Fifteen

Giles tried to control the jealousy that flared in his chest when the shock faded from William’s face and turned into an adoring gaze.

“Cecily? What are ye doing here?”

“Will,” she breathed in reply, “I thought I would never see you again.”

His face flushed so deeply that Giles could see the color creep over his features even in the dim lamplight.

“I wrote ye,” he said, “but ye never answered. This place… it is not what I expected.”

“I… I left the village shortly after you did, Will. I did not get your letters.”

Giles could not stand it anymore. “We have to go, Cecily.”

Will appeared to become aware of Giles for the first time, breaking his gaze from Cecily and turning it toward the taller man. “So that’s why ye came. I thought it was ’cause of the mark upon yer face. But it’s because of her, isn’t it? Ye have always mooned after her.”

Giles narrowed his eyes, his hand shifting toward his sword, resisting the impulse to run the man through, but not because they needed to escape. No, it was burning jealousy that prompted his actions. Faith, hadn’t he thought about bringing Cecily and Will together? And now that fate had brought about the meeting, Giles realized what a fool he had been to even consider allowing another man to touch Cecily. Will might hurt her.

Cecily stepped between them, placing a hand upon William’s shoulder. “You left me, Will. And because you did not find what you were expecting is no reason to be angry with me, or with Giles.”

He had the grace to look a bit ashamed. “Aye, but ye know I still loved ye.”

Apollo nudged Giles in the back and he turned to stroke the horse’s broad forehead, resigned to listening to this nonsense.

“But not enough,” Cecily told him. “Not enough to stay with me—no, do not look that way, Will. I understand and bear you no ill feeling. Truthfully, it would have been a mistake for us to marry. I am not what you need and you are not… you are not the right man for me.”

Giles hid a smug smile.

“I am even more different than I thought,” she continued. “And it has made my life… complicated. We are on an important mission, Will. One that may help to free England from the slavery of the elven lords.”

Giles turned. Grief etched William’s features. But perhaps a bit of relief too. The man knew he could never have managed a woman like Cecily.

Will gave Giles a measuring look. “The guards are looking for a man with a green mark on his face. And a woman who some daft matron swears has stolen the elven lord’s scepter.”

“Indeed,” said Giles.

Will’s mouth dropped open and his gaze flicked back to Cecily. “Ye are right. Ye are more different than I would have ever—”

A shout from outside the stables made Will turn. He took one last glance at the two of them before he strode out the door. Giles mounted Apollo in one smooth movement while Cecily did the same with Belle.

“Ready?” he whispered, drawing his sword, regretting having to fight their way out.

She held up a hand. “Wait.”

Giles could hear the soldiers shouting to one another. If they waited they would be outnumbered. And then he heard Will’s voice rising above the others.

“There’s no one in here, lads. But I seen two riders making for the southern gate!”

More shouts and a sudden flurry of pounding hooves followed his words.

Cecily grinned. “That means we’ll take the northern gate, then.”

Giles shook his head. “How did you know he wouldn’t betray us?”

“Will has always been my friend before anything else.”

Giles sheathed his sword and tapped Apollo’s flanks with his heels. He suddenly felt sorry for Will, having to settle for naught but friendship.

They rode out into the empty paddock and around to the back of the stables, keeping the horses to a sedate walk until they cleared the grounds and reached the gate.

Water flowed along the walls, enhancing the illusion that the wave-shaped structure swelled like the ocean. Two solitary soldiers stood at the gate, both of them looking toward the lights of the palace and the revelry they were missing.

“What’s your business?” asked the tallest, his gaze still fixed beyond them.

“My mother is ill,” replied Cecily before Giles had even thought of what to tell them. “This kind soldier is escorting me to the city to tend her.”

“Pity,” said the other guard, giving Giles a brief glance. “I heard there’s food and wine aplenty tonight.”

Giles shrugged as he rode past them. “A soldier’s lot, eh, boys?”

“Ah, damn,” the guard continued, ignoring Giles’s words. “Henry, the Imperial Lord has returned. I don’t suppose we’ll have as much merriment after our shift, now.”

