing herself breeding a fine heir, one for each of them. A wizard and a witch.
He said, his voice more gentle, drawing her in, that voice, “I remember when I first saw you in the sarsen circle, just behind the altar stone. You held both your hands flat against it. You were whispering something to it. A wish? A curse? Then you turned and you saw me.”
“Aye, I turned and there you were. You looked dark and powerful and infinitely wicked. I believed I could come to trust you, but I was wrong. All you want is to best me, to conquer me, to possess me.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “All that? I remember thinking then that you recognized me as your mate, just as I recognized you as mine. Now there is nothing to prevent our joining.”