Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [128]
Niniane sprang up and down in excitement. “Yes, I do! I do. I’m beginning to see a pattern here. Don’t you remember before when I said cooperation was the key?”
“Cooperation? Oh. I thought you said concentration.” Another puff of purple smoke arose, blinding them. When it vanished, the two apprentices were back to their original forms. “Look,” Niniane exclaimed, wafting the sleeves of her gown. “You were right, Illusius. Arms! And hands!”
“And lips!” Illusius shouted, whirling her off her feet in his elation and planting a kiss on her mouth before he knew what he was about.
He set her down as suddenly as he’d picked her up. Niniane stared at him, dumbfounded. For once in her entire existence she found herself speechless. Two major revelations in one short span of time were more than any apprentices should have to deal with. They blushed and looked at one another shyly.
“Uh, that was…nice, wasn’t it? Would you mind very much if I, uh, did that again?” he asked.
“Why, um, not at all,” she said, smiling up at him from beneath her lashes.
But before they could repeat the experiment there was a tremendous crash from the far end of the cavern. The apprentices jumped guiltily and turned toward the source of the sound.
On the night of Lector’s reception, the sunset sky was like a lake of bloody fire over Cador’s new camp at the forest’s edge. Several of the rebels took it as an evil omen and made the signs to ward off the evil eye. Cador and Brand exchanged signals. It was time.
As the rebel chief barked out his orders, Cador went to his tent where Tressalara was dressing. When he first swept the flap aside, she was perched on the edge of his camp bed in a circle of light from the lamp, brushing her waist-length hair. It gleamed like skeins of red-gold silk. A long, slitted tunic of gleaming white silk shot with gold threads pooled around her on the mattress, and a pair of silvery white kid boots lay beside her dainty feet.
He drew in a deep breath. Cador knew he would remember this sight as long as he lived. Tressalara, with her hair like flame, sitting on the bed where they had made love only days before. Now it was almost like something he had dreamed. And, like all dreams, it had ended with the waking realization that it had been just an illusion. The gold and amethyst coronet that she wore upon her brow, emblazoned with the dragon symbol of the royal house, was proof of that.
As he entered, she looked up and caught her breath. He was so handsome in his armor of embossed leather and chased steel, so much the fierce golden warrior who had stolen her heart that Tressalara knew she would never forget this moment. The bittersweetness of it pierced her like a sword—for good or ill, it was the last time they would meet like this.
She wanted to tell him everything that was in her heart, but the stony look on his face made her forget the words she had practiced so carefully. His eyes, glowing with blue fire, melted her very bones. She remembered when they had blazed with desire for her, and felt her body respond to the memory. If only she could step into his arms and lose herself in his embrace once more.
But it was not to be. Her rank, his pride, and their bitter quarrel had driven a wedge of steel between them. Not even the passion they had once shared could overcome it. Now he addressed her only as Amelonia’s future queen. Since their quarrel he had not once called her by her given name, much less touched her.
It was Cador who broke the silence. “At the risk of drawing down your wrath upon my head, I will ask you one more time, your majesty. Will you let me send you to a place of safety and go to battle myself in your place?”
Her face was pale in the lantern light. “And at the risk of invoking your wrath, I will repeat: My place is in the midst of the fight.”
He started to reply, then stopped. It was no use. “Come, then. Let me present you to your army.”
She twisted