Cecily caught her breath and turned to look over her shoulder. Giles glanced back as well, his gaze drifting upward to the tallest tower in Dewhame Palace. Despite the distance, no one could mistake the silhouette of dragon wings as they landed.

They had run out of time.

Giles urged Apollo into a gallop once they left the guards’ sight, splashing through the watery roadways of the city. The taverns were full—which fortunately left the streets empty, and they encountered only a few chairs and one carriage. Moonlight danced along the wet walls of the rounded buildings, played in the spray from the numerous fountains, and lit their way brightly enough that Giles did not fear for the horses’ footing.

He headed for Bristol, one of the few ports with an opening through the magical barrier for trading with the outside world. Even though the Rebellion had the loyalty of a few captains and their ships, the port was so heavily guarded that Giles had worried about getting Cecily safely aboard the Argonaut, the small sloop that Sir Robert had arranged for her escape.

If the elven lord flew ahead of them and alerted the authorities, they didn’t have a prayer.

He soon discovered he would not have to worry about it.

Breden of Dewhame would not allow them to get that far.

They had ridden for barely an hour when Cecily shouted and pointed above. “Those are not natural storm clouds.”

He looked up. Where had they come from? A dark gray mass cut off the glow of starlight, gathering with unnatural speed. Soon, the storm clouds would block the moonlight and the horses would be at risk on this rutted road.

Breden had called a storm to hinder them until he caught up with his daughter himself.

A sudden glow lit the darkening night, and Giles turned to see Cecily holding the scepter within her hand, the top of it ablaze with those small flashes of lightning. She held it forward, illuminating their way.

Giles urged Apollo to a faster gait.

Thunder rumbled within those ominous clouds and a deluge of rain showered down upon them.

Giles cursed and slowed his mount yet again, glancing over at Cecily. Flashes from her scepter echoed in her eyes, wide with fear as they gazed into his own. Water plastered her hair to her head, poured down her face in a translucent sheen. He could see the outline of her legs within her sodden skirts.

The only woman he had ever known who looked even lovelier soaking wet.

“We cannot outrun them,” she cried.

His chest squeezed at the terror in her voice. “The hell we can’t! Keep the water from our heads, dry the road before us.”

A glimmer of hope shone in her eyes and she nodded, waving the scepter before her. The rain abruptly stopped stinging Giles’s head and shoulders. The horses’ hooves no longer made squelching sounds in the muddy road, but pounded dry earth instead.

“That was so easy,” she called. “The scepter—”

Thunder drowned her words and before them, just beyond the invisible dry barrier she’d created, the ground exploded with a burst of jagged light. Belle squealed and Apollo’s legs abruptly tried to go in the opposite direction, his rump nearly lowering to the ground. Both horses then spun in circles for a moment, and Giles saw Cecily staring upward.

He followed her gaze and saw Breden and his dragon, Kalah, fly through the storm clouds just above their heads. Despite his dismay, Giles could not help but admire the beauty of the dragon. Kalah’s gleaming scales rippled with blues of a thousand shades. Enormous wings battled the winds, the scalloped edges fluttering, the heavy tendons with a tracery of black outlining the rippling muscles. Like the head of the scepter, jagged light streaked from his open jaw.

Giles turned and met Cecily’s gaze. She did not appear to notice the beauty of the beast in her terror.

“Giles, your sword!”

He drew his blade, surprised that it resisted his hand. It actually appeared reluctant to engage in battle—

Another streak of light crackled down from the sky from the maw of the dragon. Apollo reared. Giles held up his sword in defense. His blade reflected the lightning and sent it sparking back up to the dragon, who snorted as it unerringly hit his snout.

Breden of Dewhame screamed something, the dragon shook its head, and the elven lord held up his hands, which began to glow brighter and brighter.

Apollo and Belle finally stilled, their sides heaving with the exhaustion of fright. They did not know which way to run.

Cecily stared at him with terrified eyes. “He’s gathering the power of the storm within his hands.”

“I know. At least the dragon won’t help him.”

“Nor stop him. Giles, I don’t know if I can do this. Breden… he is my father, after all. And I don’t want to use this thing.” She shook the scepter, the tip of it now ablaze. “The power of it is like a drug, one that I may lose myself in.”

He could not bear the agony in her voice. On her beautiful face. He leaned over and stole a kiss, wishing he had the time to do it properly. “I am your protector, now and always. You know that means I love you?”

She nodded without hesitation, the wind whipping midnight hair across her face, her eyes filling with sudden tears. Perhaps she had realized it before he had managed to discover it himself.

Giles turned Apollo back in the direction they had come. “Ride on to Bristol,” he commanded. “Don’t let Breden have the scepter.”

“I won’t leave you.”

Giles could feel the power the elven lord called. It shivered in the clouds above them, crackled in the air around them. He fancied he could even smell it, sharp and pungent like the stuff used to bleach wool. Even without the scepter, the Imperial Lord held formidable strength.

“Now or later, what’s the difference?” he shouted back. Her face fell but he hardened his heart. Giles could think of no other way to keep her safe.

He smacked Belle on the rump. Now with a direction to run, the horse did not hesitate, blindly galloping forward. Apollo started, fighting the reins to turn and run after Belle. But Giles fought his head and kicked his flanks, lowering his upper body over the horse’s neck.

And Apollo ran through the curtain of rain in the opposite direction, leaving Belle far behind.

Giles squinted upward. Breden’s hands now appeared to be on fire with jagged streaks of lightning. Kalah flew back and forth, trying to decide which horse to follow. Giles wished he’d had a chance to talk with the dragon, to enlist the beast’s aid. But perhaps Kalah had decided which path to follow, for the dragon did not pursue Cecily and the scepter.

Breden cursed and railed as the dragon swept downward after Giles. They now flew close enough for Giles to hear the elven lord’s words. “The scepter, you stupid beast! Follow the girl!”

Kalah ignored the elven lord and spat a stream of lightning, the bolts bouncing harmlessly on the road behind Giles. Apollo ran faster.

Either Kalah had bad aim, or he was purposefully missing his target. But it looked like Breden of Dewhame would not.

Giles held his sword aloft, while his devil-blade fought to return to its scabbard. “Coward,” he yelled at it. “Just because we can’t win this fight is no reason—”

And then the world exploded around him.

His sword flew from his hand with the impact. He could see naught but white light. The hair on his head and arms stood up as a shaft of energy surged through his body. Giles’s ears rang as he fell. And fell. In such dizzying slow motion that it was a relief to hit the ground.

He struggled to stay conscious, crawling to his knees. He had to put up a better fight than this. Cecily needed more time to get away.

Giles staggered to his feet, blinking his eyelids to banish the whiteness. He could not find Apollo. Better that the loyal beast had kept running.

His ears kept ringing. It took him a moment to realize the sound came from his sword, which lay in a patch of grass near the side of the road. He tried to leap toward it, and fell, mud splashing his face, covering his knees. By the time he held his sword in his hands again, he felt the buffet of wind from the dragon’s landing.

Giles turned and faced Cecily’s father.

Breden stayed atop his mount, his hands still glowing, but not as strongly as they had before he’d loosed that blast upon Giles. “It seems I have to kill you before Kalah will fetch my scepter. I’d be amused to know what you did to annoy him.”

Giles stared into unearthly blue eyes, as brilliant as Cecily’s but so cold they glittered like ice. The elven lord wore an embroidered coat of blue, with a scarlet waistcoat beneath, as if he entertained at some lavish ball. Lace tumbled down his throat and danced in the wind about his sleeves. His white hair sparkled with tiny silver flashes, as if stardust had been sprinkled within it. He looked almost as beautiful as his daughter.

Giles needed to keep him talking. It would give Cecily more time to get away. “Why don’t you ask Kalah?”

One white brow rose. “The beast is oddly reticent tonight. But I daresay I have a more pressing question than that. What happened to my champion? Or did his human blood finally prove what an oaf he is?”

“Didn’t your demon tell you?”

“I’m afraid that once my pet told me my scepter had been stolen, I lost my temper. It felt… glorious.”

Sweat popped out in Giles’s hand and he clutched his sword tighter. The coldness of the elven lord rivaled Mor’ded of Firehame, who at least had some humanity within his soul.

“I defeated Fletcher,” said Giles. “Just as I shall defeat you.”

Breden threw back his head and laughed, the sound like some musical notes of a dirge. “Ah, I wish I had more time to play with you, human. But I must retrieve that which is mine. Although, yes, let us see about this sword of yours.”

And without warning, a bolt of lightning flew from his fingers at Giles—the full force of the charge that had unseated him within that single beam. His devil-blade managed to deflect a portion of it back at the elven lord, but the dragon lifted a wing and shielded the elf.

Giles wished Kalah would make up his mind about whom he was helping, here.

Pain shot down Giles’s arm and it dropped to his side, his sword falling from numb fingers onto the muddy road. His devil-blade hissed as it fell, steam rising from it as the rain doused the metal. He almost felt sorry for it.

“You animals,” said Breden, shaking his elegant head in mock sympathy. “When will you learn that the talismans you craft for protection will never stand up to an elven lord’s power? I find it most amusing though. Rather like one of your monkeys trying to defend itself with a branch.”

Giles fisted his left hand, for he wanted nothing more than to clutch his right and howl with pain just like the animal Breden accused him of being. The skin of his palm had blackened and the raindrops that fell upon it lanced him like shards of ice.

He had to keep the elven lord talking. Had to buy Cecily more time. But his brain felt addled and his ears kept ringing.

“What difference is there between my sword and your scepter? Talk about waving around a stick…”

Thunder cracked above and shook the very air. Giles thought he heard the pounding of hooves in the aftermath. Had Apollo returned to his master? But he could not look around. He dare not take his gaze away from the elven lord’s cruel blue eyes.

“I can see why Kalah wants you dead,” said Breden. Lightning zigged from one black cloud to another. The elf lifted his hand toward it as if gathering flowers for a posy and it flew to him, dancing about his hands. “Despite how amusing it is to find a human foolish enough to spar with me, I grow bored. ’Tis our ever-present burden, you see. After centuries of existence, life lacks any sort of challenge.” He tossed the swirling ball of lightning straight at Giles.

Someone screamed.

Not Giles, for he’d been ready for the attack. Indeed, he leaped up and forward using all of the elven strength he possessed. As a result, the fireball barely grazed him, setting the tails of his coat ablaze but not altering his course a whit. He flew over the dragon’s great head and hit Breden bodily, both of them grunting as they tumbled in a heap down Kalah’s tail.

Breden’s body burned hotter than an open forge. Giles rolled away from him, dousing the flames of his coat on the flooded road in the process.

A delicate hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up into familiar blue eyes.

“Dammit.”

“Are you hurt?”

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be far away… safe.”

Cecily held the scepter in her other hand, the thing glowing an unearthly blue, crackles of light at its tip. “When will you understand that we can never be—?”

“So, it is you,” said Breden of Dewhame.

The elven lord had regained his feet. Giles struggled upright as well, although he could not stand so steadily.

Cecily jerked as if his words had the weight to strike her down. Then she lifted her chin and glared at him. “Hello, Father.”

“Of course it had to be you,” continued Breden. “Only a human who sprang from my very loins would have the audacity—or the power—to steal my scepter.”

Giles did not mention that Fletcher had managed to touch the thing. That knowledge might be to the Rebellion’s advantage.

“You’ve led me a merry chase, girl.” Breden’s eyes glittered with—had he been human, Giles would have said that a bit of pride shone in those blue depths.

“Hiding your power of the sky,” continued the elven lord, “has been a clever move. I’m sure I would have sensed a false storm and found you years ago. But alas, it seems you have found me, have you not? ’Tis a pity that I will have to destroy you. This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Cecily blinked at this little speech and Giles’s heart ached for her. He knew she had harbored some small hope that her father would welcome her with open arms. That he would not be the monster everyone made him out to be.

“She can use it,” said Giles. “The scepter accepts her. I suggest you let her go.”

The rain ceased. Only its sudden absence reminded Giles of it.

Something flickered within Breden’s eyes. Doubt? Or could it possibly be fear?

“Kalah,” he commanded. “Get it for me.”

The dragon shifted, scale sliding along scale with a grating slither. Those enormous eyes looked oddly similar to the elven lord’s, but the color had been sliced into sections with jagged silver lines, like some badly cut pie. He shook out his great wings with a spray of moonlit water, and then folded them neatly against his sides.

Cecily, who had faced her father with a brave face, blanched as the great beast settled his gaze upon her.

“I think not,” said Kalah, his voice sounding like boulders tumbling down a hillside. “You must prove it is your right to wield it, mad elfling.” And he picked up his foreleg, studying his talons like a human would inspect his nails, dismissing the three of them with arrogant disdain.

Surprise crossed Breden’s handsome features. And then anger. And then anticipation.

Giles stepped in front of Cecily. “I won’t let you touch her.”

The elven lord laughed, a melodic evil sound, and raised his hands up to the sky. The boom of thunder and the resulting lightning shot straight into his hands, making them glow.

“No,” cried Cecily, ducking under Giles’s arm and facing her father, avoiding Giles’s attempts to shove her back behind his body. “I do not want this thing. I… I hate it!”

White brows rose.

“I shall give it to you. Just let him go. Let the man go.”

“Perfect,” barked the elven lord. “True love! Time and again I have seen it weaken you humans, and yet you still allow it to control your actions. Come now, Daughter, do not make this too easy for me.” And with a flick of his wrist, a bolt hit Giles in the gut, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying backward.

Giles lost his vision yet again, but this time he saw nothing but blackness. Cecily’s touch upon his forehead felt far away, and the sound of her voice seemed to echo in his head.

“Don’t do this, Father. Don’t force me to acknowledge my true powers. You will not like the results.”

“You can’t,” spat Breden. “You might have elven blood running through your veins, but you’re too human, my girl. Nothing but a sniveling coward of an animal, too frightened of that which you don’t understand. It will be humankind’s downfall.”

Giles’s vision started to clear. He raised his head. Cecily had stepped in front of his feet, physically blocking Giles with her body. He wanted to protest. It was his job to protect her. But his tongue would not work. Neither would his legs.

“In the same way that love will make us weak?”

Giles blinked. Cecily seemed to glow with her words, the scepter in her hand spitting forth streaks of liquid fire. Devil take it, the foolish woman would embrace the power she had rejected for so long. A power that she feared and loathed and thought would turn her into just as much of a monster as her father. All just to protect Giles.

He could not let her do it. Somehow he struggled to his feet. But the world spun and tilted at a crazy angle.

Breden of Dewhame did not hesitate. The sky rumbled again; Giles could actually feel the earth shake beneath his boots, and myriad lightning bolts flashed in the sky. The elven lord raised his arms to call them to him.

But Cecily had raised the scepter as well.

The lightning split. Half to Breden. Half to Cecily.

They would destroy each other.

“No,” shouted Giles. But the word issued from his throat as a gravelly whisper.

The world exploded yet again. Again, Giles was lifted off his feet and thrown backward, far beyond the road into a hedge of bushes that broke his fall.

Giles heard a man scream. In anger and sheer agony.

Then silence.

A huff of wind warmed his body. He looked up into the luminous gaze of… the dragon.

“This is bound to happen when you fall in love with someone strong enough to wield a scepter,” said the beast. “Can you stand?”

Giles nodded, although truly he didn’t know until he managed it. He looked over at the road. Two bodies lay still within mud that steamed around them.

Something tightened his chest, his throat. He thought he might scream from the pain within his heart, if he could only manage it.

“She is alive,” said Kalah. “So is the mad elf. But it remains to be seen if they are… undamaged.”

Giles did not wait to ask what the dragon meant. He staggered over to Cecily, fell at her side.

Black smudged her nose. The front of her dress. She looked lovely, as if for all the world she did naught but sleep. Her chest rose and fell, but so faintly. She still clutched the scepter within her fist.

Giles leaned down and kissed her. Within that touch he put all the love he felt within his heart. All the apology he could manage for the way he had doubted her. Had he truly thought her love would not be strong enough to overcome something as small as a green mark upon his face?

When she would embrace a power she despised to save him?

“Cecily,” he murmured. “Wake up, love. It is time to go now.”

She did not stir. Neither did the elven lord.

“What’s wrong with them?”

The beast’s footsteps shivered the mud. He prodded Breden gently with his talon. “They have fried each other. The elven lord has always been mad, but managed to retain his faculties. It will be interesting to see how much of them remain.”

Giles looked at Cecily in horror. “She will be insane?”

“Only time will tell. Why do you humans insist that we dragons have all the answers?” Kalah snorted a stream of lightning bolts and Giles flinched. He would never manage to sleep through a storm again. The beast curled his talons around the body of the elven lord and lifted him from the mud with a sucking sound. Those glowing eyes looked up at the sky. “The storm has cleared. Imagine that.” And his wings spread to glorious proportions. A beat, and then another, making Giles hunch against the force of the wind he created.

And without another word, the dragon disappeared into the dark night.

***

Cecily did not wake until they were in the cabin of the Argonaut.

It had taken Giles some time to gather the horses and recover his sword, and another few hours to reach Bristol and find the ship. He did not know how much time they might have. But Breden of Dewhame had looked even worse than Cecily, and he thought the elven lord might have suffered the worst from the encounter.

They might manage to escape after all.

The captain did not ask any questions about their haggard appearance, nor inquire as to Cecily’s unconscious condition, apparently used to his missions for the Rebellion. He just quickly directed them to a small cabin below decks and went about the business of raising sail.

When a seaman brought two buckets of water, a bundle of cloth, and a little jar of ointment that smelled like herbs, Giles bade him thank the captain. The grizzly sailor nodded, staring at the mark on Giles’s face, and then crossed himself in fear.

To his surprise, Giles found that he did not care. Cecily did not bother with such a thing, and only her opinion mattered. He just wished he’d realized it sooner. What if she did not wake? What if her eyes held nothing but madness when she did?

He tried not to think of it as he gently undressed her, frowning at the burn marks here and there upon her smooth skin. He gently washed her, rubbed in the ointment where needed, and spoke to her the whole while.

“I have been a fool. But you know that, don’t you? I just hope you will forgive me. Wake up, dearest, so I can tell you what a dolt I’ve been. You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

Her eyelashes did not flutter. Her face looked serene and peaceful. Giles kissed her, but apparently he did not have the magic of a prince, for it did not wake her.

She still held on to the scepter as if it had been welded to her skin.

“I will not allow you to suffer because of me. You will wake and you will be whole. But… but if you are not…” His throat closed and he could not continue. But Giles knew he would not abandon her, as she had not abandoned him when he’d been touched by that wild magic. He would not allow her to push him away. He would feed her if she could not do it herself. He would dress her, care for her. Nothing would come between them ever again.

He would love her unconditionally. As Cecily had always loved him.

Giles gently covered her with a rough blanket, and began the task of assessing his own injuries, stripping off his clothing and tossing them in a corner atop Cecily’s. Their cabin was small, containing little more than a bed and a cabinet that latched, and a lantern hanging from the beam in a ceiling so low that Giles had to keep his head ducked. He did not have much room to maneuver, and it became worse when the ship began to sway even more as the captain left the dock in the dead of night.

But he managed to get washed, and it appeared his hand had suffered the worst. He bound it with a clean cloth and glanced at the clothing the captain had provided them. Seamen’s clothes that would be too small for him, and would manage to swallow Cecily whole.

Giles sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair away from her cheek.

“I love you,” he said.

Her eyelids flew open. Panic and fright. He could not tell if madness lay in them.

He brushed his fingers against her hair with a gentle but firm touch, as he had soothed Apollo when he’d forced the horse into the ship’s hold. “It’s all right, Cecily.”

“Where am I?”

“You are on the Argonaut. You are safe.”

Her eyes grew enormous as she gazed around the tiny cabin. “The elven lord?”

Giles breathed a sigh of relief. She remembered. “He is alive. But Kalah said… Do you know who I am?”

“Don’t be a goose. Of course I know who you are.”

“Can you release the scepter?”

Cecily looked at her hand in surprise. Her fingers twitched. “They’re cramped.”

“Indeed.” Giles stood and gathered her stays, the only piece of clothing that had managed to survive their battle relatively unscathed. “Can you drop it in here?”

Cecily shuddered. “Gladly.” But it took her several minutes to unlock her fingers enough to drop it in the garment. Giles used the laces to tie it into a bundle and stored it in the cabinet, giving the latch a firm tug to close it.

Cecily sat up, holding the blanket over her chest, shaking her hand back to life. “Why did you ask if I knew you?”

Giles resumed his seat. “The dragon said that you and your father had injured each other, in a way that might have… addled your mind. Thank God you seem unaffected. But Breden of Dewhame. It appeared that he got the worst of it.”

Cecily slumped. “I did not want… do you see why I have rejected that power all these years?”

“You did it to save my life,” murmured Giles.

“I remember,” she whispered. For a moment, madness flickered in her eyes and Giles feared for her. Until he realized he but saw the power of the storm. “I called the lightning. I felt it course through my body, my soul. It filled me with a might that compelled me to set it free. To destroy, to burn…” She shuddered. “I felt it when my father attacked me with his own power, but the scepter protected me. It wants to go home…”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. I did not want the thing whispering its secrets to me.”

Giles leaned forward and folded her in his arms, placed his mouth against her hair. “Hush. It is all over now. You have done a great service for the Rebellion. When we pass the barrier, the scepter will no longer have any power over you. Indeed, you shall have no power at all.”

She pulled away from him, looked up into his face. “I have tried to deny it all my life, so it will be no great hardship for me. But you… you have always wanted to serve the Rebellion. I suppose you shall return to England after the ship leaves me in Wales?”

The thought of ever being parted from her again made him crush her to his chest. “I think I shall enjoy a good fight without the interference of the curse on my sword.” His devil-blade hummed an angry protest from beneath the pile of their ragged clothing. “I imagine that I can still serve the Rebellion in Wales. They will need me to protect you and the scepter, at the very least. And our children will need a father to teach them of our enslaved land. I want you to marry me, Cecily. That is… if you can forgive me.”

She tried to say something, but her words were muffled against his chest.

“I vowed to tell you what a fool I’ve been. I owe you that, and more. I should never have doubted your love for me. I was a fool to think a woman’s love could be weaker than a man’s. I took my own insecurities out on you, and I shall happily spend the rest of my life making atonement for it.”

Giles relaxed his hold, placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up to look at him, gazing into those faceted eyes, knowing that she held his soul within their depths. “I love you more than life itself. Can you forgive me?”

“Yes. I forgive you for all the nights we’ve wasted apart from one another. But you shall have to start making up for them. Now.”

Giles lowered his head. “Your wish is my command,” he breathed against her lips. And then covered them with his own. Cecily’s arms flew around his shoulders, pressing them even closer together, if that were possible. He uncovered the rest of her glorious body, tossing the blanket on the floor and lowering her down to the bed. He had only one hand to touch her with, although he managed to use the fingers of his right to good purpose.

Cecily moaned and arched her back. Magnificent lady.

Giles covered her body with his, maneuvering on the small bed with all the elven skill he had. He stroked her breasts with his tongue while his hand stroked the nub between her legs, until he felt she was wet and ready enough to join with him.

And then he did not hesitate.

With one smooth movement he thrust inside of her and gasped while she moaned. Slick, tight heat. She dug her fingers into his back, pushing him against her, giving him the permission he badly desired.

Giles possessed her with a fury of need that had him pounding into her faster than the rocking of the ship. That had her calling out his name, thrashing her head and straining against him.

Giles strove to get inside of her as deeply as he could. Until he could not tell where he began and she ended. Until they became one in body as they were in mind, heart, and soul.

His pleasure washed over him as furiously as their lovemaking, Cecily crying out as her climax peaked with his. They drifted down to earth together, two beings as one.

Giles lowered his head and kissed her open mouth. “We became one long ago, didn’t we? I was just too dunderheaded to know it.”

Cecily smoothed the hair back from his face, coaxing it to lie over his shoulders. Giles did not flinch from her stare. She did not think him ugly. She never would.

“Hush, love,” she whispered. “We have both been wrong about many things. But now… now we have it right.”

Giles slid beside her, tucking her body half over his so they would both fit on the small bunk. He felt the smile upon his face and knew Cecily spoke the truth.

Their love might be the only right thing about their world.

But nothing else truly mattered.

***

A few hours later Giles awoke to early morning sunlight streaming through the open porthole, Cecily standing divinely naked in the middle of the cabin, small globes of water dancing through the window to twirl about her.

Giles crossed his arms behind his head and watched her play, a grin curving his mouth.

“You know,” she said, after giving him a coy glance. “Now that I have discovered the joys of my magic, I think I will miss it.”

The spheres reflected bits of sunlight within their depths, scintillating colors of the rainbow. They rollicked about the cabin, along the beamed ceiling, about Cecily’s head and shoulders. Tiny dots of sparkling diamonds in swirling patterns, expressing her joy and happiness with a cluster here, bursting into a ray of stars, and a pattern there, twirling in a cyclone.

“We can always return to England.”

She made a face. “I shan’t miss it that much.

He laughed. “Come here, my little sorceress. I don’t think I’ve finished making up for all the nights we missed together.”

She made a pattern around his head, tickled his nose with a drop of moisture. “There, I have made a crown for you. Such a handsome face deserves to be crowned.”

And she meant it. Giles saw the admiration in her eyes, the draw of his physical beauty. She did not see, did not care about—

Suddenly her small spheres of water fell about them like rain, spattering the wooden planks and thoroughly soaking them both.

“What happened?” sputtered Cecily.

“We have crossed the barrier.” Giles kneeled on the bed and looked out the porthole, as if he could see a difference. But the magical boundary the elven lords used to keep England cut off from the rest of the world was invisible, and it did not look any different on this side of it.

He turned around and studied his love. “Do you feel any different?”

She shrugged. “I can’t… feel the ocean anymore. It has always seemed to pulse in my veins.”

Cecily looked bewildered. A bit lost. And entirely liberated.

Giles slid off the bed and crouched, felt for his sword beneath the pile of clothing. It did not jump into his hand. It did not whine for blood.

“It’s just a hunk of metal,” he murmured, looking down at his blade, his hair falling over his shoulders and hiding his expression from Cecily. His sword had always aided him in his quest for revenge… and yet had always been a burden. “I am free.”

He heard Cecily rise and open the cabinet, the rustle of cloth as she removed the scepter from its bindings. “It still hums,” she said, “but so weakly I can barely feel it. It cannot overpower my will, but simply lure it. Still, I think I would rather not touch it.” She wrapped it back up. “I wonder what Sir Robert will say when we write and tell him we have stolen the scepter and removed it from England?”

Giles set down his lifeless sword. “Even more interesting is that Fletcher managed to touch it without harm. I’m sure Sir Robert will realize that any of the scepters can now be stolen, and the thief does not need the power to wield it to do so.” He looked up at Cecily. “I predict the theft of many more scepters over the next few years.”

She closed the cabinet and turned to look at him. Her mouth dropped opened, and she staggered back against the bed, falling atop the rumpled linens.

“Giles,” she gasped.

He frowned. She stared at him now in the same way that strangers gaped at his blemished face.

“What?” he demanded.

“The mark. It’s… it’s gone.”

He held up a hand to his cheek, even knowing he would feel nothing. He did not need a mirror. Cecily’s face told it all.

“It wasn’t a physical deformity,” she continued. “It was created with naught but wild magic—”

“And we are beyond the bounds of magic,” he finished.

Giles did not feel particularly altered by the sudden change. He no longer cared about the mark on his face. Cecily had taught him that love lay within the heart, and he would never forget it again. He tossed the hair back from his face and advanced toward her on hands and knees, a low growl of pleasure deep in his throat. “So I am back to my old handsome self. But the question is: will you still love me?”

She held out her arms to him. “Come and see.”